CHAPTER XII.
LOVE AND VICTORY.
This event was in many ways favorable to Maria. She was put aside,nearly forgotten for a month, in the more imminent danger to thehousehold. And by that time the almost brutal passion which in the firsthours of shame and distress could think of no equivalent but personalpunishment, had become more reasonable. For men and women, if worthy ofthat name, do not tarry in the Valley of the Shadow of Death withoutlearning much they would learn nowhere else.
Still her position was painful enough. Her father did not speak unlessit was necessary to ask her a question, her stepmother for nearly eightweeks remained in her room, and the once obsequious servants hardlytroubled themselves to attend to her wants or obey her requests. In thecold isolation of her disgrace she often longed for a more activedispleasure. If only the anger against her would come to words she couldplead for herself, or at least she could ask to be forgiven.
But Mr. Semple, though ordinarily a passionate and hot-spoken man, wasafraid to say or do anything which would disturb the peace necessary forhis wife's restoration and his son's health. He felt that it was betterfor Maria to suffer. She deserved punishment; they were innocent. Yet,being naturally a just man, he had allowed her such excuse as reflectionbrought. He had told himself that the girl had never had a mother's careand guidance; that he himself had been too busy making money to instillinto her mind the great duty of obedience to his commands. He hadconsidered also that the very atmosphere in which she had lived andmoved nearly all the years of her life had been charged with assertionand rebellion. It was the attitude of every one around her to resistauthority, even the authority of kings and governors. If she had beenbrought up in the submissive, self-effacing manner proper to Englishgirls her offense would have been unnatural and unpardonable; but heremembered with a sigh that American women, as a rule, arrogated tothemselves power and individuality, which American men, as a rule, didnot ask them to surrender. These things he accepted as some palliationof Maria's abnormal misconduct; and also he was not oblivious to thefact that her grandparents had for a year given her great freedom, andthat he, for his own convenience, had placed her with her grandparents.Besides which, anger in a good heart burns itself out.
Very slowly, but yet surely, this process was going on, and Maria'sattitude was favorable to it, for she was heart-sorry for thecircumstances that had compelled her to assert the right of herwomanhood, and her pathetic self-effacement was sincere and withoutreproach. By-the-by the babe came in as peacemaker. As soon as she waspermitted to see her stepmother she bent all the sweet magnetism of hernature to winning, at least, her forgiveness. She carried the fretfulchild in her arms and softly sung him to sleep, she praised his beauty,she learned to love him, and she made the lonely hours when Mr. Semplewas at the office pass pleasantly to the sick woman. Finally one daythey came to tears and explanations; the dreadful affair was talked out,Maria entreated forgiveness, and was not ungenerously pardoned.
This was at the close of August, and a few days afterward she received aletter from Mrs. Gordon. "We are in London for the winter," she wrote."Come, child, and let me see how you look." Rather reluctantly Mrs.Semple permitted her to make the visit. "She is the next thing to anAmerican," she thought, "and she will make Maria unreasonable anddisobedient again." But she need not so have feared; the primalobligations of humanity are planted in childhood, and when we are old weare apt to refer to them and judge accordingly.
Mrs. Gordon's first remark was not flattering, for as Maria entered herroom she cried out, "La, child! what is the matter with you? You lookill, worried, older than you ought to look. Are you in trouble?"
"Yes, Madame."
"Stepmother?"
"Father."
"Ah! Stepmothers make stepfathers, every one knows that. We shall have adish of tea and you shall tell me about it. Then I will help you. Butone can't build without stone. What has the stepfather done?"
Then Maria told her friend all her trouble, and was rather chilled inthe telling by certain signs of qualified sympathy. And when the storywas finished Mrs. Gordon's first remark was yet more disheartening:
"'Tis a common calamity," she said, "and better people than you haveendured it."
"But, Madame----"
"Yes, I know what you are going to say. But you must consider first thatyour father was acting quite within his authority. He had the right tochoose your husband."
"I had already chosen my husband."
"Then you ought, when you first came home, to have notified yourparents. Sure, you had so much responsibility to fulfill. Why did younot do your duty in this matter?"
"I think I was afraid."
"To be sure you were. Little coward! Pray what did you fear? ErnestMedway?"
"Yes. I thought, perhaps--as I told you, we parted in anger, and Ithought perhaps he might not keep his word, there were so many reasonswhy he might like to break it, and also, in war-time life is uncertain.He has been wounded, sick; he might have died."
