CHAPTER VI
_Faithful Subject of his Majesty_
A few miles up the river from Colonel Wilton's plantation, upon a highbluff, from which, as at that point the river made a wide bend, one couldsee up and down for a long distance in either direction, was thebeautiful home of the Talbots, known as Fairview Hall.
On the evening of the raid at the Wilton place, Madam Talbot and her sonwere having a very important conversation. Madam Talbot was a widow whohad remained unwedded again from choice. Rumor had it that manygentlemen cavaliers of the neighborhood had been anxious to take to theirown hearthstones the person of the fair young widow, so early bereft, andincidentally were willing to assume the responsibility of the managementof the magnificent estate which had been left to her by her mostconsiderate husband. Among the many suitors gossip held that ColonelWilton was the chief, and it was thought at one time that his chances ofsuccess were of the best; but so far, at least, nothing had come of allthe agitation, and Madam Talbot lived her life alone, managing herplantation, the object of the friendly admiration of all the oldbachelors and widowers of the neighborhood. She had devoted herself tothe successful development of her property with all the energy andcapacity of a nature eminently calculated for success, and was now one ofthe richest women in the colony. One son only had blessed her union withHenry Talbot, and Hilary Talbot was a young man just turned twenty-fiveyears of age, and the idol of her soul. Too self-contained and too proudto display the depth of her feelings, except in rare instances, and toosensible to allow them to interfere in the training of the child, she hadspared neither her heart nor her purse in his education, with such happyresults that he was regarded by all who knew him as one of the finestspecimens of young Virginia that it were possible to meet. Of mediumheight, active, handsome, dark-eyed, dark-haired, fiery and impetuous intemperament, generous and frank in disposition, he was a model among men;trained from his boyhood in every manly sport and art, and educated inthe best institutions of learning in the colonies, his natural graceperfected by a tour of two years in England and abroad, from which he hadonly a year or so since returned, he perfectly represented all that wasbest in the young manhood of Virginia. For many years there had beenhopes in the minds of Colonel Wilton and Madam Talbot, that the affectionbetween the two young people, who had played together from childhood withall the frankness and simplicity permitted by country life, would developinto something nearer and dearer, and that by their marriage at theproper time the two great estates might be united.
The two children, early informed of this desire, had grown up under theinfluence of the idea; as they reached years of discretion, they hadtaken it for granted, considering the arrangement as a fact accomplishedby tacit understanding and habit rather than by formal promise.Personally attached to each other, nay, even fondly affectionate, theindefinite tie seemed sufficiently substantial to bring about the desiredresult. Katharine had, especially during Talbot's absence in Europe,resisted all the importunities and rejected all the proposals made toher, and on his account refused all the hearts laid at her feet. SinceTalbot's return, however, and especially since he refused, or hesitatedrather, to cast his lot in with her own people, his neighbors andfriends, in the Revolution, the affair had, on her part at least, assumeda new phase. Still, there had been nothing said or done to prevent thisconsummation so devoutly to be wished until the advent of Seymour. Then,too, Talbot, calm and confident in the situation, had not noticedSeymour's infatuation, and was entirely ignorant that the coveted prizehad slipped from his grasp. The insight of the confident lover was notso keen as that of the watchful father.
It was believed by the principal men of Virginia that Talbot's sympathieswere with the revolted colonies; but the influence of his mother, to whomhe had been accustomed to defer, had hitherto proved sufficient toprevent him from openly declaring himself. His visit to England, and thedelightful reception he had met with there, had weakened somewhat theties which bound him to his native country, and he found himself in astate of indecision as humiliating as it was painful. Lord Dunmore andColonel Wilton had each made great efforts to enlist his support, onaccount of his wealth and position and high personal qualities. It washinted by one that the ancient barony of the Talbots would be revived bythe king; and the gratitude of a free and grateful country, with theconsciousness of having materially aided in acquiring that independencewhich should be the birthright of every Englishman, was eloquentlyportrayed by the other. When to the last plea was added the personalpreference of Katharine Wilton, the balance was overcome, and the hopesof the mother were doomed to disappointment.
For his own hopes, however, the decision had come too late, and it may besafely presumed that his hesitation was one of the main causes throughwhich the woman he loved escaped him; for Katharine's heart was given toyoung Seymour, after a ten days' courtship, almost before his eyes. Inany event, a wiser man would have seen in Seymour a possible, nay, acertain rival by no means to be disregarded. An officer who had devotedhimself to the cause of his country in response to the first demand ofthe Congress, who had been conspicuously mentioned for gallantry ingeneral orders and reports, who had been severely wounded whileprotecting Katharine's father at the risk of his life; as well bred andas well born as Talbot, of ample fortune, and with a wide knowledge ofmen and things acquired in his merchant voyagings as captain of one ofhis own ships in many seas,--Seymour's single-hearted devotion eminentlyfitted him to woo and win Miss Katharine Wilton, as he had done.
