From Kingdom to Colony

by Mary Devereux

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art]

  [Frontispiece: Dorothy Devereux Southorn with George Washington]

  FROM

  KINGDOM TO COLONY

  BY

  MARY DEVEREUX

  _ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY SANDHAM_

  BOSTON

  LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

  1904

  _Copyright, 1899,_

  BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

  _All rights reserved._

  PRESSWORK BY

  S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.

  TO

  MY FATHER

  _OF WHOM IT IS INSCRIBED_

  "EMINENT IN LIFE AND NOBLE IN HEART, LOVING TO MEN AND LOYAL TO CHRIST, HE WAS A BLESSING TO THE WORLD AND AN HONOR TO THE CHURCH"

  From Kingdom to Colony

  PROLOGUE

  When William, Duke of Normandy, invaded England in 1066, and achievedfor himself the title of "Conqueror," one of those who accompanied himwas Robert D'Evreux, younger son of Walter, Earl of Rosmar, feudalowner and ruler of the town of his name in Normandy.

  After the battle of Hastings, in which William won so great a victory,he, wishing to honor the memory of the noblemen and knights by whoseaid it had been accomplished, placed their names upon a roll which wassuspended in a stately pile, called "Battle Abbey," erected by him uponthe field of battle.

  In the several exemplifications of "Battle Abbey Roll," as it wastermed, the name of Robert D'Evreux is variously expressed as"Daveros," "Deverous," "Conte Devreux," and "Counte Devereux."

  It was the close of an early May day in 1639. Charles I. was reigningmonarch of England, and the Scotch Covenanters were disturbing hiskingdom's peace.

  Against these malcontents Charles had sent his army, and RobertDevereux, only son of the beheaded favorite of Elizabeth, and now thirdEarl of Essex, had been made Lieutenant-General, he having already, byhis resolution and activity no less than by his personal courage, donegood service to the King and won much honor for himself.

  On this May day, in Warwick, far from all scenes of war or rumors fromcourt, Bromwich Castle, the home of Sir Walter Devereux,Baronet--cousin and present heir of the King's unmarriedLieutenant-General--lifted its turrets, about whose clinging ivy thelate afternoon sunshine played golden and warm.

  It was a huge pile, massively irregular in architecture, and its thickwalls bore traces of those times when a Baron of England was a power inthe land,--monarch of his domain, and chief of his own people.

  A rugged old tower was its keep, flanked by four symmetrical turrets,and crowned by a battlement overlooking the whole country around.About these clung ivy in a thousand thick wreaths; and here and there,where it was not, the centuries had woven a fantastic tracery of moss,green as the ivy itself, and delicate as frost-work.

  What had been the moat was now but a pleasant grassy hollow, carpetedthickly with golden cowslips and fragrant violets, their growing lippedby a tiny stream of purest water.

  The castle was surrounded almost to its walls by the forest of ancientoaks, spreading in all directions, and becoming denser and more wild asit stretched miles away. And here were the deer, numerous and fat,that well supplied the larder for Sir Walter's board, or cooled theirsides amid the rankly growing brake and ferns, where naught troubledthe intense silence of the dusky aisles save the whir of the pheasant,or the foot of the hare, light as the leaf dropping from the green archoverhead.

  Sir Walter was in the forest this day, and with him were his threegoodly sons, besides several retainers. The notes of the horn had comefaintly to the castle now and again, as they pursued the chase; and upin her apartments Anne, the seventeen-year-old wife of Sir Walter'syoungest son, sat watching for a first glimpse of the returninghuntsmen.

  Upon her knees lay an open volume, bound in white vellum, and withclasps of pearl. It was richly illuminated, every page presenting apicture gorgeous with color, and it was a carefully narrated story oftravel and adventure in that far-away country across the ocean forwhich she and her young husband were soon to set sail.

