Joscelyn Cheshire: A Story of Revolutionary Days in the Carolinas

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

  CHAPTER XVII.

  OUT OF THE SHADOW AND INTO THE SUN.

  "O God, it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood." --BYRON.

  For one awful minute neither man moved; then the patrol, with the horrorin his face as of one who looks upon a thing of another world, gave ahoarse scream which was swallowed up in the roar of the sea. Richarddid not know what an uncanny sight he made rising up from that gravewith his hair unkempt, his face like ashes, and a burial cloth stillbound about his jaws. He comprehended only that detection threatened,and detection meant death. With one bound he cleared the grave betweenthem, and grappled with the guard. Under other circumstances hewould have been no match for the man, starved and weak as he was; butdesperation--that fierce, mad desire to live--gave him strength. Itwas not so much he as that aroused demon within him that gave back thepatrol's blows, struck the gun from his hands, and finally gripped himabout the throat. Not a word was said, not a cry was uttered, as theytossed and swayed backward and forward, to the right or left, sank onone knee and rose again to stagger and struggle anew. If Richard couldkeep that strangling hold, the fight was his, and with it the libertyfor which he longed; if the other man could break it, then life wouldpay the forfeit. Doggedly he hung on, though his fingers strained andhis head reeled, while the other beat him about the body and shoulderswith blows that began to lose their force, for that iron grip upon hiswindpipe was telling at last. Richard was literally choking the lifeout of him. Backward he went--backward--until the muscles in his chestswelled, and the joints of his back and shoulders cracked--stillbackward, with everything dark before him. Then suddenly his kneescollapsed, and he went down to the sand in a shapeless huddle. But eventhen Richard did not let go his hold; deeper, and yet deeper his fingerssank into the flesh under them, until not a quiver was left in theinsensible limbs. Then finally he stood up and looked upon his work.

  God! he had committed murder.

  "FOR A LONG MINUTE HE STOOD THERE, TREMBLING,HORROR-STRICKEN."]

  For a long minute he stood there, trembling, horror-stricken; then theself within him cried out, and he roused up to thought and action. Thatdead body would tell its own disastrous tale when the relief watch came;should he bury it here in his own grave? Yes, that cheated sepulchreshould have its inmate; and he reached for the board. But no; therewould not be time; it would take hours to hide it, trembling and weakas he was, something else must be done, something quick. Should he runfor the dunes and leave it where it lay? If found thus, search would bemade for the slayer; he would be setting the watch upon his own track.He pressed his hands helplessly to his temples, staring meanwhile uponthe horror there at his feet. Then suddenly the explanation came: theman's beat ended on a rock that dropped sharply into the water; he knew,for he had noticed when he came ashore before with the funeral boat.If he could throw the body down there, it would be thought the man hadwalked off in the fog and gloom; no suspicion would be aroused, and hewould be free from pursuit.

  Shivering at the contact, he seized the body and dragged it along overthe shells and pebbles. Once or twice he lost his bearings in the shortjourney, but a rising wind blew out trailing lengths of fog before himand, aided thus, in a little while he reached his goal. But he could notsee the body enter the water; it would be like a second murder, and sowith eyes close shut he pushed it off and groaned in his soul to hearthe splash that came from below.

  "God bear witness that I did not want his blood upon my hands!"

  Then he looked away to the dunes and took one step toward them. But thegun--it lay yonder by the graves; he might as well have left the bodyitself there. Hastily he returned, smoothed over the sand where thestruggle had fallen, and seizing the man's gun and hat, he sped again tothe rock, placing them near the ledge, that they might seem to have beendropped there in an attempt at self-preservation. Then he was free togo. Into the fog he plunged, making for where the sand-dunes rose; andas he tottered down into the underbrush beyond, he heard the sunset gunfrom the station boom out through the mist. He had lived a wholelifetime in the last half hour.