Nevertheless, a friendship had sprung up between Seymour and theunsuspecting Talbot which bade fair to ripen into intimacy; and it may besupposed that the stories of battles in which the older man hadparticipated, his attractive personality, the consideration in which theyoung sailor was held by men of weight and position in the colonies, as aman from whom much was to be expected, had large influence in determiningTalbot in the course he proposed taking, and which he had not yetcommunicated to his mother.
The evening repast had just been finished, and the mother and son werewalking slowly up and down the long porch overlooking the river in frontof the house. There was a curious and interesting likeness between thetwo,--a facial resemblance only, for Madam Talbot was a slender, ratherfrail little woman, and looked smaller by contrast as she walked by theside of her son, who had his arm affectionately thrown over her shoulder.She was as straight, however, as he was himself, in spite of her yearsand cares, and bore herself as proudly erect as in the days of her youth.Her black eyes looked out with undiminished lustre from beneath hersnowy-white hair, which needed no powder and was covered by the mob capshe wore. She looked every inch the lady of the manor, nor did heractions and words belie her appearance. The subject of the conversationwas evidently a serious one. There was a troubled expression upon herface, in spite of her self-control, which was in marked contrast to thehesitating and somewhat irresolute look upon the handsome countenance ofher son.
"My son, my son," she said at last, "why will you persist in approachingme upon this subject? You know my opinions. I have not hesitated tospeak frankly, and it is not my habit to change them; in this instancethey are as fixed and as immutable as the polar star. The traditions andcustoms of four hundred years are behind me. Our family--you know yourfather and I were cousins, and are descended from the same stock--havebeen called the 'loyal Talbots.' I cannot contemplate with equanimitythe possibility even of one of us in rebellion against the king."
"Mother--I am sorry--grieved--but I must tell you that that is apossibility I fear you must learn to face. I have--"
"Oh, Hilary, do not tell me you have finally decided to join thisunrighteous rebellion. Pause before you answer, my boy--I entreat you,and it is not my habit to entreat, as you very well know. See, you havebeen the joy of my heart all my life, the idol of my soul,--I willconfess it now,--and for you and your future I have lived and toiled andserved and loved. I have dreamed you great, high in rank and place,serving your king, winning back the ancient posit
ion of our family. Ihave shrunk from no sacrifice, nor would I shrink from any. 'Tis notthat I do not wish you to risk your life in war,--I am a daughter of myrace, and for centuries they have been soldiers, and what God sendssoldiers upon the field, that I can abide,--but that you should go now,with all your prospects, your ability, the opportunity presented you, andengage yourself in this fatal cause, in this unholy attack upon theking's majesty, connect yourself with this beggarly rabble who have beenwhipped and beaten every time they have come in contact with the royaltroops,--I cannot bear it. You are a man now. You have grown away fromyour mother, Hilary, and I can no longer command, I must entreat." Butshe spoke very proudly, for, as she said, entreaty was not so usual toher as command.
"Oh, mother, mother, you make it very hard for me. You know thecolonists have been badly treated, and hardly used by king andParliament. Our liberties have been threatened, nay, have beenabrogated, our privileges destroyed, none of our rights respected, andunless we are to sink to the level of mere slaves and dependants upon themother country, we have no other course but an appeal to arms."
"I know, I know all that," she interrupted impatiently, with a wave ofher hand. "I have heard it all a thousand times from ill-balancedagitators and popular orators. There may be some truth in it, of course,I grant you; but in my creed nothing, Hilary, nothing, will justify asubject in turning against his king. The king can do no wrong. All thatwe have is his; let him take what he will, so he leaves us our honor, andthat, indeed, no one can take from us. It is the principle that ourancestors have attested on a hundred fields and in every other way, andwill you now be false to it, my boy?"
"I must be true to myself, mother, first of all, in spite of all thekings of earth; and I feel that duty and honor call me to the side of myfriends and the people of this commonwealth. I have hesitated long,mother, in deference to you, but now I have decided."
"And you turn against two mothers, Hilary, when you take thiscourse,--old England, the mother country, and this one, this old mother,who stands before you, who has given you her heart, who has lived foryou, who lives in you now, whose devotion to you has never faltered; shenow humbly asks with outstretched arms, the arms that carried you whenyou were a baby boy, that you remain true to your king."
"Nay, but, mamma," he said, calling her by the sweet name of his boyhood,taking her hand and looking down at her tenderly with tear-dimmed eyesfull of affection, "one must be true to his idea of right and duty firstof all, even at the price of his allegiance to a king; and, after all,what is any king beside you in my heart? But I feel in honor bound to gowith my people."
The irresolution was gone from his expression now, and the two determinedfaces--one full of pity, the other of apprehension--confronted each other.
For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution Page 7