  She paused over one of the illustrations, and gazed at it long andearnestly, while her agate-gray eyes grew wide, and became filled withconsternation. It was the picture of an Indian chief, in all theformidable toggery of war dress and paint; and his fierceness of mienbrought to her young heart a hitherto unknown dread and terror.

  The golden of the sun was turning to rose, when a clatter of hoofs andthe sound of men's voices drew her eyes toward the courtyard below.

  Resting her dimpled arms upon the rough stone of the window-ledge, sheleaned over and smiled down into the upturned face of hertwenty-two-year-old husband, whose dark eyes sought her casement ere hedismounted from his tired horse, which the esquire at its head had nowlittle need to hold. He waved his hand to her, while a bright smileillumined his grave face, and she responded by blowing him a kiss fromthe tips of her taper fingers.

  The old Baronet, who had been the first to dismount, looked up as well,and shook his hunting spear at her.

  "Ah, rogue!" he called out. "Wait till I catch thee! With never akiss to spare thy old father!"

  Her fresh young laugh rang out gayly as she retorted, "But I have manyan one, if you choose, good sir, as surely you wot right well."

  "'T is a dear child,--a sweet lass, Jack," the old man said to hisyoungest son as the two entered the castle side by side. "My heartmisgives me at thought of her going to the far-off heathen country,amongst savages and wild beasts; for, alack, who can tell what maybefall there?"

  Behind them followed Leicester, Sir Walter's eldest son, and beside himwas young Will,--in his boyhood a page, and now the heir's specialesquire. Walter, the next son, came after them, and then the retainers.

  These latter bore the deer slain that afternoon,--a famous buck, withgreat spreading antlers; and the hounds were close by, sniffing aboutthe carcass with repressed excitement.

  The three sons of Sir Walter Devereux were much alike in coloring andstature, being tall and stalwart, with broad shoulders, deep chests,and martial bearing. Their faces were dark, with regular features andfull rounded foreheads, and the narrow, strongly marked eyebrows archedover unusually large dark eyes.

  But the eyes of these three young men were totally different inexpression. Those of Leicester were apt to glow with over-haughtiness;for albeit proof was not lacking to show that he had done kind deedsand was a loyal friend and subject as well as a valiant soldier, he wasfeared, rather than liked, by his subordinates.

  Walter's eyes bespoke his true nature,--a rollicking one. Indeed anenemy of "Wat" Devereux were a hard matter to find.

  But, favorite though he was, his younger brother, John, went far beyondhim in this respect. His was a quiet nature, much given tocontemplation; one that drew the best from all hearts about him. Hehad been his mother's idol; and his face was the last her dying eyessought three years before, as he sat, pale and silent, by her bedside,calmly and prayerfully awaiting her end. He it was to whom the oldBaronet always opened his heart, when the elder son's haughty reserveperplexed or hurt him, or Walter's recklessness brought trouble.

  Up in the dusking turret room, on the cushions by the open casement,John Devereux now sat, dressed for the evening meal.

  Putting his strong arm about Anne, he drew her head to his shoulder,and laughed when she showed him the picture that had so affrighted her,while she confided to him her fears lest some such demon should workevil upon him in that strange land in which they were about to find anew home.

  "Nay, sweetheart," he said earnestly, "never would I think to take theeto such perils. There be few, if any, such Indians in the countrywhere we shall abide. These writings treat of long-ago days, whengood
ly English hearts were few on that shore. 'T is changed now; andalbeit somewhat rougher than here in our father's castle, 't is everywhit as safe. And think, sweetheart," he added proudly, "we shall bethe head of our name in this new land,--the same as our brotherLeicester here, in old England."

  She clung to him silently, while he stroked her soft hair and bent hishandsome head to see her face, now smiling, and looking more reassured.

  "Art thou still fearful, little one?" he asked presently.

  She lifted her face to look into his eyes, and clasped her arms abouthis neck.

  "Fearful?" she repeated. "Nay, not I, so long as thou art with me."

