CHAPTER LVII. I COME TO MY OWN AGAIN
'Twas a rough, wild journey we made to Portsmouth, my dears, and Ithink it must have killed me had not my lady been at my side. We were nosooner started than she pulled the curtains and opened her portmanteau,which I saw was near filled with things for my aid and comfort. And Iwas made to take a spoonful of something. Never, I believe, was medicineswallowed with a greater willingness. Talk was impossible, so I lay backin the corner and looked at her; and now and anon she would glance atmy face, with a troubled guess in her own as to how I might stand thenight. For we were still in London. That I knew by the trot of ourhorses, and by the granite we traversed from time to time. But at lengthwe rumbled over a bridge, there was a sharp call back from our post-boyto him of the chaise behind, and then began that rocking and pitchingand swaying and creaking, which was to last the whole night long, savefor the brief stops at the post-houses.
After an hour of it, I was holding my breath against the lurches, likea sea-sick man against that bottomless fall of the ship's bows on theocean. I had no pain,--only an over whelming exhaustion,--but the joyof her touch and her presence kept me from failing. And though Aunt Lucydozed, not a wink of sleep did my lady get through all of those wearytwelve hours. Always alert was she, solicitous beyond belief, scanningever the dial of her watch to know when to give me brandy and physic;or reaching across to feel my temples for the fever. The womanliness ofthat last motion was a thing for a man to wonder at. But mostmarvellous of all was the instinct which told her of my chief sickeningdiscomfort,--of the leathery, travelled smell of the carriage. As arelief for this she charged her pocket-napkin with a most delicateperfume, and held it to my face.
When we drew up to shift horses, Jack would come to the door to inquireif there was aught she wanted, and to know how I was bearing up. Andoften Mrs. Manners likewise. At first I was for talking with them, butthis Dorothy would not allow. Presently, indeed, it was beyond my power,and I could only smile feebly at my Lord when I heard Dolly asking himthat the hostlers might be more quiet. Toward morning a lethargy fellupon me. Once I awoke when the lamp had burned low, to perceive thecurtains drawn back, a black blotch of trees without, and the moonlightstreaming in on my lady's features. With the crack of a whip I was offagain.
When next consciousness came, the tarry, salt smell of a ship was in mynostrils, and I knew that we were embarked. I lay in a clean bunk in afair-sized and sun-washed cabin, and I heard the scraping of ropesand the tramp of feet on the deck above my head. Framed against theirregular glass of the cabin window, which was greened by the waterbeyond, Dorothy and my Lord stood talking in whispers.
"Jack!" I said.
At the sound they turned and ran toward me, asking how I felt.
"I feel that words are very empty, Jack, to express such a gratitude asmine," I answered. "Twice you have saved me from death, you have paidmy debts, and have been stanch to us both in our troubles. And--" Theeffort was beyond me, and I glanced appealingly at Dolly.
"And it is to you, dear Jack," she finished, "it is to you alone that weowe the great joy of our lives."
Her eyes were shining through her tears, and her smile was like the sunout of a rain-swept sky. His Lordship took one of her hands in his own,and one of mine. He scanned our faces in a long, lingering look.
"You will cherish her, Richard," he said brokenly, "for her like isnot to be found in this world. I knew her worth when first she came toLondon, as arrant a baggage as ever led man a dance. I saw then thata great love alone was needed to make her the highest among women, andfrom the night I fought with you at the Coffee House I have felt uponwhom that love would fall. O thou of little faith," he cried, "whatlittle I may have done has been for her. No, Richard, you do not deserveher, but I would rather think of her as your wife than that of any manliving."
I shall not dwell upon that painful farewell which wrung our hearts, andmade us silent for a long, long while after the ship was tossing in theshort seas of the Channel.
Nor is it my purpose to tell you of that long voyage across theAtlantic. We reached Lisbon in safety, and after a week of lodgings inthat city by the best of fortune got passage in a swift bark bound forBaltimore. For the Chesapeake commerce continued throughout the war, andkept alive the credit of the young nation. There were many excitementsere we sighted the sand-spits of Virginia, and off the Azores we werechased for a day and a night by a British sloop of war. Our captain,however, was a cool man and a seaman, and slipped through the cruiserslying in wait off the Capes very triumphantly.
But the remembrance of those fair days at sea fills my soul withlonging. The weather was mild and bright for the season, and morningupon morning two stout topmen would carry me out to a sheltered spoton the deck, always chosen by my lady herself. There I sat by the hour,swathed in many layers of wool, and tended by her hands alone. Everynook and cranny of our lives were revealed to the other. She loved tohear of Patty and my years at Gordon's, and would listen with batedbreath to the stories of the Ranger and the Bonhomme Richard, and ofthat strange man whom we both loved, whose genius had made those cruisesfamous. Sometimes, in low voices, we talked of our future; but often,when the wind blew and the deck rocked and the sun flashed uponthe waters, a silence would fall between us that needed no word tointerpret.
Mrs. Manners yielded to my wish for us all to go to Carvel Hall. It wason a sparkling morning in February that we sighted the familiar toe ofKent Island, and the good-natured skipper put about and made for themouth of our river. Then, as of old, the white cupola of Carvel Housegleamed a signal of greeting, to which our full hearts beat a silentresponse. Once again the great windmill waved its welcome, and the samememory was upon us both as we gazed. Of a hale old gentleman in thesheets of a sailing pinnace, of a boy and a girl on his knees quiveringwith excitement of the days to come. Dorothy gently pressed my hand asthe bark came into the wind, and the boat was dropped into the greenwater. Slowly they lowered me into it, for I was still helpless, Dorothyand her mother and Aunt Lucy were got down, and finally Mr. Marmadukestepped gingerly from the sea-ladder over the gunwale. The cutter leapedunder the strong strokes up the river with the tide. Then, as we roundedthe bend, we were suddenly astonished to see people gathered on thelanding at the foot of the lawn, where they had run, no doubt, in aflurry at sight of the ship below. In the front of the group stood out astrangely familiar figure.
