CHAPTER XIV.
NEWS OF LOVE AND WAR.
"Hidden perfumes and secret loves betray themselves." --JOUBERT.
"Joscelyn, from my upper window I have seen a rider turn into the nextstreet and make for the tavern. Perchance he brings news or letters.Will you come with me and see?" It was Betty's voice under her window,and Joscelyn put her head out a moment to say she would go; then randownstairs. And go she did in spite of her mother's vehement protest.
"'Tis scarce three weeks gone since you were reviled in the streets as aTory, and now you will go thrust yourself in place to receive the sametreatment again. 'Tis folly--ay, worse than folly!"
But Joscelyn scarcely heard, for in the street Betty was pulling heralong at such a pace.
"Methought you would be glad to get a letter from--well, from--It issomething over three weeks since you last heard from--" a shy littlelaugh finished the sentence, and she gave Joscelyn an extra pull whichset them into a run.
"How glad somebody would be to see you in such haste to get a letterwritten to me," panted Joscelyn, laughing.
"Whither away so fast?" cried Mistress Strudwick from her door; but theydid not stop to answer, only calling back merrily that a man, grown, yetnot old, nor crippled, nor blind, had ridden into the square, and theywere going to have a look at so wonderful a curiosity.
As they turned into the open space before the court-house, the town-bellstruck a few resonant notes, a signal from the decrepit old ringer thatthere was news for somebody. In a few minutes the place was throngedwith eager wives and mothers and sweethearts crying out for tidings oftheir loved ones. Did the man bring any? Yes, he was but now out of thenorth; whither he went mattered not to them, a man's mission was his ownsecret, but in his pouch were letters for towns along the route, and hebrought, besides, news of the dreadful massacre in Pennsylvania. Andwhen the few letters were distributed he stood upon the steps and toldthe pitiful story of Wyoming Valley.
"The able-bodied men were away fighting with Washington; only the oldmen and women and children remained. Upon this helpless band hundreds ofBritish and Indians, led by Butler, fell, driving them to the fort.Thence the men, shaking with age, but not with fear, sallied to theattack, were defeated and captured, and in sight of those within weretortured with every fiendish device the savages could invent. Then thefort surrendered, and in spite of Butler's efforts tomahawk andscalping-knife did their deadly work among the helpless captives.Outraged women, spitted upon rails, saw their tender babes brainedagainst rocks and trees. The yells of the captors were mingled with thecries for mercy and the shrieks of the dying, and night was turned intoday by the light of burning villages. In all the beautiful valley not ahouse was spared; and where had been prosperity is now but a desolatewilderness strewn with graves and ruins."
When he finished, women were weeping upon each other's necks, thinkingof their own little ones and those other murdered babies. And fierce wasthe denunciation of Butler for enlisting in his army savages whosebrutality could not be controlled. This was not war; it wasassassination, as cowardly as it was cruel.
So bitter was the feeling aroused, that for a while the fact that thecourier had brought some letters was quite overlooked, until MistressNash and Janet Cameron came forward with epistles which containedmessages for many of those present. Then it was remembered that theother two letters had both been for Joscelyn Cheshire, and immediately adozen voices demanded her. But she was already well down the street, herarm linked in Betty Clevering's.
"Come away, Aunt Cheshire will be wretched about you," the latter hadwhispered to her, remembering the scene in this very place a few weeksbefore and dreading a repetition of it, and in her secret heart wishingthat at least one of the letters in Joscelyn's hand should not be readaloud to the public, knowing well that in it was some love-message forherself, for was not that why Eustace wrote so often to Joscelyn? And soshe dragged her companion back the way they had come; but as they walkedJoscelyn tore open the letter with the familiar seal, exclaiminggayly:--
"Paper is not scarce with Eustace, since he sends me three whole sheets.Let me see--Betty--Betty--Betty--just in a fleeting glance I see yourname some eight times. What a fondness he hath for writing the word!"
"Let me read with you, Joscelyn," cried Betty, her cheeks very bright;and drawing close together the two girls held the sheet between them andslackened their pace. But they were not left long to their privacy, forby the time they reached the Cheshire door a dozen neighbours were uponthem.
"So, so, Joscelyn, be not running away with your tidings. Tell us whatClinton is doing in New York," exclaimed Mistress Strudwick, who hadcome with the others to give the girl countenance, if so she should needit.
"Ay, do not be playing the selfish, but give us the news," cried severalvoices.
"I am as ignorant as you of General Clinton's doings," the girl said,smiling at the first speaker; "for, as far as I have got, the letter isfull of questions about somebody here at home."