"So might you, or I, for that matter. A pretty account you give ofyourself. Lord, child! you surely had letters to show your father."
"I had a few, but they were only a line or two. I was sure they would bemade fun of, and I was angry, too. I thought if they would not take myword, I would not give vouchers for it. Not I!"
"Don't dash at things in that way, child. Your father was not bound tobelieve your story, especially as you did not tell it until he had madeall arrangements for your marriage with this Mr. Spencer. Your conductwas too zigzaggery; you should have been straight."
"Father ought to have believed me."
"We have it on good authority that all men are liars, and I daresay thatyour father has known better people than either you or I to tell lies.Really, I ought to give you a scolding, and this is nothing like it."
"It was such an outrage to force me to the very altar. The consequenceswere at my father's door."
"Custom, use and wont, take the outrage out of many things. Goodgracious, Maria, most of the women I know were in some way or otherforced to the altar; good for them, too, and generally they found thatout. My own cousin, Lady Clarisse Home, went weeping there; Miss AnneGordon, a cousin of my husband, refused to get up, said she was ill, andher friends had the marriage at her bedside. 'Tis above or below reason,but these same women adored their husbands within a week's time."
"Oh, dear! what shall I say? What shall I do?"
"Poor little Maria! You come to England, and then are astonished that agirl of eighteen is not allowed to have her own way, even in a husband."
"I have heard that you took your own way in England, Madame."
"In Scotland, there was some difference, and I was twenty-three and hada fortune of my own."
"Tell me then, Madame, what I ought to do."
"I think you ought to go back to New York. You are unhappy here, andyou must make your father's home unhappy. That is not fair. If you arein New York, Ernest Medway will have no difficulty in keeping hisword--if he wishes to do so. If he does not keep his word, you willescape the mortification you would certainly feel in your father'shouse. Ask the stepmother for permission to go back; she will manage therest."
"Had I not better wait till the twenty-ninth of November has come andgone?"
"If you are a fool, do so. If you are wise, do not give opportunity somuch scope. Go at once."
This advice was carried out with all the speed possible. That very nightMaria found a good time to ask her stepmother's influence, and in spiteof some affected reluctances, she understood that her proposal was onethat gave great and unexpected satisfaction. She felt almost that shemight begin to prepare for the voyage; nor were her premonitions false.On the third evening after the request her father came to her room togrant it. He said he was "sorry she wished to leave him, but that underthe circumstances it was better that she left England, at least for ayear. The war is practically over," he continued, "and New York willspeedily recover herself." Then he entered into some finan
cialexplanations of a very generous character, and finally, taking a smallpackage from his pocket, said:
"Give this to your grandfather. It is a miniature of his grandson,Alexander Semple the third. He will be much delighted to see that child,for he has no other grandson. My brothers' children are only girls."
_"Only girls!"_ The two words cut like a two-edged blade, but they werenot said with any unkind intent, though he felt the unkind impressionthey made, and rose and went slowly toward the door. His manner washesitating, as if he had forgotten something he wished to say, and themomentary delay gave to Maria a good thought. She followed him quickly,and while his hand was on the door laid hers upon it. "Father," shesaid, "stay a little while. I want to ask you to forgive me. I have sooften been troublesome and self-willed, I have given you so muchannoyance, I feel it now. I am sorry for it. I cannot go back to Americauntil you forgive me. Father, will you forgive me? Indeed, I am sorry."
He hesitated a moment, looked into her white, upturned face, and thenanswered, "I forgive you, Maria. You have caused me great shame anddisappointment, but I forgive you."
"Not in that way! Oh, not in that way, father! Kiss me as you used todo. You have not kissed me for nearly a year. Dear father, do not be socold and so far-off. I am only a little girl, but I am _your_ littlegirl. Perhaps I do not deserve to be forgiven, but for my mother's sakebe kind to me."
At these words he turned fully to her, took her hands, and in a low,constrained voice said, "You are a very dear little girl, and we willlet all the trouble between us be as if it had never been. We will buryit, forgive it, and forget it evermore. It is not to be spoken of again,not as long as we live."
Then she leaned her head against his breast and he kissed her as thosewho love and forgive kiss, and the joy of reconciliation was betweenthem.
"Good night, Maria;" and as he held her close within his arm he addedwith a laugh, "What a little bit of a woman! How high are you? Maria?"
"Just as high as your heart, father. I don't want to be any higher."