  It had been his plan to cross the island and seek some means of escapingto the Jersey coast from the south-side villages, but the fog hideverything, and he seemed walking in a circle. He was weak fromexcitement and lack of food, and after stumbling blindly onward for awhile, he turned to the left and kept on a parallel with the coast, theboom of the surf being his guide; but always he kept the sound farenough away to avoid the sentinels from the patrol. The fog had turnedinto a rain, cold and depressing, and so after walking an hour or two hewas willing to risk something of danger for food and rest. He had passedseveral houses but had kept aloof through fear; now, however, he benthis steps to a tiny light burning ahead.

  It was a fisherman's cottage close to an inlet that jutted in from thebay, and as good fortune would have it the old man, detained by thestorm, was just getting home. Even in the little harbour the swell wasunusually strong, and the man was having much difficulty in beaching hisboat, so that Richard's aid was most timely.

  "Who are you, my friend?" the fisherman asked, when everything was snugand taut.

  "A traveller who has lost his way."

  The old fellow squinted his eyes for a closer look. "A traveller? Well,'tis enough; we never ask names, my old woman and I, for in such days asthese a man's name is ofttimes his most secret possession. We know notthe rights of this war, and so we take no sides, but pray that justicemay conquer. Now, how can I pay you for your help?"

  "By giving me food and shelter."

  "That will I, for without you I should have lost my whole day's take andthat had been a terrible mishap. Fry an extra fish, mother," he calledinto the cottage.

  "Ay, two of them, good mother. I pray you; for I am as a ravening wolfseeking what I may devour," Richard said, putting his head in at thedoor; and his voice was so bonny that the old woman filled the skilletwith a lavish hand. And in that firelit hut he ate the first palatablemeal he had had since Monmouth day. Then he set himself artfully topersuade the fisherman to take him down the Sound in his boat.

  "Nay, I never go now, the journey is too much for me; and besides I mustgo to-morrow to the camp to sell my fish. But the soldiers go and comebetween here and New York every day; if you will come with me to thecamp, I will get you company."

  But Richard evaded the invitation. After a while the old woman said:"There is Dame Grant who lives just over the inlet, she goes down theSound day after to-morrow to see her people,--she hath recently heardthat her niece hath a new baby (a fine girl weighing ten pounds in itsskin and to be named for the dame), mayhap you could find passage withher."

  But again Richard shook his head, shuddering inwardly at the thoughtthat the old woman might recognize him and be tempted by the standingreward for escaped prisoners to give him again into captivity. He wouldfind some other way, he said, and talked of the fishing in the Sound.When the old man's pipe was smoked out they went to bed, and in spite ofthat haunting scene beside the wind-swept graves, Richard sleptprofoundly through the night hours. Waking before the old couple in thegray morning, he crept down from the loft, and raking together the coalsupon the hearth, he breakfasted on the remains of last night's supper,then stole out into the wet and sombre world.

  How sweet it was to breathe the early air and feel the earth beneath hisfeet, and have the weeds and underbrush rap him about the knees as hepushed away to the interior! The fisherman's hut was a league behind himwhen he saw the east redden with the rising sun, for the besom of thestorm had swept the heavens clear. What a wonderful light threaded thewoods and glorified the tree-tops, sparkling and changing with everymotion of the boughs! Often he had seen it among his native Carolinahills, this opaline opening of the morn, but never before with such athrill of appreciation, such a rush of exquisite joy.

  "Good morning, Joscelyn; I am a free man to-day." And he bowed as thoughhe had been in a ball-room, and picking a bit of blo
ssom that nodded athim, he stuck it jauntily in his ragged coat.

  If it had not been for that dead face playing hide-and-seek always amongthe bushes about him, he could have whistled as he walked. Now and thenhe sighted houses and cultivated fields, but he kept to the woods; notuntil he reached the sea on the other side of the island would heventure to show his face at a door. There were wild grapes in thethickets and sweet beach mass to eat; and a little past noon he found alate melon in the weeds of a fence corner, and feasted like a lord.

