CHAPTER XLIX. LIBERTY LOSES A FRIEND
Mr. Bordley's sloop took Mr. Swain to Gordon's Pride in May, and placedhim in the big room overlooking the widening river. There he would lieall day long, staring through the leaves at the water, or listening tothe sweet music of his daughter's voice as she read from the pompousprints of the time. Gentlemen continued to come to the plantation, forthe barrister's wisdom was sorely missed at the councils. One day, asI rode in from the field, I found Colonel Lloyd just arrived fromPhiladelphia, sipping sangaree on the lawn and mopping himself with hishandkerchief. His jolly face was troubled. He waved his hand at me.
"Well, Richard," says he, "we children are to have our first whipping.At least one of us. And the rest are resolved to defy our parent."
"Boston, Mr. Lloyd?" I asked.
"Yes, Boston," he replied; "her port is closed, and we are forbid anyintercourse with her until she comes to her senses. And her citizensmust receive his gracious Majesty's troopers into their houses. And if aman kill one of them by any chance, he is to go to England to be tried.And there is more quite as bad."
"'Tis bad enough!" I cried, flinging myself down. And Patty gave me aglass in silence.
"Ay, but you must hear all," said he; "our masters are of a mind todo the thing thoroughly. Canada is given some score of privileges. HerFrench Roman Catholics, whom we fought not long since, are thrown asop, and those vast territories between the lakes and the Ohio andMississippi are given to Quebec as a price for her fidelity. And so, ifthe worst comes to worst, George's regiments will have a place to landagainst us."
Such was the news, and though we were some hundreds of miles fromMassachusetts, we felt their cause as our own. There was no need ofthe appeal which came by smoking horses from Philadelphia, for theindignation of our people was roused to the highest pitch. Now Mr. Swainhad to take to his bed from the excitement.
This is not a history, my dears, as I have said. And time is growingshort. I shall pass over that dreary summer of '74. It required no verykeen eye to see the breakers ahead, and Mr. Bordley's advice to provideagainst seven years of famine did not go unheeded. War was the lastthing we desired. We should have been satisfied with so little, wecolonies! And would have voted the duties ten times over had our rightsbeen respected. Should any of you doubt this, you have but to read the"Address to the King" of our Congress, then sitting in Philadelphia.The quarrel was so petty, and so easy of mending, that you of thisgeneration may wonder why it was allowed to run. I have tried to tellyou that the head of a stubborn, selfish, and wilful monarch blocked theway to reconciliation. King George the Third is alone to blame for thathatred of race against race which already hath done so much evil. AndI pray God that a great historian may arise whose pen will reveal thetruth, and reconcile at length those who are, and should be, brothers.
By October, that most beautiful month of all the year in Maryland, wewere again in Annapolis: One balmy day 'twas a Friday, I believe, and agold and blue haze hung over the Severn--Mr. Chase called in GloucesterStreet to give the barrister news of the Congress, which he had latelyleft. As he came down the stairs he paused for a word with me in thelibrary, and remarked sadly upon Mr. Swain's condition. "He looks like adying man, Richard," said he, "and we can ill afford to lose him."
Even as we sat talking in subdued tones, the noise of a distantcommotion arose. We had scarce started to our feet, Mr. Chase and I,when the brass knocker resounded, and Mr. Hammond was let in. His wigwas awry, and his face was flushed.
"I thought to find you here," he said to Mr. Chase. "The Anne ArundelCommittee is to meet at once, and we desire to have you with us."Perceiving our blank faces, he added: "The 'Peggy Stewart' is in thismorning with over a ton of tea aboard, consigned to the Williams's."
The two jumped into a chaise, and I followed afoot, stopped at everycorner by some excited acquaintance; so that I had the whole story,and more, ere I reached Church Street. The way was blocked before thecommittee rooms, and 'twas said that the merchants, Messrs. Williams,and Captain Jackson of the brig, were within, pleading their cause.
Presently the news leaked abroad that Mr. Anthony Stewart, the brig'sowner, had himself paid the duty on the detested plant. Some hundreds ofpeople were elbowing each other in the street, for the most part quietand anxious, until Mr. Hammond appeared and whispered to a man at thedoor. In all my life before I had never heard the hum of an angry crowd.The sound had something ominous in it, like the first meanings of a windthat is to break off great trees at their trunks. Then some one shouted:"To Hanover Street! To Hanover Street! We'll have him tarred andfeathered before the sun is down!" The voice sounded strangely likeWeld's. They charged at this cry like a herd of mad buffalo, the weakerones trampled under foot or thrust against the wall. The windows of Mr.Aikman's shop were shattered. I ran with the leaders, my stature andstrength standing me in good stead more than once, and as we twistedinto Northwest Street I took a glance at the mob behind me, and greatwas my anxiety at not being able to descry one responsible person.
Mr. Stewart's house stood, and stands to-day, amid trim gardens, inplain sight of the Severn. Arriving there, the crowd massed in front ofit, some of the boldest pressing in at the gate and spreading over thecircle of lawn enclosed by the driveway. They began to shout hoarsely,with what voices they had left, for Mr. Stewart to come out, calling himnames not to be spoken, and swearing they would show him how traitorswere to be served. I understood then the terror of numbers, andshuddered. A chandler, a bold and violent man, whose leather was coveredwith grease, already had his foot on the steps, when the frightenedservants slammed the door in his face, and closed the lower windows. Invain I strained my eyes for some one who might have authority with them.They began to pick up stones, though none were thrown.
Suddenly a figure appeared at an upper window,--a thin and wasted womandressed in white, with sad, sweet features. It was Mrs. Stewart. Withoutflinching she looked down upon the upturned faces; but a mob of thatkind has no pity. Their leaders were the worst class in our province,being mostly convicts who had served their terms of indenture. Theycontinued to call sullenly for "the traitor." Then the house dooropened, and the master himself appeared. He was pale and nervous, andno wonder; and his voice shook as he strove to make himself heard. Hiswords were drowned immediately by shouts of "Seize him! Seize the d--dtraitor!" "A pot and a coat of hot tar!"
Those who were nearest started forward, and I with them. With me 'twasthe decision of an instant. I beat the chandler up the steps, and tookstand in front of the merchant, and I called out to them to fall back.
To my astonishment they halted. The skirts of the crowd were now come tothe foot of the little porch. I faced them with my hand on Mr. Stewart'sarm, without a thought of what to do next, and expecting violence. Therewas a second's hush. Then some one cried out:
"Three cheers for Richard Carvel!"
They gave them with a will that dumfounded me.
"My friends," said I, when I had got my wits, "this is neither thejustice nor the moderation for which our province is noted. You haveelected your committee of your free wills, and they have claims beforeyou."
"Ay, ay, the committee!" they shouted. "Mr. Carvel is right. Take him tothe Committee!"
Mr. Stewart raised his hand.
"My friends," he began, as I had done, "when you have learned thetruth, you will not be so hasty to blame me for an offence of which I aminnocent. The tea was not for me. The brig was in a leaky and dangerousstate and had fifty souls aboard her. I paid the duty out of humanity--"
He had come so far, when they stopped him.
"Oh, a vile Tory!" they shouted. "He is conniving with the Council.'Twas put up between them." And they followed this with another volleyof hard names, until I feared that his chance was gone.
"You would best go before the Committee, Mr. Stewart," I said.
"I will go with Mr. Carvel, my friends," he cried at once. And heinvited me into the house whilst he ordered his coach. I preferred toremain ou
tside.
I asked them if they would trust me with Mr. Stewart to Church Street.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Carvel, we know you," said several. "He has good cause tohate Tories," called another, with a laugh. I knew the voice.
"For shame, Weld," I cried. And I saw McNeir, who was a stanch friend ofmine, give him a cuff to send him spinning.
To my vast satisfaction they melted away, save only a few of the idlestspirits, who hung about the gate, and cheered as we drove off. Mr.Stewart was very nervous, and profuse in his gratitude. I replied thatI had acted only as would have any other responsible citizen. On the wayhe told me enough of his case to convince me that there was much tobe said on his side, but I thought it the better part of wisdom not tocommit myself. The street in front of the committee rooms was empty, andI was informed that a town meeting had been called immediately at thetheatre in West Street. And I advised Mr. Stewart to attend. But throughanxiety or anger, or both, he was determined not to go, and drove backto his house without me.
I had got as far as St. Anne's, halfway to the theatre, when it suddenlystruck me that Mr. Swain must be waiting for news. With a twinge Iremembered what Mr. Chase had said about the barrister's condition, andI hurried back to Gloucester Street, much to the surprise of those I meton their way to the meeting. I was greatly relieved, when I arrived, tofind Patty on the porch. I knew she had never been there were her fatherworse. After a word with her and her mother, I went up the stairs.
It was the hour for the barrister's nap. But he was awake, lying backon the pillows, with his eyes half closed. He was looking out into thegarden, which was part orchard, now beginning to shrivel and to brownwith the first touch of frosts.
"That is you, Richard?" he inquired, without moving. "What is goingforward to-day?"
I toned down the news, so as not to excite him, and left out theoccurrence in Hanover Street. He listened with his accustomed interest,but when I had done he asked no questions, and lay for a long timesilent. Then he begged me to bring my chair nearer.