"That is a very pretty speech," and this time he kissed her voluntarily,and with a most tender affection.
Five days after this interview Maria sailed for America. Her father hadcarefully attended to all things necessary for her safety and comfort,and her stepmother had tried to atone by profuse and handsome gifts forthe apparent unkindness which had hastened her departure. But Maria knewherself much to blame, and she was too happy to bear ill will. She wasgoing to see her lover. She was going to give him the assurances whichshe had so long withheld. She was now impatient to give voice to all thetenderness in her heart.
It was the nineteenth day of September when she sailed, and on thefollowing day, as Mr. Semple was sitting in his office, one of themessengers brought him a card. The light was dim and he looked intentlyat it, appeared startled, rose and took it to the window for furtherinspection. "Lord Medway" was certainly the name it bore, and ere hecould give any order concerning it the door opened and Lord Medwayentered.
Mr. Semple advanced to meet him, and the nobleman took the chair heoffered. "Sir," he said, hardly waiting for the preliminary courtesies,"Sir, I cannot believe myself quite unknown to you. And I hope that youhave already some anticipation of the purport of my visit. I come to askthe hand of your daughter Maria in marriage. I have been her devotedlover for more than three years, and now I would make her my wife. I begyou, sir, to examine these papers. They will give you a generallycorrect idea of my wealth and of the settlement I propose to make infavor of my wife."
Mr. Semple looked at the eager young man with a face so troubled that hewas instantly alarmed.
"What is it?" he cried. "Is Maria sick? Married? Sir, do not keep me insuspense."
"Maria must be very near to New York. She sailed three weeks ago."
"Oh, how unfortunate I am! I am indeed distracted at thisdisappointment."
"Will you come with me to my home? Mrs. Semple will tell you all thatyou desire to know about Maria."
"I am obliged for your kindness, sir, but there is only one thing for meto do. I must go back to New York by the first opportunity. I have yourpermission, I trust."
"I have nothing to oppose to your wishes, Lord Medway. Maria has beenfaithful to your memory, and I have every reason to know that you aredear to her. I wish you both to be happy."
"Then, sir, farewell for the present. If Fate be not most unkind to me,I will return with Lady Medway before the year be fully out."
He seemed to gather hope from his own prophecy, and with the charmingmanner he knew well how to assume he left Mr. Semple penetrated with hisimportance and dignity, and exceedingly exalted in the prospect of hisdaughter's great fortune.
"I do not wonder that Maria would accept no lover in his place," he saidto Mrs. Semple. "I think, Elizabeth, he is the handsomest man I eversaw. And I glanced at the total of his rent-roll; it is close on fortythousand pounds a year, and likely to increase as his mining property isopened up. Maria has done very well for herself."
"Then we have good authority for saying all men will praise her.Nevertheless, Cousin Richard was a handsome man and an excellent match,"said Mrs. Semple. "You had better tell Richard. It will close thataffair forever."
She was vexed, but not insensible to the social glory of the match. Andthere was also the precious boy in the cradle. A relative among thenobility would be a good thing for him; and, indeed, the subject openedup on all sides in a manner flattering both to the pride and theinterest of the Semples.
They could not cease talking of it until sleep put an end to their hopesand speculations. And in the morning they were so readily excited thatMrs. Semple felt impelled to make a confidante of her nursery maid; andMr. Semple, being under the same necessity of conversation, was pleasedto remember that his wife had advised him to inform Richard Spencer. Hetold himself that she was right, and that Richard ought to know thereason of his rejection. It would only be proper kindness to let himunderstand that Maria's reluctance was not a dislike for himpersonally, but was consequent upon her love for one who had won herheart previous to their acquaintance. That fact altered Richard'sposition and made it much less humiliating.
So he went to the offices of the Spencer Company, and after some tedioustalk on the Zante currant question, he told the rejected man of LordMedway's visit, described his appearance, and revealed, under a promiseof secrecy, the amount of his rent-roll and the settlement proposed forhis wife.