"Yes, a spying letter for information, no doubt," sneered Amanda Bryce."The courier said they were both from some one in New York. Who writesto you from Clinton's army?"
"Eustace Singleton, a handsome lad whom you know right well, MistressBryce."
"He sends you two letters by the same hand? Faith! he is an ardentcorrespondent."
"Nay, this other letter is in a strange writing. I know not yet who hathsent it."
"Break the wafer and read it to us."
"I do not choose, Mistress Bryce, to give my letters to the public."
"Do not choose, because you do not dare."
"Do not dare?"
"Hush, Joscelyn, she does not mean what she says," put in MistressStrudwick.
"Yes, I do mean it, Martha, every word of it. She dare not read it,because it is a spying letter,--asking information, mayhap, which maygive us over to a massacre like to that of Wyoming: that's why she darenot."
A chorus of cries and hisses arose, but the girl on the step did notquail. Her delicate lip curled with scorn. "'Tis false! You do all knowI would be incapable of such wickedness."
"Then read us the letter and prove it."
"I will not."
She thrust the letter into her bosom and faced them with flashing eyes,the very picture of defiance. But a touch from Mistress Strudwickquelled the storm within her. Turning swiftly, she put her arm aroundthe old woman's neck. "There, I am going to be good. I would notdistress you and mother again for the world. But you know I have theright of it."
"Yes," echoed Janet Cameron, taking her place on the other side ofJoscelyn. "We all know that though you are a Tory, you are no traitor;and I say, Out upon Mistress Bryce for hinting such a thing! I am aContinental, and my father is in Charleston fighting for the cause, butI would trust Joscelyn Cheshire to the end of the world!"
Out in the crowd the sentiment against the girl instantly changed, andall but Amanda Bryce applauded Janet's words.
"Eustace Singleton writes her naught but love-letters--let her keepthem!" cried another girl. "Methinks I should not want the world to bereading my sweetheart's letters and counting the kisses he sends me."
"No, nor those he gives you," said Martha Strudwick, with a merry wink,and instantly there was a great laugh, for the girl had been caughtkissing her lover the winter day on which the troops had marched, forwhich imprudence her mother had soundly boxed her ears.
"And now," cried Joscelyn, when the laugh had passed, "to prove thatthere is no treason in this letter, I shall let Betty Clevering--as gooda Continental as the best of you--sit down yonder on the bench and readevery word of it before I myself have seen it. Here, Betty, be you thejudge whether what is herein writ is of treasonable import; and mind youskip nothing, particularly the love passages." She laughingly pushedBetty upon the bench, and leaving Eustace's letter in her hands, cameback to Janet's side.
"My letter was from my brother, Joscelyn; and he said he knew not whereRichard had been sent. He himse
lf is in the old Sugar House in New York;what he suffers he will not say, but we can guess, since so much hasbeen said of the place."
Joscelyn kissed the tearful face softly. "Perchance your imagination isover-vivid. It grieves me to the quick that any of our townsfolk shouldsuffer."
"It will be a great relief to his mother to know that Richard is not inthe Sugar House."
"Yes, there is only one worse prison in the country, and that is for thecaptured seamen."
"Do not let us talk of its horrors."
So the conversation went on until Betty Clevering, her face like abudding rose, came forward again.
"This letter," she said, holding up the missive, "is one of friendshipmerely; in it I find absolutely nothing against our cause, save a curseon the war that keeps the writer from--from her he loves."
"Dear me, to see her blush one would think it were Betty's love-letter,not Joscelyn's."
"How shy she looks!"
"Betty, was it writ so tenderly that you, who are but an outsider, areabashed to read it? Truly, I wish Master Singleton would give lessons inlove writing. My man talks so much of General Washington and his doingsthat he quite forgets to put in the love passages."
"And 'tis for those that a woman reads her letters," said MistressStrudwick. "The 'I love yous' and 'dears' and 'kisses' scattered throughthe pages mean more to her heart than the announcement of a victory. Infaith, old woman as I am, I always read the last sentence first, knowingit will be the sweetest, if so the writer is in his senses."
"That is why I wanted so much to read Joscelyn's letter. I knew Eustacewould never plot against his own town any more than she would, but anardent love-letter makes good reading, no matter to whom it may bewrit," laughed Dorothy Graham, breaking a glowing rose from a nearbybush, and holding it playfully against Betty's cheek, looking archly ather companions as she tapped first one and then the other with herfinger, whereupon the laugh again arose, for some had long ago guessedat Eustace's passion.
