For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

  CHAPTER XXXII

  _The Prisoners on the Yarmouth_

  It is usually not difficult for an individual to define the conditionsof happiness. If I only had so and so, or if I only were so and so,and the thing is done. Each successive state, however, suggests onemore happy, and each gratified wish leads to another desire moreimperative. Miss Katharine Wilton, however, did not confine herconditions to units. There were in her case three requisites forhappiness,--perfect happiness,--and could they have been satisfied, inall probability she would have come as near to the wished-for state aspoor humanity on this earth ever does come to that beatific condition.She certainly thought so, and with characteristic boldness had notrefrained from communicating her thoughts to her father.

  The astonishing feature of the situation was that he was inclined toagree with her. There was nothing astonishing in itself in hisagreement with her, for he usually did agree with her, but in that herconditions were really his own. For it is rare, blessedly so, that twopeople feel that they require the same thing to complete the joy oflife, and when they parallel on three points 't is most remarkable.Even two lovers require each other--very different things, I am sure.Stop! I am not so sure about the third proviso with the colonel. Isay the third, because Miss Wilton put it number three, though perhapsit was like a woman's postscript, which somehow suggests the paraphraseof a familiar bit of Scripture,--the last, not will be, but should be,first!

  Here are the requisites. One: The flag floating gracefully from thepeak of the spanker gaff above them, in the light air of the sunnyafternoon, should be the stars and stripes, instead of the red cross ofSt. George! Two: The prow of the ship should be turned to the woodedshores of Virginia, and the Old Dominion should be her destinationinstead of the chalk cliffs of England! Three: that a certainhandsome, fair, blue-eyed, gallant sailor, who answered to the name ofJohn Seymour, should be by her side instead of another, even thoughthat other were one who had once saved her life, and to whose care andkindness and forethought she was much indebted. Her present attendantwas certainly a gentleman; and to an unprejudiced eye--which herscertainly was not--quite as handsome and distinguished and gallant aswas his favored rival, and boasting one advantage over the other inthat he bore a titled name--not such a desideratum among American girlsat that time, however, as it was afterwards destined to become; and ina girl of the stamp of Miss Katharine Wilton, possibly no advantage atall.

  But, could the heart of that fair damsel be known, all talk ofadvantage or disadvantage, or this or that compensating factor, wasabsolutely idle! She was not a girl who did things by halves; and thefeeling which had prompted her to give herself to the young sailor,though of sudden origin, had grown and grown during the days of absenceand confinement, till, in depth and intensity, it matched his own. Shewas not now so sure that, among the other objects of her adoration, hewould have to take the second place; that, in case of division, herheart would lead her to think first of her country. Insensibly had hisimage supplanted every other, and with all the passionate devotion ofher generous southern nature she loved him.

  Lord Desborough had ample opportunity for ascertaining this fact. Hehad seen her risk her life for Seymour's own. He could never forgetthe glorious picture she made standing across the prostrate form ofthat young man, pistol in hand, keeping the mob at bay, never wavering,never faltering, clear-eyed, supreme. He would be almost willing todie to have her do the like for him. He could still hear the echo ofthat bitter cry,--"Seymour! Seymour!"--which rang through the housewhen they had dragged her away. These things were not pleasantreminiscences, but, like most other unpleasant memories, they would notdown. In spite of all this, however, he had allowed himself--nay, hispermission he vowed had not been asked--to fall violently in love withthis little colonial maiden, and a country maiden at that! Not beingpsychologically inclined, he had never attempted to analyze her charmor to explain his sensations. Realizing the fact, and being young andtherefore hopeful, he had not allowed himself to despair. Really, hehad some claims upon her. Had he not interfered, she would have beenmurdered that night in the dining-room. He had earned the gratitudethen and there of her father, and of herself as well; and he had earnedmore of it too when he had shot dead a certain brutal maraudingblackguard by the name of Johnson, at the first convenient opportunity,having received incidentally, in return for his message of death, abullet in his own breast to remind him that there are always twopersons and two chances in a duel. A part of the debt of the Wiltonshad been paid by the assiduous and solicitous care with whichthey--Katharine chiefly, of course--had nursed him through the long anddangerous illness consequent upon his wound. It was his interest whichhad prevented further ill treatment of them by the brutal and tyrannousDunmore, and, had Katharine so elected, would have secured her freedom.She had, however, to Desborough's great delight, chosen to accompanyher father to England, where he was to be sent as a prisoner of highpolitical consequence.