The effect of this story was precisely in the line of what Mr. Semplehad supposed. The weakness of Richard Spencer's nature was a slavishadoration of the nobility. To have had Lord Medway for a rival was anhonor to be fully appreciated; and to the end of his life it suppliedhim, in all his hours of after-dinner confidences, with a sentimentalstory he delighted to tell. "Yes, gentlemen," he would say, even when anold man, "Yes, gentlemen, I was once in love, madly in love, with asbeautiful a creature as ever trod this earth. And she led me a prettydance right to the altar steps, and then deserted me. But I cannot blameher. No, by St. George, I cannot! I had a rival, gentlemen, the young,handsome, rich and powerful Lord Medway, a nobleman that sits in thehouse of Lords and may be of the Privy Council. What hope for poor DickSpencer against such a rival? None at all, gentlemen, and so you see,for Lord Medway's sake I am a bachelor, and always shall be one. No girlfor me, after the divine Maria was lost. I saw her going to the lastdrawing-room and she smiled at me. I live for such little favors, and Ihave reason to know my great rival does not grudge them to me."
And in this way Richard Spencer consoled himself, and was perhaps morereasonably happy than if he had married a reluctant woman and beengrieved all the years of his life by her contradictions.
The unexpected return of Maria to her grandparents quite overthrew LordMedway's plans for a few hours. He had hoped to marry her in London, andtake her at once to his town house, which was even then being preparedand adorned for her. And affairs in New York were in such a state ofchaos that he was even anxious for her personal s
afety. He had lefteverything and every one in a state of miserable transition anduncertainty, and he was sure things were growing worse and wouldcontinue to do so until the departure of the hostile army and the returnof the patriotic citizens. For it was they, and they only, who had anyinterest in the preservation of their beautiful city from plunder anddestruction.
And as he thought on these things, he reflected that it would be animpossibility to secure for Maria and himself any comfortable passagehome, in the ordinary shipping, or even in the ships of war. He was sureevery available inch of room would be filled with royalist refugees, andhe knew well the likely results of men and women and children crowdedtogether, without sufficient food and water, and exposed to the winter'scold and storm without any preparation for it.
"It will not do, it will not do!" he ejaculated, "whatever it costs, Imust charter a vessel for our own use."
In pursuance of this decision, he was in the largest shipping-house veryearly the next morning, and with its aid, speedily secured a swiftsailing clipper. Her long, sharp bow and raking masts, pleased hisnautical sense; she was staunchly built, fit to buffet wind and waves,and had a well-seasoned captain, who feared nothing, and was pleased atthe terms Lord Medway offered him.
Nearly two weeks were spent in victualing and fitting her for the daintylady she was to carry. The softest pillows and rugs and carpets, madeher small space luxuriously sufficient. Silver and china and fine linenwere provided for her table, and when all her lockers had been filledand all her sailing wants provided for, Lord Medway brought on board agood cook, a maid for Maria, and a valet for himself. Then he set sailjoyously; surely, at last, he was on the right road to his bridal.
Overtaking Maria was of course beyond a possibility, but he desired toreach New York before its evacuation. He had many reasons for this, butthe chief one was a fear that unless he did so, there might be noclergyman in New York to perform the marriage ceremony. Lovers have athousand anxieties, and if they do not have them, make them; and as the"Dolphin" flew before the wind, Medway walked her deck, wondering ifMaria had arrived safely in New York, if her ship had been delayed, ifit had been taken by a privateer, if there had been any shipwreck, oreven great storms; if by any cruel chance he should reach New York, andnot find Maria there. How could he endure the consequent disappointmentand anxiety? He trembled, he turned heartsick, at any such possibility,and when the green shores of the new world appeared, he almost wishedfor a little longer suspense; he thought a certainty of Maria's absencewould kill him.
As they came nearer to the city it was found impossible to approach anyof the usual wharfs. The river was crowded with men-of-war, transports,and vessels of every kind, and after some consideration they took to theNorth River, and finally anchored in midstream, nearly opposite thehouse of Madame Jacobus.
The sight of her residence inspired him with something like hope, and hecaused the small boat by which he landed to put him on shore as farnorth of the heart of the city as possible. But even so, he coulddistinctly hear, and still more distinctly _feel_ the sorrowful tumultof the chaotic, almost frantic town. With swift steps and beating hearthe reached the Semple house. He stood still a moment and looked at it.In the morning sunshine it had its usual, peaceful, orderly aspect, andas he reached the gate, he saw the Elder open the door, and, oh, sightof heaven! Maria stepped into the garden with him.
HE CAUSED THE SMALL BOAT TO PUT HIM ON SHORE.]
What happened then? Let each heart tell itself. We have many words toexpress grief, none that translate the transports of love that hasconquered all the accidents of a contrary fortune. Such joy speakslike a child, two or three words at a time, "My Darling--Oh,Beloved--Sweetest Maria--Ernest--Ernest--At last--At last!"
But gradually they came back to the sense of those proprieties that verywisely invade the selfishness of human beings. They remembered therewere others in the world besides themselves, and broke their bliss intwo, that they might share it. And as conversation became more generalMedway perceived that haste was an imperative necessity, and that evenhaste might be too late. It was now exceedingly doubtful if a clergymancould be procured. Trinity had no authorized rector, the Reverend Mr.Inglis having resigned the charge on the first of November, just threeweeks previously, and the appointment of the Reverend Mr. Moore,selected by the corporation of Trinity, not being yet approved by theGovernor of the State of New York. To an Englishman of that day, therewas no marriage legally performed but by an accredited Episcopalminister, and this was the obstacle Lord Medway had now to face.
If General Clinton had been still in New York, the chaplain attached tohis staff would have been easily available; but Lord Medway knew littleof Sir Guy Carleton, then in command, and could only suppose his staffwould be similarly provided. As this difficulty demanded instantattention, Medway went immediately about it. He was but barely in time.Sir Guy thought the chaplain had already embarked, but fortunately, hewas found in his rooms, in the midst of his packing, and the offer of alarge fee made a short delay possible to him. It was then the twentiethof November, and the evacuation of the British troops and refugees wasto be completed on the twenty-fifth. There was no time to be lost, foran almost insane terror pervaded the minds of the royalists, and Medwayhastened back to Maria to expedite her preparations.
"Only one day, my dear one," he said, "can be allowed you. You mustpack immediately. If your trunks can be sent to Madame Jacobus to-night,I will have the captain of the 'Dolphin' get them on board as early aspossible to-morrow. During to-day you must make all your arrangements.The clergyman will be waiting for us in St. Paul's Chapel at nineo'clock in the morning. Will your grandparents go with us to thechurch?"
"I think not, Ernest. They would rather bid me good-bye in their ownhome, and it will be better so. Uncle Neil has begged grandfather not togo into the city; he says it would be both dangerous and heart-breakingto him--yet we will ask them."
It was as Maria had supposed; the Elder and Madame preferred to partwith their little girl in private. With smiles and tears and blessings,they gave her into Lord Medway's care and then sat down on their lonelyhearth to rejoice in her joy and good fortune. They did not, however,talk much; a few words now and then, and long pauses between, in whichthey wandered back to their own bridal, and the happy, busy days thatwere gone forever.
"It will be Neil next," said the Elder sadly.
"Yes. The Bradleys will be home on the twenty-seventh. He is set onAgnes Bradley."
"I'm sorry for it."
"She suits him. I know you never liked the family."
"Far awa' from it."
"Neil says the son is to marry Mary Wakefield. Agnes has been with theWakefields; Mary is the youngest daughter."
"And the saddler will open his shop again?"
"Yes. His son is to be his partner. John Bradley thinks he has a 'call'to preach. He has got the habit of wandering about, working andpreaching. Agnes says he will never give it up."
After a long pause the Elder spoke again: "Maria is sure to be happy;she has done well."
"No woman could be happier. Has Neil told you what he is going to do?"
"He canna stay here, Janet. That is beyond thinking of. Any bill ofattainder would include him. He is going to Boston to pick up the lineso' his brother's business. Alexander made a fortune there; the name o'Semple is known and respected, and John Curwen, who has plenty o' money,will be in the business with him. He'll do well, no fear o' Neil."
"Then he'll get married."
"To be sure; men are aye eager to meet that trouble."
"Alexander!"
"And speaking o' bills o' attainder, I'll like enough hae my name onone."
"No, you won't. If you'll only bide at hame and keep your whist anent a'public matters, you'll be left alane. If you have enemies, I haefriends--great and powerful friends--and there's our two sons to standon your right hand and your left. Robert and Allen left a' and followedthe American cause from the first. They are good sureties for you. Andwhat of your
friend, Joris Van Heemskirk?"
"We'll see, we'll see. He may have changed a deal; he was always fond o'authority, and for eight years he has been giving orders and saying 'go'and 'come' and 'do this.' I took a bit walk down the road yestreen, andI saw that creature Batavius polishing up the brass knocker o' hisfather-in-law's front door. He had raked the littered garden, and Joannawas putting up clean curtains. And he came waddling down to the gate andsaid, 'Good-morning, Elder,' and I could but say the same to him. Andthen he said, 'We are all getting ready for the coming home o' our bravesoldiers, and I am satisfied; it is a steady principle of mine to besatisfied with the government. Governor Clinton bowed to me yesterday,and he is the friend of General Washington. I notice these things, forit is my way to notice everything.' And I interrupted him and said,'Your principles change with your interests, sir,' and he fired up andasked: 'Why not, then? It is a principle of mine to go with the times,for I will not be left behind. I am a sailor, and I know that it is afool that does not turn his sail with the wind. When the wind blows westI will not sail east;' and I said, 'you will do very well in thesetimes,' and he laughed and answered, '_Ja!_ I always do very well. I amknown for that everywhere.' So I left him, but the world seems slippingawa' from me, Janet."
"I am at your side, and there's nae bride nor bridegroom o' a day halfas much to each other as you are to me and I to you. And if this warldfails, it is not the only warld." And they looked lovingly at each otherand were silent and satisfied.
In the meantime the little wedding party had gathered at the altar ofSt. Paul's Chapel: Neil, who gave away Maria, Madame Jacobus and herfriend Counselor Van Ahrens; Lord Medway with Sir Francis Lauve and hissister Miss Estelle Lauve, members of an English family with whom he hadbeen familiar. The chaplain was waiting when the bride arrived, and thewords that made her Lord Medway's wife were solemnly said. There was nomusic, no flowers, no bells, no theatrical effects of any kind, but thesimple, grand words of resignation and consecration had all the seriousjoy and sacred character of a happy religious rite, and every heart feltthat nothing could have been more satisfactory. Maria wore the darkcloth dress and long coat she intended to travel in, and as she kneltbareheaded at the altar, Madame Jacobus held the pretty head-coveringthat matched it. So that as soon as the registry had been made in thevestry, she bid farewell to all her friends, and with a look of adorablelove and confidence placed her hand in her husband's.
He was so happy that he was speechless, and he feared a moment's delay.Until he had Maria safely on board the "Dolphin," he could not feelcertain of her possession. The suspense made him silent and nervous; hecould only look at his bride and clasp her hands, until she had passedsafely through the crowded streets and was securely in the cabin of thewaiting ship. Then, with the wind in her sails and the sunshine on herwhite deck, the "Dolphin" went swiftly out to sea.
But not until the low-lying land was quite lost to sight was Lord Medwaycompletely satisfied. Then he suffered the rapture in his heart to findwords. He folded Maria in her furs, and clasped her close to his side,and as the daylight faded and the stars shone out upon her lovely face,he told her a thousand times over, how dear, how sweet, how beautifulshe was!
Ah! Youth is sweet! and Life is dear to Love and Youth; and these twowere supremely happy while whole days long they talked of their past andtheir future. And though the journey lasted their honeymoon out, theywere not sorry. They were going to be in London for the Christmas feast,and Medway remembered that he had promised Mr. Semple to "bring LadyMedway home before the New Year," and he was pleased to redeem his word.
"For I liked your father, Maria," he said. "He seemed to me one of thefinest gentlemen I ever met, and----"
"My stepmother is a lady also," Maria answered, "one of the NorfolkSpencers; and many women would have been worse to me than she was.Sometimes I was in the wrong too."
"They must keep Christmas with us. _Christmas in our own home!_ Maria,you hold me by my heart. Sweet, say what you wish, and you shall haveit." And indeed it would be impossible to express in written words atithe of the great content they had. For all their hopes and plans anddreams of future happiness were
"but Ministers of Love And fed his sacred flame,"
and the bliss so long afar, at length so nigh, rested in the great peaceof its attainment.
In leaving New York immediately after their marriage, Lord and LadyMedway escaped the misery of seeing the last agony of the royalistinhabitants of that city. For six months Sir Guy Carleton had beensending them to Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, Canada, to the Bahamas andthe West India Islands, and yet the condition of the city in these lastdays is indescribable. To remove a large household is no easy matter,but the whole city had practically to be moved, and at the same time atleast two thousand families driven from their homes at the occupation ofNew York, had returned and were gradually taking possession of theirdeserted dwellings. The confusion was intensified at the last by thedistraction of those who had hesitated until delay was no longerpossible, by the sick and the helpless, and the remnant who had beenstriving to procure money, or were waiting for relatives and friends.Such a scene as New York presented on the morning of the finalevacuation on the twenty-fifth of November, 1783, has no parallel inmodern history.