  But half a mile farther on, his pleasure was forgotten in a keenexcitement, for from a slight eminence, he saw the plain stretching tothe right and left white with the tents of soldiery; and not ten pacesfrom him a sentinel, with his back this way, sat on a fallen tree andread a letter. A few more steps, and he would have been in the hornets'nest,--a helpless captive. Instantly he dropped upon his knees, andcrawled into the brush as stealthily as a creature of the jungle. He hadevidently come too far west in his flight, for this was a part ofClinton's army, quartered here within easy reach of New York. Far awayto either side the tents reached, dotting the whole expanse of country.To turn either wing looked like an impossibility; it would take him daysto skirt those picket posts to the east; and on the west, he knew fromwhat the fisherman had said that they must reach even to the hamletwhence the boats went daily to New York. To take that route meant a sureand swift destruction, since he would be thrusting himself into the verytoils he longed to avoid. His one chance seemed to be a retreat the wayhe came, and then to beat his way to the northeast along the coast ofthe Sound, and get over to the Connecticut side on some fishing-boat. Hewould be weeks--perhaps months--longer in reaching Washington or home,but better that a thousand times than certain capture. He reasoned itall out carefully, lying under the thicket, and then lingered a fewminutes to envy the unconscious sentinel his letter, for of course itwas from home. How long it had been since he had heard aught of hisloved ones--three weary months!

  Downcast and disheartened, he returned along his own trail, and in theearly twilight heard the boom of the surf ahead of him. But he hadmissed his way somewhat, and came out of the brush on the side of theinlet across from the fisherman's hut. He found he would have to walk anextra mile or two to get back to that shelter for the night. He sighedand turned, but just at that moment there flashed upon his sight a lightfrom a window some fifty yards down the inlet, and on the same side withhimself.

  Stay; this was Dame Grant's hut, and she went to-morrow to the Jerseyshore to visit her kin.

  He did not go back around the head of the cove, but turned instead intothe field before this other hut, whose friendly light was winking at himthrough the dusk. His resolution was taken, for good or ill.

  Evidently the dame had company, for there was the sound of voices andlaughter on the water front of the little house; and Richard stood stillwith a tingling sense of pleasure,--it had been so long since he hadheard people laugh joyously and heartily, that the sound came like theecho of something loved but almost forgotten. Between a hayrick and thefence he finally lay down to wait; and while he waited he slept, forwhen he awoke the hut was silent, although the light still burned at thewindow. The chill of autumn was in the air, and he shivered as hecrossed the enclosure and stood looking into the lighted room. It was apleasant scene: the two boys slept upon a wooden bench, but the dame satby the table, busy with a piece of bright-hued patchwork, and Richardtook heart of grace that she smiled as she sewed. From his raggedboot-leg he had taken Colborn's gold piece, and now he used it to taplightly on the small, diamond-shaped pane. The dame looked up insurprise to see a hatless man at her window; but he smiled cheerily andbeckoned, holding the gold piece against the glass that she might seeit. For a moment she looked at him frowningly, then the glitter of thegold won her, and she got up and opened the door.

  "What want you at this hour of the night at an honest woman's house?"

  "I want an honest conversation with an honest woman, therefore came I toyour door, knowing where to find both. In all true faith and respect Iam here; so come, good mother, ask me in. Without your bidding I willnot enter, for I would not wilfully intrude upon the privacy of a lady."He bowed low, clicking his heels as neatly as though he were her partnerin a minuet.

  "Go along with your fine ways," she said, but she laughed.

  "No ways can be too fine for a lady." And he took her hand and kissed itwith the air of a prince, clicking his heels again in that militarysalute.

  "You young impudence! leave go my hand--you'll find it heavy enough onyour ear presently. I'll warrant you have it in mind to fleece me out ofsomething, so say your say and be done with it," but there was no realanger in her voice.

  "Nay, I am no highwayman nor money beggar; for that which you do for meI will pay you well," he answered, again holding up the gold piece. "Butwould you not be more comfortable sitting?" He waved his hand toward thechair she had quitted, and the fine courtesy of his tone again calledforth her laugh; but she took the hint and, turning, bade him enter.

  "Well, where do we begin?" she said, when they were seated.

  "My mother always begins by asking a stranger to have something toeat--and you have bonny blue eyes like hers," he answered, with boyishaudacity, pushing back her loose sleeve and patting the fat arm.