"Why," exclaimed Dolly, "it is Ivie Rawlinson!"
Ivie it was, sure enough. And presently, when we drew a little closer,he gave one big shout and whipped off the hat from his head; and off,too, came the caps from the white heads of Scipio and Chess and Johnsonbehind him. Our oars were tossed, Ivie caught our bows, and reached hishand to Dorothy. It was fitting that she should be the first to land atCarvel Hall.
"'Twas yere bonny face I seed first, Miss Dolly," he cried, the tearscoursing down the scars of his cheeks. "An' syne I kennt weel theyoung master was here. Noo God be praised for this blythe day, that Mr.Richard's cam to his ain at last!"
But Scipio and Chess could only blubber as they helped him to liftme out, Dolly begging them to be careful. As they carried me up thefamiliar path to the pillared porch, the first I asked Ivie was ofPatty, and next why he had left Gordon's. She was safe and well, despitethe Tories, and herself had sent him to take charge of Carvel Hall assoon as ever Judge Bordley had brought her the news of its restorationto me. He had supplied her with another overseer. Thanks to the goodjudge and to Colonel Lloyd, who had looked to my interests since Graftonwas fled, Ivie had found the old place in good order, all the negroesquiet, and impatient with joy against my arrival.
It is time, my children, to bring this story to a close. I would I mightwrite of those delicious spring days I spent with Dorothy at CarvelHall, waited on by the old servants of my grandfather. At our whim mychair would be moved from one to another of the childhood haunts; oncool days we sat in the sun by the dial, where the flowers mingled theirodours with the salt breezes off the Chesapeake; or
anon, when it waswarmer, in the summer-house my mother loved, or under the shade of thegreat trees on the lawn, looking out over the river. And once my ladywent off very mysteriously, her eyes brimful of mischief, to come backwith the first strawberries of the year staining her apron.
We were married on the fifteenth of June, already an anniversary for usboth, in the long drawing-room. General Clapsaddle was there from thearmy to take Dorothy in his arms, even as he had embraced another brideon the same spot in years gone by. She wore the wedding gown that washer mother's, but when the hour was come to dress her Aunt Lucy and AuntHester failed in their task, and it was Patty who performed the most ofthat office, and hung the necklace of pearls about her neck.
Dear Patty! She hath often been with us since. You have heard yourmothers and fathers speak of Aunt Patty, my dears, and they will tellyou how she spoiled them when they went a-visiting to Gordon's Pride.
Ere I had regained my health, the war for Independence was won. I prayGod that time may soften the bitterness it caused, and heal the breachin that noble race whose motto is Freedom. That the Stars and Stripesand the Union Jack may one day float together to cleanse this world oftyranny!
AFTERWORD
The author makes most humble apologies to any who have, or think theyhave, an ancestor in this book. He has drawn the foregoing with a veryfree hand, and in the Maryland scenes has made use of names rather thanof actual personages. His purpose, however poorly accomplished, was togive some semblance of reality to this part of the story. Hence he hasintroduced those names in the setting, choosing them entirely at randomfrom the many prominent families of the colony.
No one may read the annals of these men, who were at once brave andcourtly, and of these women, who were ladies by nature as well as bybirth, and not love them. The fascination of that free and hospitablelife has been so strong on the writer of this novel that he closes itwith a genuine regret and the hope that its perusal may lead others tothe pleasure he has derived from the history of Maryland.
As few liberties as possible have been taken with the lives of CharlesJames Fox and of John Paul Jones. The latter hero actually made a voyagein the brigantine 'John' about the time he picked up Richard Carvelfrom the Black Moll, after the episode with Mungo Maxwell at Tobago. TheScotch scene, of course, is purely imaginary. Accuracy has been aimedat in the account of the fight between the 'Bonhomme Richard' and the'Serapis', while a little different arrangement might have been betterfor the medium of the narrative. To be sure, it was Mr. Mease,the purser, instead of Richard Carvel, who so bravely fought thequarter-deck guns; and in reality Midshipman Mayrant, Commodore Jones'saide, was wounded by a pike in the thigh after the surrender. Noinjustice is done to the second and third lieutenants, who were absentfrom the ship during the action.
The author must acknowledge that the only good anecdote in the book andthe only verse worth printing are stolen. The story on page concerningMr. Garrick and the Archbishop of York may be found in Fitzgerald'slife of the actor, much better told. The verse (in Chapter X) is by anunknown author in the Annapolis Gazette, and is republished in Mr. ElihuRiley's excellent "History of Annapolis."
PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
A bold front is half the battle A man ought never to be frightened by appearances Affections warm despite absence, and years, and interest Ever been my nature to turn forward instead of back Genius honored but never encouraged God bless their backs, which is the only part I ever care to see He was our macaroni of Annapolis Human multitude with its infinity of despairs and joys It is sorrow which lifts us nearest to heaven No real prosperity comes out of double-dealing Shaped his politics according to the company he was in Sight of happiness is often a pleasure for those who are sad Sir, I have not yet begun to fight The worse the disease, the more remarkable the cure Their lines belonged rather to the landscape (cottages) Thy politics are not over politic Tis no so bad it micht-na be waur Within every man's province to make himself what he will Ya maun ken th' incentive's the maist o' the battle Youth is in truth a mystery
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends