CHAPTER III
_Colonel Wilton._
Left to himself for a moment, the colonel heaved a deep sigh; he had apremonition of what was coming, and then paced slowly up and down thelong hall.
He was attired, with all the splendor of an age in which the subject ofdress engrossed the attention of the wisest and best, in the height ofthe prevailing mode, which his recent arrival from Paris, then as nowthe mould of fashion, permitted him to determine. The soft light fromthe wax candles in their sconces in the hall fell upon his thicklypowdered wig, ran in little ripples up and down the length of hispolished dress-sword, and sparkled in the brilliants in the buckles ofhis shoes. His face was the grave face of a man accustomed from of oldnot only to command, but to assume the responsibility of his orders;when they were carried out, his manner was a happy mixture of thehaughty sternness of a soldier and the complacent suavity of thecourtier, tempered both by the spirit of frankness and geniality bornof the free life of a Virginia planter in colonial times.
In his early youth he had been a soldier under Admiral Vernon, with hisold and long-deceased friend Lawrence Washington at Cartagena; lateron, he had served under Wolfe at Quebec. A visitor, and a welcome onetoo, at half the courts of Europe, he looked the man of affairs he was;in spite of his advanced age, he held himself as erect, and carriedhimself as proudly as he had done on the Heights of Abraham or in thecourt of St. Germain.
Too old to incur the hardships of the field, Colonel Wilton had yetoffered his services, with the ardor of the youngest patriot, to hiscountry, and pledged his fortune, by no means inconsiderable, in itssupport. The Congress, glad to avail themselves of the services of sodistinguished a man, had sent him, in company with Silas Deane andBenjamin Franklin, as an embassy to the court of King Louis, bearingproposals for an alliance and with a request for assistance during thedeadly struggle of the colonies with the hereditary foe of France.They had been reasonably successful in a portion of their attempt, atleast; as the French government had agreed, though secretly, to furnisharms and other munitions of war through a pseudo-mercantile firm whichwas represented by M. de Beaumarchais, the gifted author of the comedy"Le Mariage de Figaro." The French had also agreed to furnish alimited amount of money; but, more important than all these, there werehints and indications that if the American army could win any decisivebattle or maintain the unequal conflict for any length of time, an openand closer alliance would be made. The envoys had despatched ColonelWilton, from their number, back to America to make a report of theprogress of their negotiations to Congress. This had been done, andGeneral Washington had been informed of the situation.
The little ship, one of the gallant vessels of the nascent Americannavy, in which Colonel Wilton had returned from France, had attackedand captured a British brig of war during the return passage, and youngSeymour, who was the first lieutenant of the ship, was severelywounded. The wound had been received through his efforts to protectColonel Wilton, who had incautiously joined the boarding-party whichhad captured the brig. After the interview with Congress, ColonelWilton was requested to await further instructions before returning toFrance, and, pending the result of the deliberations of Congress, aftera brief visit to the headquarters of his old friend and neighborGeneral Washington, he had retired to his estate. As a special favor,he was permitted to bring with him the wounded lieutenant, in orderthat he might recuperate and recover from his wound in the pleasantvalleys of Virginia. That Seymour was willing to leave his own friendsin Philadelphia, with all their care and attention, was due entirely tohis desire to meet Miss Katharine Wilton, of whose beauty he had heard,and whose portrait indeed, in her father's possession, which he hadseen before on the voyage, had borne out her reputation. Seymour hadbeen informed since his stay at the Wiltons' that he had been detachedfrom the brig Argus, and notified that he was to receive orders shortlyto report to the ship Ranger, commanded by a certain Captain John PaulJones; and he knew that he might expect his sailing orders at anymoment. He had improved, as has been seen, the days of his brief stayto recover from one wound and receive another, and, as might have beenexpected, he had fallen violently in love with Katharine Wilton.
There were also staying at the house, besides the servants and slaves,young Philip Wilton, Katharine's brother, a lad of sixteen, who hadjust received a midshipman's warrant, and was to accompany Seymour whenhe joined the Ranger, then outfitting at Philadelphia; and Bentley, anold and veteran sailor, a boatswain's mate, who had accompanied Seymourfrom ship to ship ever since the lieutenant was a midshipman,--a manwho had but one home, the sea; one hate, the English; one love, hiscountry; and one attachment, Seymour.
Colonel Wilton was a widower. As Katharine came down the stairway,clad in all the finery her father had brought back for her from Paris,her hair rolled high and powdered, the old family diamonds with theirquaint setting of silver sparkling upon her snowy neck, her fanlanguidly waving in her hand, she looked strikingly like a picturedwoman smiling down at them from over the mantel; but to the sweetnessand archness of her mother's laughing face were added some of thecolonel's pride, determination, and courage. He stepped to meet her,and then bent and kissed the hand she extended toward him, with all thegrace of the old regime; and Seymour coming upon them was entrancedwith the picture.