  He drew her head against his breast, and a brooding peace fell uponthem, broken only by the cawing of the rooks circling about the tower,or the melancholy notes of the ringdoves ensconced amid the ivy on theancient turrets.

  Across the broad Atlantic, on the rocky shore of Marblehead, the Maysun had been shining as golden and warm as in old England; and the newhome, although lacking the renown which age and legend had brought toevery stone of Bromwich Castle, was enveloped by the glory that comesfrom the love of pure, brave hearts and God-fearing lives.

  Facing the open sea along a portion of the shore of what is now knownas Devereux and Clifton, lay the acres--forest and meadow land--ofwhich John Devereux was owner. The house--a low, rambling stonebuilding, of somewhat pretentious size for those days, and fitted withstout oaken doors and shutters--stood in a small clearing.

  Only a few yards away were the sheds for cattle, placed thus near forgreater protection against thieving Indians, as well as the pilferingpirates who at rare intervals swept along the coast and descended uponthe unwary settler, in quest of food or booty.

  The virgin forest rose all about, save to the southwest, where thefields were planted to the extent of several acres; and beyond thesethe forest came again, stretching away to the site of the present townof Marblehead, more than a mile off.

  In front of the house was a small open space where the trees had beencut away and the undergrowth removed, that a glimpse might be obtainedof the sea; and the land, sloping to the sands, ended in a noble sweepof beach.

  A mile or more to the south and southwest, by Forest River, dwelt theIndians, their wigwams not so many as a few years before; for want andpestilence had sadly weakened the once proud Naumkegs.

  Their chief, the renowned Nanepashemet, was now dead; and the presentruler, his widow, the "Squaw Sachem," was, like her tribe, too greatlybroken by the vicissitudes of fate to resist the encroachments of thewhites. And her only surviving son, Weenepauweekin, or, as thesettlers called him, "George," was either indifferent, or else too wiseto risk incurring further trouble for his tribe by assuming other thanan amicable attitude toward his white neighbors.

  And thus it was that between the settlers and the Naumkegs all was atpeace.

  The wife of Weenepauweekin, Ahawayet by name, was well known to AnneDevereux and her husband; and both she and her daughter, a girl ofseventeen, were frequent visitors at the house of the "English Chief,"as John Devereux was called by the Indians.

  In her own gentle, coaxing way, Anne had undertaken to instructAhawayet in the Christian faith, and hoped to impress also the wayward,wild-eyed daughter, Joane, who would sometimes come from her dignifiedplaying with the children of the "English Chief" to crouch by hermother, and listen to these teachings.

  When the news of Sir Walter's death had come across the sea, tearsgathered in Anne's eyes as she raised them to those of her sad-facedhusband.

  "I cannot but think," she said, "on Sir Walter's face, as we saw itfade away while we stood on the ship's deck that morn, with the tearsstreaming down his cheeks like I never saw them come from a man's eyesbefore."

  "Aye," her husband added, "he was a dear, good father, and a friend aswell. God grant that we and them that come after us do naught to bringreproach or sorrow to the name he hath worn, as have so many beforehim, with pride, and right good dignity."

  The sun was sinking fast, and the odor of the forest growths wasbeginning to mingle with the tang of the sea.

  The voices of men and women busy about the cattle and milking weremaking a cheerful sound of life and bustle from the sheds andouthouses; and on the low-roofed porch in front of the house door,overhung with drooping vines, John Devereux's three sons, Humphrey,John, and Robert, were busy at play.

  But they were not too busy to pause now and then to send searchingglances into the forest in quest of their father, whom they all unitedin adoring as the wisest and greatest of created beings.

  Humphrey, the eldest, was looking forward proudly to his ninthbirthday, now almost at hand, when he was to have the promise fulfilledof being permitted to go along with his father to hunt in the forest,or out on the sea, to fish.

  Near them sat their mother, stouter and more matronly than the slenderAnne of ten years ago. The aforetime dainty hands were not guiltlessof toil stains, and the dark hair was now gathered beneath a snowymobcap, with only here and there a short, wayward curl stealing out totrail across her brow or touch her pretty ears.

  A sudden shout from the boys announced their father's appearance, as hecame out of the woods and across the clearing, and with him Noah, thedarkey servant, well loaded with game.

  "Thou hast had a most successful hunt!" exclaimed Anne, smiling abright welcome into her husband's fond eyes, while the children's smallhands clung to him, and tiny brown fingers were poked into the mouthsof dead rabbits, or tweaked their whiskers to see if they were reallydead, or tried to pull open the beaks and eyes of slain birds.

  "Aye," was his laughing reply, as he gently freed himself from thelittle clinging hands; "and I have found more in the forest than gamealone, in that I have a most ferocious appetite,--one I trust thou wilthave a plenty to satisfy."

  "Give the game to David," said Anne, as a younger and smaller editionof Noah approached, "and come thou within and see, for the supper hathbeen ready this half hour."

  An hour later the children were all safely in Nodland, and husband andwife were sitting either side the fireplace, where the burning wood waspleasant to feel, for a chill had crept into the air. But the outerdoor was open, and through it came the hoarse notes of the frogs downin the swampy lands, mingled with the roar of the surf along thenear-by shore.

  They sat in silence, each content with the other's nearness, as theywatched the leaping flames, which made the only light in the room. Andthis was reflected in a thousand scintillating sparks from the brassfire-dogs that upheld the logs, and in the handles of the shovels andtongs, scrubbed and polished with all the power of arm possessed byShubar, the Indian wife of old Noah.

  Suddenly a lithe, girlish form slipped through the half-open door,coming with a tread as noiseless as the leaping shadows about the farcorners of the room, and Joane, the Squaw Sachem's granddaughter,glided to the hearth and stood between John Devereux and his wife.

  So accustomed were they to such things that neither of them wasstartled, but kindly bade her welcome.

  Crouching on the hearth, she turned her dusky face and glittering eyestoward John Devereux, and said quietly and in a low voice, "Strangeboat--big boat in harbor, English Chief."

  He looked troubled, and Anne glanced at him apprehensively, while Joanecontinued, now speaking more rapidly, "Gran'mudder sent me tell betterkeep door shut--better get gun."

  "Thou dost mean that the Squaw Sachem sent thee to tell there bedanger?" John Devereux asked, half rising from his chair, and lookingtoward the door. "She thinks they mean evil?"

  "Don't know how answer. English Chief talk too fast--ask too manyquestions all same time. Go slow--then Joane hear right--tell himright." And she smiled up into his face while she touched the slenderforefinger of her left hand with the fingers of the right, as ifwaiting to enumerate his questions.

  "Thy grandmother sent thee?"

  The girl nodded, and touched a second finger.

  "She thinks the men on the ship may do us harm?"


  "Say don't like looks--got bad black faces," replied Joane, scowling asthough to illustrate her meaning.

  "Have any of them come ashore yet?" he asked anxiously.

  "Yes--so many," holding up seven brown fingers, "come 'shore. Getwater to drink--then go back to ship when sun shines. But no go 'wayyet--no mean to go. Tell gran'mudder want somethin' eat. Take ourcorn, and pay no money."

  "Pirates!" John Devereux exclaimed, now starting to his feet, while helooked at his wife, whose face paled.

  He hurried across the room, bolted and barred the stout door, andexamined the window fastenings, the Indian girl still crouching by thehearth and watching him placidly, as if a pirate raid were a matter ofsmall moment.

  But her sparkling eyes, and the heaving bosom agitating the many beadnecklaces hanging from throat to waist, betrayed her.

  "See thou to the children, sweetheart, and warn the maids," JohnDevereux said to his wife, as he took down his gun and examined itcarefully, "while I go to the men and see that the cattle be safe, andthe back of the house made secure."

  "Good!" exclaimed Joane, with quick approval. "English Chief nosleep--heap good. Give Joane gun, too."