It was followed by a scene not only as intensely dramatic, but also asexhilarating and joyful as the former was distracting anddespairing--the entry of the triumphant Army of Freedom. As therearguard of the British army left the Battery, it came marching downthe Bowery--picked heroes of a score of battlefields--led by GeneralKnox. It passed by Chatham Street and Pearl Street to Wall Street and soto Broadway, where it waited for the procession headed by GeneralWashington and Governor Clinton, the officers of the army, citizens onhorseback, and citizens on foot. A salute of thirteen guns greeted thecolumns as they met, arms were presented and the drums beat. As amilitary procession, it was without impressiveness, as a moralprocession, it was without equal in the annals of the world. No bellschimed congratulations, no bands of music stirred popular enthusiasm; itnotably lacked all the usual pomp of military display, but no granderarmy of self-wrought freemen ever greeted their chief, their homes, andtheir native city.
Madame Jacobus, weeping tears of joy, viewed it from her window. Earlyin the morning she had sent a closed carriage for her friend MadameSemple; but it had returned empty.
"Janet Semple kept herself alive for this day," she said. "I wonder whyshe did not come. She prayed that her eyes might see this salvation, andthen she has not come to see it. What is the matter, I wonder?"
A very simple and yet a very great thing was the matter. When Madame hadput on her best gown, some little necessity took her back to the parlor.The Elder was crouching over the fire and down his white face tears wereunconsciously streaming. She could not bear it; she could not leave him.
"The joy is there, the victory is won, and the blessing is for a'generations," she said. "I'll never be missed in the crowd, and I cansing 'Glory be to God' in my ain house. So I'll stay where I'm needed,by my dear auld man; it was for better or for worse, for richer orpoorer, in joy, or in sorrow, while baith our lives lasted," she mused,"and Janet Semple isna one to forget that bargain." She went quicklyback to her room, spoke only into the ear of God her joy and herthanksgiving, and then taking off her festival garments, knocked atNeil's door as she went down stairs.
"Are you going out, Neil?"
"No; I shall stay with father. I am just going to him."
They went together, and as they entered the room, the Elder looked up:
"Aren't you going to see the show, Neil?" he asked.
"I prefer to stay with you, sir," was the answer. The old man lookedfrom his son to his wife gratefully, and murmuring, "Thank you baith,"he fainted away.
Tenderly they lifted him to a couch, and he soon responded to theremedies applied; but Janet gave him a soothing draught, and they satthe afternoon through, watching him. They could hear the joyfulaccla
ims--the shouts and songs of a redeemed people--the noise of amultitude giving itself to a tumultuous joy; but the real gladness ofgrateful hearts was by the rekindled hearth fires. Fathers and mothersat home again! After seven years' wandering, they knew what Home meant.Their houses were dismantled, but they had Liberty! Their gardens weredestroyed, their shade trees burnt, but they had Liberty! Their churcheswere desecrated, but they had Liberty! Their trade was gone, their faircity mutilated and blackened with fire, her streets torn up, and herwharfs decayed, but thank God, they had Liberty! Never again would theybe the subjects of any king, or the victims of any imposed tyranny. Theywere free men. They had won their freedom, and they who have once tastedof the sharp, strong wine of Freedom will drink thereof forever.
* * * * *
These events occurred exactly one hundred and eighteen years ago, butthose who happen to be in that lovely country which lies betweenYorkshire and Lancashire can find in Medway Castle one frail memento ofthem. A little diplomacy and a little coin of the realm dropped into thekeeper's hand will procure them admittance. And after viewing its roomsof state, its splendid library, and its picture gallery, they may seek alittle room toward the sunrising, called "the Lady Maria's parlor." Itsfurniture of crimson satin is faded now, but it doubtless suited wellthe dark beauty so well depicted in a large portrait of her, that is oneof the ornaments of the east wall. The portrait of her husband, LordErnest Medway, is near to it, but between them is a sheet of ordinarywriting paper, yellow with age, but still keeping a legible copy ofthree verses and the pretty, simple, old tune to which they were sung.It is the original copy of _"The Song of a Single Note,"_ the song theysang together at Nicholas Bayard's summer entertainment one hundred andtwenty-one years ago. Lord Medway always said it was an enchanted song,and that, as its melodious tones fell from his lady's lips, they charmedhis heart away and gave it to her forever.
And if other lovers would learn this fateful melody, why here is a copyof it. If they sing it but once together, it may be that they will singit as long as they live:
"For through the sense, the song shall fit The soul to understand."