  "'Tis a good place to start," she answered, shoving him off; and wouldhave called the boys to serve him, but he held her back.

  "I wish no one but you to hear what I have to say. You may trust me--Iswear it." So she opened the cupboard herself and brought out plenty ofcold food. Richard ate ravenously, praising everything (for in truth ithad a heavenly taste), and telling her how blue her eyes were, and howpretty her patchwork--just like what his own mother used to make.

  "A bit of a quilt for a bairn just born," she said, and smoothed it withher great hands.

  And Richard asked the child's name, and said it had a sweet sound, andhoped it would have blue eyes with a twinkle in them like her own. Andwhile he ate and talked she watched him narrowly. He knew it, but he didnot care. Presently she said, as one asserting a fact:--

  "You are from one of the prison-ships."

  He nodded, smiling; and his frankness evidently pleased her, for shenodded back. "That's right; no use to lie about it. I knew I had seenyour face somewhere. How did you get away?"

  "That is the one thing I cannot tell you, good mother, for it wouldimplicate the man who helped me, and not even for your favour--thoughGod knows I want it bad enough--will I betray my friend."

  "Right again; hold fast to the man who holds to you; I like to see folkgrateful."

  Then he told her how he wanted to go in her boat to the Jersey shore,and how it was he happened to know her plans. But she shook her head;the risk was too great.

  "There will be no risk at all. You are so well known to the soldiers atthe different posts that you will never be questioned. It would be butnatural for you to take some one stronger than your boys to help you inmaking so long a voyage. Find me but a coat and hat, and no one willgive me a thought, for I know how to hold my tongue when occasioncalls."

  But still she refused. Her passport called but for three, and she wasnot going to run her head into a noose for all his fine speeches andpetting ways--for he had squeezed her hand and patted her gray hairwhile he talked.

  He would not listen to her refusal; if she did not take him, he waslost. And he got hold of her other hand, and in pathetic words describedto her the agony he had suffered on the vessel; and then he dropped hishead on the table and almost sobbed as he told her of Joscelyn and hisyearning to see her.

  "Oho, a sweetheart, is it?" asked the old woman, with aroused interest.

  "Yes, as bonny a girl as you ever set eyes upon. And think you,good dame, of your own young days, of the time when the lads wereat your beck and call,--for I warrant me those blue eyes broke manyhearts,--would you not have been grateful if your lover had been inperil and some one had saved him for you?"

  The dame chuckled.
"Ay, ay, I had my fling with the lads, I did."

  "It goes without the saying. And there was one among them whom youloved?" The brown face grew suddenly very tender as with the shadow of amemory. "Then for the sake of him save Joscelyn's sweetheart for her."

  But still she shook her head, and for a minute Richard was in despair.Then he began all over again, adding the gold piece to his argument.Thus for half an hour the plea went on, and just as he felt that he hadfailed, she suddenly nodded her head decisively, that softened lightagain shining in her face.

  "One of the boys shall bide at home, and you may go in his stead, sinceyou are so set on it; but mind, you help with the boat, and I have thegold."

  "That and Joscelyn's love shall be yours, you dear, bonny dame!" hecried rapturously, seizing her about the shoulders and kissing herheartily on either red cheek.

  "Get out! Of all the lads I ever saw, you have the freest manners."But the shove she gave him had in it no roughness. He had set her tothinking of her own youth and of a lad who had gone to sea one morning,kissing his hand to her, but had never come home again, though she hadwaited for him for many a day through shine of sun and wail of storm.Through all her life a woman's first love is a touchstone to hersympathy, an open sesame to her tenderness; neither as maid, nor yet aswife, does she ever quite forget that first sweet spell upon her heart.Dame Grant scarcely saw the man beside her, but for sake of that otherlad, whom nobody had been able to help far back in the years that weredead, she would save this other girl's lover.

  In an hour their preparations were made. From the loft of her hut thedame brought down a leather jerkin and a battered hat, and after herscissors had gone over Richard's head, he was metamorphosed so thateven she herself would scarcely have recognized him.

