Erskine Dale—Pioneer

by John Fox

  XV

  A striking figure the lad made riding into the old capital one afternoonjust before the sun sank behind the western woods. Had it been dusk hemight have been thought to be an Indian sprung magically from the wildsand riding into civilization on a stolen thoroughbred. Students nolonger wandered through the campus of William and Mary College. Only anoccasional maid in silk and lace tripped along the street in high-heeledshoes and clocked stockings, and no coach and four was in sight. Thegovernor's palace, in its great yard amid linden-trees, was closed anddeserted. My Lord Dunmore was long in sad flight, as Erskine laterlearned, and not in his coach with its six milk-white horses. But therewas the bust of Sir Walter in front of Raleigh Tavern, and there he drewup, before the steps where he was once nigh to taking Dane Grey's life.A negro servant came forward to care for his horse, but a coal-blackyoung giant leaped around the corner and seized the bridle with awelcoming cry:

  "Marse Erskine! But I knowed Firefly fust." It was Ephraim, the groomwho had brought out Barbara's ponies, who had turned the horse over tohim for the race at the fair.

  "I come frum de plantation fer ole marse," the boy explained. The hostof the tavern heard and came down to give his welcome, for any Dale, nomatter what his garb, could always have the best in that tavern. Morethan that, a bewigged solicitor, learning his name, presented himselfwith the cheerful news that he had quite a little sum of money that hadbeen confided to his keeping by Colonel Dale for his nephew Erskine. Astrange deference seemed to be paid him by everybody, which was agrateful change from the suspicion he had left among his pioneerfriends. The little tavern was thronged and the air charged with thespirit of war. Indeed, nothing else was talked. My Lord Dunmore had cometo a sad and unbemoaned end. He had stayed afar from the battle-field ofPoint Pleasant and had left stalwart General Lewis to fight Cornstalkand his braves alone. Later my Lady Dunmore and her sprightly daughterstook refuge on a man-of-war--whither my lord soon followed them. Hisfleet ravaged the banks of the rivers and committed every outrage. Hismarines set fire to Norfolk, which was in ashes when he weighed anchorand sailed away to more depredations. When he intrenched himself onGwynn's Island, that same stalwart Lewis opened a heavy cannonade onfleet and island, and sent a ball through the indignant nobleman'sflag-ship. Next day he saw a force making for the island in boats, andmy lord spread all sail; and so back to merry England, and to Virginiano more. Meanwhile, Mr. Washington had reached Boston and started hisduties under the Cambridge elm. Several times during the talk Erskinehad heard mentioned the name of Dane Grey. Young Grey had been withDunmore and not with Lewis at Point Pleasant, and had been conspicuousat the palace through much of the succeeding turmoil--the hint being hisdevotion to one of the daughters, since he was now an unquestionedloyalist.

  Next morning Erskine rode forth along a sandy road, amidst the singingof birds and through a forest of tiny upshooting leaves, for Red Oaks onthe James. He had forsworn Colonel Dale to secrecy as to the note he hadleft behind giving his birthright to his little cousin Barbara, and heknew the confidence would be kept inviolate. He could recall theroad--every turn of it, for the woodsman's memory is faultless--and hecould see the merry cavalcade and hear the gay quips and laughter ofthat other spring day long ago, for to youth even the space of a year isvery long ago. But among the faces that blossomed within the old coach,and nodded and danced like flowers in a wind, his mind's eye was fixedon one alone. At the boat-landing he hitched his horse to the low-swungbranch of an oak and took the path through tangled rose-bushes andundergrowth along the bank of the river, halting where it would give himforth on the great, broad, grassy way that led to the house among theoaks. There was the sun-dial that had marked every sunny hour since hehad been away. For a moment he stood there, and when he stepped into theopen he shrank back hastily--a girl was coming through the opening ofboxwood from the house--coming slowly, bareheaded, her hands claspedbehind her, her eyes downward. His heart throbbed as he waited, throbbedthe more when his ears caught even the soft tread of her little feet,and seemed to stop when she paused at the sun-dial, and as beforesearched the river with her eyes. And as before the song of negrooarsmen came over the yellow flood, growing stronger as they neared.Soon the girl fluttered a handkerchief and from the single passenger inthe stern came an answering flutter of white and a glad cry. At the bendof the river the boat disappeared from Erskine's sight under the bank,and he watched the girl. How she had grown! Her slim figure had roundedand shot upward, and her white gown had dropped to her dainty ankles.Now her face was flushed and her eye flashed with excitement--it was nomere kinsman in that boat, and the boy's heart began to throbagain--throb fiercely and with racking emotions that he had never knownbefore. A fiery-looking youth sprang up the landing-steps, bowedgallantly over the girl's hand, and the two turned up the path, the girlrosy with smiles and the youth bending over her with a most protectingand tender air. It was Dane Grey, and the heart of the watcher turnedmortal sick.