He too had changed his attire, and now was clad in the becoming dressof a naval lieutenant of the period. He wore a sword, of course, and adark blue uniform coat relieved with red facings, with a single epauleton his shoulder which denoted his official rank; his blond hair waslightly touched with powder, and tied, after the fashion of activeservice, in a queue with a black ribbon.
"Now, Seymour, since you two truants have come at last, will you do methe honor to hand Miss Wilton to the dining-room?" remarked thecolonel, straightening up.
With a low bow, Seymour approached the object of his adoration, who,after a sweeping courtesy, gave him her hand. With much state andceremony, preceded by one of the servants, who had been waiting inattention in the hall, and followed by the colonel, and lastly by thecolonel's man, a stiff old campaigner who had been with him many years,they entered the dining-room, which opened from the rear of the hall.
The table was a mass of splendid plate, which sparkled under the softlight of the wax candles in candelabra about the room or on the table,and the simple meal was served with all the elegance and precisionwhich were habitual with the gentleman of as fine a school as ColonelWilton.
At the table, instead of the light and airy talk which might have beenexpected in the situation, the conversation assumed that grave andserious tone which denoted the imminence of the emergency.
The American troops had been severely defeated at Long Island in thesummer, and since that time had suffered a series of reverses, beingforced steadily back out of New York, after losing Fort Washington, anddown through the Jerseys, relentlessly pursued by Howe and Cornwallis.Washington was now making his way slowly to the west bank of theDelaware. He was losing men at every step, some by desertion, more bythe expiration of the terms of their enlistment. The news whichColonel Wilton had brought threw a frail hope over the situation, butruin stared them in the face, and unless something decisive was soonaccomplished, the game would be lost.
"Did you have a pleasant ride up the river, Katharine?" asked herfather.
"Very, sir," she answered, blushing violently and looking involuntarilyat Seymour, who matched her blush with his own.
There was a painful pause, which Seymour broke, coming to the rescuewith a counter question.
"Did you notice that small sloop creeping up under the west bank of theriver, colonel, this evening? I should think she must be opposite thehouse now, if the wind has held."
"Why, when did you see her, Mr. Seymour? I thought you were lookingat--at--" She broke off in confusion, under her father's searchinggaze. He smiled, and said,--
"Ah, Katharine, trained eyes see all things unusual about them,although they are apparently bent persistently upon
one spot. Yes,Seymour, I did notice it; if we were farther down the river, we mightsuspect it of being an enemy, but up here I fancy even Dunmore'smalevolence would scarcely dare to follow."
Katharine looked up in alarm. "Oh, father, do you think it is quitesafe? Chloe told me that Phoebus told her that the raiders had visitedMajor Lithcomb's plantation, and you know that is not more than fiftymiles down the river from us. Would it not be well to take someprecaution?"
"Tut, tut, child! gossip of the negro servants!" The colonel waved itaside carelessly. "I hardly think we have anything to fear at present;though what his lordship may do in the end, unless he is checked, Ihardly like to imagine."
"But, father," persisted Katharine, "they said that Johnson was incommand of the party, and you know he hates you. You remember he saidhe would get even with you if it cost him his life, when you had himturned out of the club at Williamsburg."
"Pshaw, Katharine, the wretch would not dare. It is a cowardlyblackguard, Seymour, whom I saw cheating at cards at the Assembly Clubat the capital. I had him expelled from the society of gentlemen,where, indeed, he had no right of admittance, and I scarcely know howhe got there originally. He made some threats against me, to which Inaturally paid no attention. But what did you think of the vessel?"
"I confess I saw nothing suspicious about her, sir," replied Seymour."She seemed very much like the packets which ply on the river; I onlyspoke idly of the subject."
"But, father, the packet went up last week, the day before you cameback, and is due coming down the river now, while this boat is comingup," said Katharine.
"Oh, well, I think we are safe enough now; but, to relieve your unusualanxiety, I will send Blodgett down to the wharf to examine andreport.--Blodgett, do you go down to the boat-landing and keep watchfor an hour or two. Take your musket, man; there is no knowing whatyou might need it for."
The old soldier, who had stationed himself behind the colonel's chair,saluted with military precision, and left the room, saying, "Very good,sir; I shall let nothing escape my notice, sir."
"Now, Katharine, I hope you are satisfied."
"Yes, father; but if it is the raiders, Blodgett won't be able to stopthem."
"The raiders," laughed the colonel; and pinching his daughter's ear, hesaid, "I suspect the only raiders we shall see here will be those whohave designs upon your heart, my bonny Kate,--eh, Seymour?"
"They would never dare to wear a British uniform in that case, father,"she retorted proudly.