"Richard,--my son," said he, with an evident effort, "I have neverthanked you for your devotion to me and mine through the best years ofyour life. It shall not go unrewarded, my lad."
It seemed as if my heart stood still with the presage of what was tocome.
"May God reward you, sir!" I said.
"I have wished to speak to you," he continued, "and I may not haveanother chance. I have arranged with Mr. Carroll, the barrister, to takeyour cause against your uncle, so that you will lose nothing when I amgone. And you will see, in my table in the library, that I have leftmy property in your hands, with every confidence in your integrity, andability to care for my family, even as I should have done."
I could not speak at once. A lump rose in my throat, for I had come tolook upon him as a father. His honest dealings, his charity, of whichthe world knew nothing, and his plain and unassuming ways had inspiredin me a kind of worship. I answered, as steadily as I might:
"I believe I am too inexperienced for such a responsibility, Mr. Swain.Would it not be better that Mr. Bordley or Mr. Lloyd should act?"
"No, no," he said; "I am not a man to do things unadvisedly, or to letaffection get the better of my judgment, where others dear to me areconcerned. I know you, Richard Carvel. Scarce an action of yours hasescaped my eye, though I have said nothing. You have been through thefire, and are of the kind which comes out untouched. You will have JudgeBordley's advice, and Mr. Carroll's. And they are too busy with theaffairs of the province to be burdened as my executors. But," he addeda little more strongly, "if what I fear is coming, Mr. Bordley willtake the trust in your absence. If we have war, Richard, you will not becontent to remain at home, nor would I wish it."
I did not reply.
"You will do what I ask?" he said.
"I would refuse you nothing, Mr. Swain," I answered. "But I have heavymisgivings."
He sighed. "And now, if it were not for Tom, I might die content," hesaid.
If it were not for Tom! The full burden of the trust began to dawn uponme then. Presently I heard him speaking, but in so low a voice that Ihardly caught the words.
"In our youth, Richard," he was saying, "the wrath of the Almighty isbut so many words to most of us. When I was little more than a lad, Icommitted a sin of which I tremble now to think. And I was the fool toimagine, when I amended my life, that God had forgotten. His punishmentis no heavier than I deserve. But He alone knows what He has made mesuffer."
I felt that I had no right to be there.
"That is why I have paid Tom's debts," he continued; "I cannot castoff my son. I have reasoned, implored, and appealed in vain. He is likeReuben,--his resolutions melt in an hour. And I have pondered day andnight what is to be done for him."
"Is he to have his portion?" I asked. Indeed, the thought of theresponsibility of Tom Swain overwhelmed me.
"Yes, he is to have it," cried Mr. Swain, with a violence to bring on afit of coughing. "Were I to leave it in trust for a time, he would haveit mortgaged within a year. He is to have his portion, but not a pennyadditional."
He lay for a long time breathing deeply, I watching him. Then, as hereached out and took my hand, I knew by some instinct what was tocome. I summoned all my self-command to meet his eye. I knew that themalicious and unthinking gossip of the town had reached him, and that hehad received it in the simple faith of his hopes.
"One thing more, my lad," he said, "the dearest wish of all--that youwill marry Patty. She is a good girl, Richard. And I have thought," headded with hesitation, "I have thought that she loves you, though herlips have never opened on that subject."
So the blow fell. I turned away, for to save my life the words would notcome. He missed the reason of my silence.
"I understand and honour your scruples," he went on. His kindness waslike a knife.
"No, I have had none, Mr. Swain," I exclaimed. For I would not bethought a hypocrite.
There I stopped. A light step sounded in the hall, and Patty came inupon us. Her colour at once betrayed her understanding. To my infiniterelief her father dropped my fingers, and asked cheerily if there wasany news from the town meeting.
On the following Wednesday, with her flag flying and her sails set, thePeggy Stewart was run ashore on Windmill Point. She rose, a sacrifice toLiberty, in smoke to heaven, before the assembled patriots of our city.
That very night a dear friend to Liberty passed away. He failed sosuddenly that Patty had no time to call for aid, and when the motherhad been carried in, his spirit was flown. We laid him high on the hillabove the creek, in the new lot he had bought and fenced around. Thestone remains:
HERE LIETH
HENRY SWAIN, BARRISTER. BORN MAY 13, 1730 (O.S.); DIED OCTOBER 19, 1774. Fidus Amicis atque Patrice.
The simple inscription, which speaks volumes to those who knew him, wascut after the Revolution. He was buried with the honours of a statesman,which he would have been had God spared him to serve the New Countrywhich was born so soon after his death.
Volume 8.