  "Had thou not best return to the wigwam, Joane, and to the SquawSachem?" inquired Anne, pausing as she was about to leave the room.

  "What go for?" the girl demanded, while her eyes flashed with fierceintensity. "No good go--can fight here--fight good, too. Joane stayand fight by English Chief and his 'Singing Bird,'"--this being thename given by the Naumkegs to Anne, on account of her musical voice.

  Knowing that nothing would turn Joane when once her ideas were fixed,and knowing too that her skill with the bow and gun was equal to thatof any warrior, Anne was silent,--grateful indeed for any addition tothe slender force at hand for defence.

  There were in all but nine men, servants and laborers,--two of themwhite, and the others either Africans or Indians; but they were all,saving old Noah, young, stalwart, and fearless.

  John Devereux posted these men in the outbuildings and sheds, as cattlewere generally the spoil sought by the marauders when they visited thecoast. And when assigning them their positions, he warned them, shouldthey find themselves in danger of being overpowered, to give a signaland retreat to the house, where a side-door would be opened for theirentrance. Then, having left with them a plentiful supply ofammunition, he went within to mount guard over his wife and babies.

  He had five guns wherewith to arm his household, without counting hisown piece, and every woman in his service was acquainted with theiruse. Even Anne herself had, under his own tuition, become no meanmarkswoman.

  Within doors he found the women greatly excited, and fluttering aboutaimlessly; but a few quiet words soon brought order amongst them, andwith it a return of their courage. Then, having accomplished this, hewent once more through the house, from the rooms downstairs to thelow-ceilinged sleeping apartments above, and satisfied himself that allwas secure.

  In the nursery he found his wife looking at the little boys, who werelying on two great bags of ticking, stuffed with the feathers of wildgeese, and placed on the floor, in lieu of bedsteads.

  They were sleeping soundly, oblivious of the alarm about the house; andstanding beside his wife, his arm around her waist, John Devereuxlooked down at them.

  On one of the pallets lay Humphrey, his strong young arms outstretched,and his chest--broad for his years, and finely developed---showingwhite as alabaster where the simple linen garment was rarely buttonedby his impatient fingers.

  On the other were the two younger boys; and Robert, the gentlest of thethree, with his father's own winsome nature, lay with his head halfpillowed against his brother John's shoulder.

  "What a blessed thing is childhood, and ignorance of danger!" murmuredAnne, looking at her husband.

  "Aye," he said softly, as they turned away. "So may we know no fear ofdangers that threaten, sweet wife, while we trust to Him who watchethus,--who 'slumbers not, nor sleeps.'"

  And as she had answered him ten years before, so she said to him now,"So long as we be together, I have no fear."

  A long and shrill sound now broke the silence. It was the blowing ofthe conch shell suspended in front of the outer door; and it announceda visitor seeking admission.

  Surprised at this, and alarmed as well, husband and wife hurried to thefront room below stairs, where they found Joane still crouched upon thehearth. Her bow, now unslung, lay close at hand, and she was examiningwith pleased curiosity the clumsy blunderbuss resting across herknees,--one that John, at her earnest request, had intrusted to her.

  "No enemy--make heap too much noise," was her sententious remark, asshe looked up from her inspection of the weapon.

  "Mayhap they but do that to disarm us," John replied, as he wentcautiously toward the door.

  He knew there was no way, except from the beach, for any one toapproach the house unseen by his faithful outposts. And he hadreckoned upon no attack coming from that quarter, as there was nosailing breeze. Then, again, the pirates would be more likely to comefrom the direction of the forest, hoping to effect a greater surprisethan if they came from the water.

  The wailing cry of the conch shell pierced the air for the second time,to echo again in falling cadences that died away in the woods and overthe sea.

  Placing his lips to the loophole near the door, John Devereux nowdemanded to know who was outside.

  A nasal, whining voice replied; and although the words wereindistinguishable, their sound caused the Indian girl to laughscornfully.