  "You'd be a fine figure of a man if those wretches on the ship had notstarved the shape out of you."

  "My mother always said that in the way of beauty Providence had donemore for my legs than for my face," Richard laughed.

  "Well, the warden hath undone the job, for thy breeches hang like ascarecrow's. Now up into the loft with you, and find some straw whereonto sleep. 'Tis close upon midnight, and we start with the sun."

  But Richard was too full of joy and excitement to sleep much, and sowhen the dame and her boys came out the next morning, they found himsitting beside the boat, pulling on his boots after a plunge into thecold salt water. The feeling in his breast was indescribable when atlast, after many injunctions to the boy who was left, they drew out ofthe cove into the open bay, in the pearl and purple morning, and he knewhis journey was begun.

  They went somewhat out of their way that Dame Grant might leave someparcels at the patrol station, their course taking them within a hundredyards of the three prison-ships rocking in the bay. At first Richardturned his eyes away with a sickening sense of pain and rage, thenlooked eagerly to see if he might recognize Peter on the deck. Yes,there he was, near the stern; Richard knew him from his height and fromthe cap he wore, and he had to hold his teeth clenched to keep fromcrying out to him. How dismal and condemned the three hulks looked,despite the transfiguring touch of the morning! And over there on thestrand was his grave, the spot to which his mother's thoughts would makemany a sorrowful pilgrimage if so the news of his death should outrunhim to the Carolina hills.

  At the station one of the guards remarked on the fact that the dame hada new hand aboard.

  "Yes; Henry's stomach's apt to go back on him in rough weather, and atthis season o' the year we are like to get into a blow any time, so Ileft him and brought a stronger man. It turns my blood to see Henryheaving and gagging when he ought to be shortening sail."

  "Well, yon fellow hasn't much the look of a sailor," said the man, eyingRichard suspiciously as he was making awkward attempts to pull in aflapping sail.

  "Oh, he isn't showing off, but he suits me well enough," the dameanswered, with a warning side look at Richard, who instantly gave betterheed to his task. Nothing but her coolness saved him, for the guard'sword, coming so suddenly, had made him go very white.

  Then a paean of praise went singing itself through his heart, for theparcels were delivered, and pushing off from shore the boat sailed outof the bay and turned her nose to the west. Down the narrow waterwaybetween Long Island and the city of New York they sailed all themorning, stopping here and there at signals from patrol stations toshow their passports. But at none of these places were they detainedvery long, for Dame Grant had looked carefully to such matters, and sonoon found them in a wide bay to the south of the city. No misfortunehad befallen Richard, for he had kept a still tongue at every stoppingplace. In the afternoon the breeze quickened, and they went racing awaybefore it toward the ever growing shore-line ahead, and in the gloamingthey landed at a little hamlet on the Jersey side of the bay.

  High up on the beach the boat was pulled and tied to a stake, and thenwhile the boy was gaping about him, Richard went back to the boat sideand took the dame's big hand in his:--

  "You have kept your contract, and the gold is yours; God bless you for agood, true woman!" he said, leaving the coin in her palm.

  But she thrust it back vigorously: "Nay, I will none of it; I but put itin the bargain to test you. You have paid me twofold by your labour andyour good gratitude. Tell your Joscelyn that I send you to her as agift, and bid her use you well."

  Nothing could prevail upon her to touch the coin, and so at last Richardturned away.

  "Hist!" she said, holding him a moment, "'tis said there is aContinental force near Brunswick; keep to the southwest."

  "Thank you, and God keep you!" And the gathering shadows swallowed himup.

  At that very moment, on board the prison-ship _Good Hope_, EustaceSingleton was listening to the story of his death from the obsequiouswarden, and wondering how he was to write it to Betty.

  And far away in Hillsboro' Joscelyn and Betty were going slowly home inbitter disappointment, after seeing the post-rider distribute his fewletters, and finding there was nothing for them. How many and how longhad been the weeks since they wrote to Eustace; for then it wassummer-time, and now the red and ochre tints of the autumn flamed in thewoodlands. And still Betty cried, and still Joscelyn counselledpatience.