"Well, Seymour, I hear, through an express from Congress to-day, thatCaptain Jones has been ordered to command the Ranger, and that the newflag--we will drink to it, if you please; yes, you too, Katharine; Godbless every star and stripe in it--will soon be seen on the ocean."
"It will be a rare sight there, sir," said Seymour; "but it will not belong before the exploits of the Ranger will make it known on the highseas, if rumor does not belie her captain."
"I trust so; but do you know this Captain Jones?"
"Not at all, sir, save by reputation; but I am told he has onerequisite for a successful officer."
"And what is that?"
"He will fight anything, at any time, or at any place, no matter whatthe odds."
Colonel Wilton smiled. "Ah, well, if it were not for men of that kind,our little navy would never have a chance."
"No, father, nor the army, either; if we waited for equality beforefighting, I am afraid we should wait forever."
"True, Katharine. By the way, have you seen Talbot to-day?"
"No, father."
"I wish that we might enlist his services in the cause. I don't thinkthere is much doubt about Talbot himself, is there?"
"No. It is his mother, you know; she is a loyalist to the core. Aswere her ancestors, so is she."
The colonel nodded gently; he had a soft spot in his heart for thesubject of their discussion. "With her teaching and training, I canwell understand it, Katharine. Proud, of high birth, descended fromthe 'loyal Talbots,' and the widow of one of them, she cannot bear thethought of rebellion against the king. I don't think she cares muchfor the people, or their liberties either."
"Yes, father; with her the creed is, the king can do no wrong."
"Ah, well," said the colonel, reflectively, "I thought so too once, andmany is the blow I have struck for this same king. But liberty isabove royalty, independence not a dweller in the court; so, in my oldage, I find myself on a different side." He sipped his winethoughtfully a moment, and continued,--
"Madam Talbot has certainly striven to restrain the boy, andsuccessfully so far. He is a splendid fellow; I wish we had him. Hewould be of great service to the cause, with his name and influence,and the money he would bring; and then the quality of the young manhimself would be of value to us. You have met him, Seymour, I believe?"
"Yes, sir, several times; and I agree with you entirely. It is hismother who keeps him back. I have had one or two conversations withher. She is a Tory through and through."
"Not a doubt of it, not a doubt of it," said the colonel. "Katharine,can't you do something with him?"
"Oh, father, you know that I have talked with him, pleaded with him,and begged him to follow his inclination; but he remains by his mother."
"Nonsense, Katharine! Don't speak of him in that way; give him time.It is a hard thing: he is her only son; she is a widow. Let us hopethat something will induce him to come over to us." He said this ingentle reproof of his spirited daughter; and then,--
"Permit me to offer you a glass of wine, Seymour,--you are not drinkinganything; and to whom shall we drink?"
Seymour, who had been quaffing deep draughts of Katharine's beauty,replied promptly,--
"If I might suggest, sir, I should say Mistress Wilton."
"No, no," said Katharine. "Drink, first of all, to the success of ourcause. I will give you a toast, gentlemen: Before our sweethearts, oursisters, our wives, our mothers, let us place--our country," sheexclaimed, lifting her own glass.
The colonel laughed as he drank his toast, saying, "Nothing comesbefore country with Katharine."
And Seymour, while he appreciated the spirit of the maiden, felt alittle pang of grief that even to a country he should be second,--anastonishing change from that spirit of humility which a moment sincecontented itself with metaphorically kissing the ground she walked upon.
"By the way, father, where is Philip?" asked Katharine.
"He went up the branch fishing, with Bentley, I believe."
"But is n't it time they returned? Do you know, I feel nervous aboutthem; suppose those raiders--"
"Pshaw, child! Still harping on the raiders? and nervous too! Whatails you, daughter? I thought you never were nervous. We Wiltons arenot accustomed to nervousness, you know, and what must our guest think?"
"Nothing but what is altogether agreeable," replied Seymour, a littletoo promptly; and then, to cover his confusion, he continued: "But Ithink Miss Wilton need feel under no apprehension. Master Philip iswith Bentley, and I would trust the prudence and courage and skill ofthat man in any situation. You know my father, who was a shipmaster,when he died aboard his ship in the China seas, gave me, a little boytaking a cruise with him, into Bentley's charge, and told him to make asailor and a man of me, and from that day he has never left me. At myhouse, in Philadelphia, he is a privileged character. There never wasa truer, better, braver man; and as for patriotism, love of country isa passion with him, colonel. He might set an example to many in higherstation in that particular."
"Yes, I have noticed that peculiarity about the man. I think Philip issafe enough with him, Katharine, even if those-- Ha! what is that?"The colonel sprang to his feet, as the sound of a musket-shot rang outin the night air, followed by one or two pistol-shots and then amuffled cry.
For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution Page 4