  She said nothing, however, but springing quickly to her feet, sped tothe small opening. Then, before her purpose could be understood, shethrust the muzzle of the blunderbuss through the aperture.

  "Hold, Joane!" commanded John, as he caught her arm. "What is't thouwouldst do,--kill, perchance, an innocent man? Put the gun down,child, until I challenge again, and know for a surety who it be.Methinks the voice hath a familiar sound."

  Joane obeyed him, still smiling maliciously as she said: "Only wantgive him heap big scare. Him big 'fraid--him coward."

  "'T is Parson Legg!" exclaimed Anne, now recalling the piping voice,and enlightened by Joane's contemptuous words.

  Her husband opened the door, and a slim, weazen-faced, bandy-leggedlittle man stepped hastily within, his eyes, small and keen as those ofa ferret, blinking from the sudden passing out of darkness into light.

  "Good e'en to thee, Parson Legg; thou art late abroad," said Anne,coming forward. She did not smile, nor was there aught of welcome inher voice or manner.

  But this lack of cordiality was not felt by the unexpected visitor, forhe doffed his steeple-crowned hat, which, like the rest of his apparel,was much the worse for wear, and responded briskly, "Good e'en,Mistress Anne, an' the same to you, neighbor John; I hope the Lord'sblessin' is upon all within this abode. Ah, who have ye here?" and hepeered down at Joane, who had resumed her place before the fire, herback turned squarely toward Parson Legg as he stood in the centre ofthe room.

  He came closer to her, but for all the notice she vouchsafed of hiswords or presence she might have been one of the brass fire-dogsupholding the blazing logs.

  "'T is the Squaw Sachem's granddaughter, Joane," replied John Devereux,turning from the door, which he had refastened.

  "Aye, so it be," said the little man; "one o' the unregenerate heathen,upon whom, if they turn not from their idolatrous ways, shall descendsmitings sore from the Lord. Hip an' thigh shall they be smitten, andtheir places shall know them no more."

  "Joane hath no idols, good sir, that I know on," said his host, as hecame forward and offered the visitor a seat, and then took one himselfby the door. "She seemeth ever ready to heed the words of my goodwife, and our babes could not have a more gentle playfellow."

  Anne had seated herself near Joane, by the fire; and she looked with novery friendly eyes at the Parson, as she said, "Think you not, goodsir, it were better to chide the 'unregenerate heath
en,' as you callthem, with more gentleness?"

  His little eyes narrowed into yet meaner lines as he fixed them uponher face. Then leaning forward to lay a finger upon the gun that againlay across Joane's knees, he answered, "It would seem but poor excuseto prate o' gentleness to one who at unseemly hours and seasons goethabout with death-dealin' weapons, seekin' whom she may devour."

  The Indian girl still sat immovable; a statue could not have appearedmore bereft of hearing or speech. But to Anne's face there came a lookof fine scorn, which softened however into almost a smile as sheglanced at her husband.

  "Joane came to warn us of danger," John said quietly. "She tells usthere is a strange ship in harbor, and we be now armed to guard againstpirates,--for such they promise to be."

  Parson Legg sprang to his feet as though stung by a passing insect.

  "Pirates!" he repeated, in a shrill cry of alarm. "Pirates,--say yeso? I heard naught o' such matter. I was in the woods hereabout allthe afternoon, readin' the psalmody, an' makin' joyful melody unto theLord, till darkness o'ertook me, an' I bethought myself to make my wayto this abode, neighbor John, as peradventure thou an' Mistress Anne,thy wife, would give me food an' shelter in the Lord's name tillmornin'."

  Parson Legg was only an itinerant preacher, having long striven, butwithout avail, to be accepted by the colonists as successor to theirlate beloved pastor, the Reverend Hugh Peters, who had gone to Englandsome years before to act as their agent, and was likely to remain therefor some time to come, being now a chaplain in the army of Cromwell.