  After waiting many weary days at the camp of the fugitive and deposedgovernor at Gwynn's Island, they had been separated from Desborough,and unceremoniously hustled on board the frigate Radnor, which wasunder orders for England. They had stopped long enough at Norfolk towitness Dunmore's savage and vindictive action in bombarding andburning that helpless town; and from that point Katharine had beenenabled to send her letter to Seymour, through a friendly American spy,just before taking departure for their long voyage across the seas.The orders of the Radnor had been changed at the last moment, however,and she had been directed to go in pursuit of Jones and the Ranger,which it was currently reported had got to sea from the Delaware Bay,bound for Canada and the Newfoundland coast. No vessel being ready forEngland at that time, the two prisoners had been transferred,fortunately for them, to a small ship bound to the naval station atBarbadoes; and thence, after another weary dreary wait, had been senton board his Britannic majesty's ship Yarmouth, Captain John Vincent,bound home for England. The first lieutenant of this ship happened tobe a certain Patrick Michael Philip O'Neal Drummond, Lord Desborough,son and heir to the Earl of Desmond! He congratulated himself mostheartily upon his good fortune.

  Providence had, then, thrown a lover again at Katharine's feet. Notthat there was anything unusual in that. She might not regard it in aprovidential light, however; but he, at least did so, and he hadintended to improve the shining hours of what would be a long cruise,in the close association permitted by the confined limits of the ship,to make a final desperate effort to win the heart which had hitherto soentirely eluded him that he could not flatter himself that he had madethe least impression upon it. His success during the first three orfour days of the cruise had not been brilliant. She had beenunaffectedly glad to see him apparently, and gentle and kind in herreception,--too kind, he thought, with the circumspection of alover,--but that was all. To add to his trials, he soon found himselfnot without rivals nearer at home than Seymour. Judging by presentresults, Washington, if he had a few regiments of Katharines, couldcarry consternation to the whole British army! For the captors had,apparently, taken the oath of allegiance to the captured, and the wholeship's company, from that gruff old sailor Captain Vincent down throughall the other officers to the impudent and important little midshipman,were her devoted slaves. Even Jack forward, usually entirelyunresponsive to the doings aft on the quarterdeck, put on an extraflourish or so, and damning his eyes, after the manner of theunsophisticated sailorman, gazed appreciatively upon her beauty,envying those fortunate mortals privileged to radiate about her person.Vincent might be the captain, but Katharine was certainly the queen ofthe ship. Colonel Wilton, too, shone, not altogether by reflectedlustre either; and the considerate officers had done everythingpossible to make him forget that he was a prisoner.

  Early one afternoon in the beginning of February, the Yarmouth, beingunder all plain sail with the wind two or three points abaft the beam,was bowling along under a fresh breeze about a day's sail east ofMartinique. The weather was perfect, and be
cause of the low latitude,in spite of the winter season, there was no touch of sharpness in theair, which was warm and delightful. All the necessary drills andexercises having been concluded earlier in the day, the whole ship'scompany was enjoying a period of unusual relaxation and idleness. Themen at the wheel, the lookouts kept constantly at the mastheads, themarines doing sentry duty, with the midshipmen of the watch and theofficer of the deck busily pacing to and fro, were the only people, outof the six hundred and odd men who made up the ship's complement, whopresented any appearance of activity whatever. The men of the watch onand the watch off, dinner being over, were sitting or lounging about inall sorts of easy attitudes,--some of them busy with their needles;others overhauling their clothes-bags, to which they had been givenaccess that afternoon; others grouped about some more brilliantstory-teller than the rest, eagerly drinking in the multifariousdetails of some exciting personal experience, or romantic adventure, ornever-ending story of shipwreck or battle, or mystery--technically,yarns! Colonel Wilton was standing aft with Captain Vincent in theshadow of the spanker. Miss Wilton, with Chloe, her black maid, behindher chair, was sitting near the break of the poop-deck, lookingforward, surrounded by several lieutenants; Desborough being at herright hand, of course, feeling and looking unusually gloomy and morose.One or two of the oldest and boldest midshipmen were also lingering onthe outskirts of the group, as near to their divinity as they daredcome in the presence of their superior officers. The conversationhappening to turn, as it frequently did, upon the subject of thepresent war between England and the colonies engaged in rebellionagainst the paternal power, was unusually animated.