  But Legg was entirely unfitted, both by birth and education, for theposition to which he aspired. He was selfish and irritable, with agrasping, worldly nature, despite his outward show of humility andsanctity, and was regarded by the colonists with suspicion and illyconcealed dislike, while the Indians held him in positive hatred.

  Since the summer day, two years before, when he had come upon Joane inthe forest, attired in the manly habiliments of her tribe,--this beingonly for greater convenience while hunting--and had hurled at her younghead anathemas such as fairly smelled of brimstone, it had been openwar between the two; and the very sight of one to the other was likethat of a plump kitten to a lively terrier.

  Anne had by this time set forth a meal upon the table, andnotwithstanding his recent fright, Parson Legg's little eyes glistenedvoraciously as he drew up his chair, while he smacked his thin lipsmore as would a sturdy yeoman, than like a meek and lowly follower ofthe creed which crucifies the flesh and its appetites.

  John still kept his seat by the door, his keen ears listening intentlyfor any unusual sound without, while Parson Legg crunched away at thevenison and corn bread,--doing this with more gusto than was pleasantfor either eye or ear.

  Anne had left the room, motioning to Joane to follow her, and anintense silence seemed to lie about the house, save as it was broken bythe sputtering of the fire upon the hearth and the sound of ParsonLegg's gastronomic vocalism, and now and then the subdued murmur ofwomen's voices from one of the rooms in the rear.

  A sudden roar of firearms, followed by wild yells and cries without,shattered the peaceful brooding of the place, and caused Parson Legg tospring wildly from his chair.

  "The heathen are upon us!" he gasped, his articulation being somewhatimpeded by the presence of a huge piece of venison in his mouth. "Theheathen are come upon us with riotin' an' slaughter! John--JohnDevereux, hide me, I beseech thee,--hide me from their vengeance. I ama man o' peace, an' the sight o' bloodshed is somethin' I could ne'erabide."

  John paid no attention to the terrified little man, but springing upwith an impetuosity that sent his chair flying across the room, stooderect and scowling, his face turned toward the sounds of strife, andhis strong fingers gripping his gun.

  "Anne--wife--where art thou?" he cried, as the din increased, and moreshots were fired.

  "Here." And she quietly entered the room, her face pale, but perfectlycalm. "The noise hath awakened the little boys, but I have left Shubarwith them, and promised to return shortly."

  "Where is Joane?" her husband asked quickly.

  "With Shubar and the boys."

  "Good; for then there be one gun near, to assure the little ones."

  He had been nervously fingering the hammer of his own piece, and whilespeaking he crossed the room and took a position near that side of thehouse from whence came the sound of firearms.

  Anne remained by the hearth, watching him closely, her tightly clenchedhands being all that told of the agitation within.

  "Are the little ones much affrighted?" he asked.

  "No," she said, still in her calm, sweet fashion; "they do not seem tobe--that is, not much. Humphrey begged that he might have a gun, andRobert sat quiet, looking at me with eyes so like your own as he asked,'Art fearful, mother? Father will ne'er let them hurt us.'"

  John Devereux smiled proudly, for the moment forgetting the din aboutthem.

  "And John," he asked,--"what said our second son?"

  "He seemeth most affrighted of all," she replied. "He wept at first,and hid his face in my gown; but he was calm when I came away. Thouknowest, John, that the lad hath not been well since the fever, lastfall."

  "Aye, true,--poor little Jack!" the father said. And he now wonderedwhat might have happened outside, for there was a ceasing of the uproar.

  He listened intently a moment. "Methinks, sweetheart, I'd best gooutside and see what this silence doth mean. Thou'lt not be fearful ifI leave the house awhile?"

  She grew still paler, but only shook her head. Then she askedsuddenly, "Where be Parson Legg?"

  Husband and wife looked about the room, and then at one another.

  "He was here when the firing began," said John, finding it difficultnot to smile as he recalled the scene.

  "But wherever can he have gone?" persisted Anne.

  "Hiding somewhere, I warrant me," was her husband's reply. "He is anarrant--"

  His words were drowned by the roar of a blunderbuss, coming apparentlyfrom just over their heads, and this was followed a moment later by awild yell of triumph from outside.

  It was from John's men, and he started to open the door. But before hecould do this there arose such a clamor in the nursery above that heand Anne, forgetful of all else, sped up the stairway.

  Old Shubar's voice came to them raised in shrill cries, echoed by thoseof the boys,--only that Humphrey and Robert seemed to speak more fromindignation than fright.

  Wondering what it could all mean, they hurried into the room, where anabsurd sight met their alarmed eyes.

  In one corner, beside Humphrey's pallet, stood Shubar, still utteringthe wild shrieks they had heard, and huddling about her were the threeboys,--John clinging to her gown, while Humphrey and Robert, bothfacing about, were shouting at a strange figure that burrowedfrantically into the pallet occupying the opposite corner of thechamber.

  "Shubar says 't is a witch," cried Robert. "Take thy gun and slay herbefore she bring evil upon us."

  "Be quiet, my son," said his father, scarcely able to repress hislaughter, for at the sound of his voice Parson Legg's weazened face,all blanched by fear, was lifted from out the pillows, and a pair ofterror-stricken eyes peered over his shoulder.

  He had been lying face downward, partially covered by the bedclothes,under which he was still trying to conceal himself; and hissteeple-crowned hat, now a shapeless wreck, was pulled down over hisears, as if to shut out more effectually the sounds of strife that hadwell-nigh bereft him of reason.

  "It would seem thou canst preach far better, Parson Legg, than defendthyself from the enemy," John Devereux said rather grimly, looking downwith unconcealed contempt upon the little coward, while Anne busiedherself in reassuring the children and quieting Shubar's angrymutterings.

  "Even so, neighbor John, even so," answered the Parson, in no wisedisconcerted at the sarcasm of the other's words and tone, and makingno movement to emerge from his retreat. "As I told thee below, I am aman o'
peace, an' I like not the sound o' war an' the sight o'bloodshed. But what doth this silence portend?--are the enemyrouted,--are they vanquished, an' put down, smitten hip an' thigh, an'put to flight by thy brave followers?"

  His anxious queries met with no reply, for John Devereux, who wasstanding upon the threshold of the room, had become conscious of asharp current of air blowing upon his cheek. It told him that thescuttle was open overhead, and turning about, he darted swiftly up theladder.

  He was soon upon the roof, and here he stood a few moments and lookedkeenly about.

  The voices of his men came to him from the ground below. They had lefttheir concealment, and the lightness of their tones told him that alldanger was past.

  As his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, the dim starlightrevealed to him the outlines of a form crouching behind the greatchimney not far away.

  "Joane!" he called softly, suspecting who it might be.

  She arose and came to him, and he heard her laughing to herself.

  "What camest thou up here for?" he demanded, speaking quite sharply.

  "Joane shoot pirate captain," she answered, still laughing. "Heapscare 'em--no know where shot come from--all run away to ship."

  And so it proved. The marauders, having received a very differentreception from the one they had expected, were utterly discomfited whenan unseen enemy--in the person of Joane and her blunderbuss--scattereda mighty charge of slugs and bullets in their midst. Their leader wasstruck in the arm, and fearing they had fallen into an ambuscade fromwhich it would be difficult to escape, he shouted to his men that hewas wounded, and bade them fly to the ship.

  This was the last of the raids that had so annoyed the colonists, andthenceforth they were free from such molestation.

  John Devereux's days passed on, full of peace and pleasantness, untilhe died at a ripe old age, respected and loved by all hisfellow-townsmen, and mourned deeply by the faithful wife who did notlong survive him.

  The boys lived to man's estate, were married, and had children of theirown. But Humphrey and John died in their father's lifetime; and so itwas that Robert, the second son, became the heir.