Meantime, Joscelyn, drawing somewhat apart, took the strange letter fromher dress and broke the wafer. The missive covered but one scant page,but those who watched as she read saw her face grow pale and her liptremble.
MISTRESS JOSCELYN CHESHIRE, in Hillsboro'-town:
Richard Clevering, with ten of his comrades, taken at Monmouth field, lies in one of the prison-ships in Wallabout Bay. If he is aught to you,--you know best whom _he_ loves,--bestir yourself for an exchange, for only that can save him from the sure death that lurks in those accursed hulks. I, one of the guard that carried him there, promised him that you should know, and at the risk of discovery and punishment I thus keep my promise. He is brave and generous. It were a pity to let him die. JAMES COLBORN.
NEW YORK, this tenth day of July, 1778.
Even in the far southern towns the infamy of those prison-ships had beentold, and with a sudden gesture of compassion the girl stretched herarms toward the opposite house.
"Aunt Clevering, poor Aunt Clevering!" and thrusting the letter intoMistress Strudwick's hands, she exclaimed: "Here read it--read it aloud,then take it over yonder--I cannot." And gathering Betty close in herarms she listened while the letter was read to the sorrowing women.
"Who are the others? Called he no names?"
"Oh, mayhap one is my son!"
"And another may be my husband!"
"Even the Sugar House had been easier than this! Mark you what we haveheard of the ferocity of the jailers, the foulness of the food, theloathsomeness of the ships! They will die, our brave lads will all diethere!"
"Will die?--Nay, perchance they are already dead; 'tis a month sincethis letter was writ, and two months since Monmouth fight."
And the letter went the rounds of the town, carrying sorrow everywhereand a miserable dread and uncertainty into many homes, for all of themen missing from Monmouth were not yet accounted for. Whose dear oneswere suffering with Richard, mine or thine, or our neighbour's?
All the afternoon, Joscelyn paced her floor, her brows knitted, herfingers clenched. She knew best whom he loved? Yes, she knew. Every dayfor the past year he had let her see his heart; even in their quarrelsover the war, he had not forgotten that he loved her. At first she hadtaken it for a passing fancy, and had treated him with laughingcoquetry, fanning his love later on into the white flame of passion withthat groundless jealousy of Eustace. Then it was she realized what itwas with which she was playing.
And now he was lying in that loathsome ship, with the fever on one sideand the harsh keepers on the other. Did she care as he wanted her tocare? No, but her anger against him for his persistent assumption of heracquiescence in his suit was all forgotten; she remembered only thehappy side of their friendship, and that he was Betty's brother. Shecould not put aside the appeal in Colborn's letter, for it was an appealfrom Richard himself; and yet what could she, a mere girl without aid orinfluence, do to set him free? That was why her hands were clenched andshe paced her floor with quick steps. Then at last she sat down, andopening her portfolio she wrote for half an hour, covering sheet aftersheet. When they were done she gathered them up quickly and randownstairs and crossed the street to the opposite house. There all wassadness and tears because of Colborn's news.
"Here, Betty," she said, placing the folded sheets upon the table;"Eustace Singleton is on Lord Cornwallis's staff and must have influencewith him, and through him, with General Clinton. I have written Eustaceto use all effort and despatch in Richard's behalf, but you must add apostscript to make the plea effective."
"And why, I pray you, should he heed a postscript from Betty?" asked hermother, angrily, forgetful for a moment of her grief.
"Because," Joscelyn answered, facing her calmly, "he loves her, and thefew words she writes will outweigh all my pages."
"What! That Loyalist, the son of Joseph Singleton, our old enemy, inlove with my daughter? This is some mockery."
"It is the sober truth."
"I do not believe it; but if it be so, then will Richard and I have aword to say in the matter. Betty, put down that quill; I will not haveyou stoop to ask a favour of that family."
"Not even for Richard's life and freedom, Aunt Clevering?"
"I do not believe he has any influence. In love with my daughter--whatimpudence!"
"Rather what good fortune, since it may save your son."
"Mother, it seems our one chance; bid me write." And Joscelyn joined inthe girl's plea.
The older woman's features worked spasmodically, but presently shenodded slowly. "For Richard's sake, Joscelyn, yes; but mind you, Bettywill set him out in short order if ever he presumes to declare himself.She knows her duty; no Singleton blood comes into my family."
She could not see Betty's face, for Joscelyn stood between them; but twoweeks later Eustace kissed the blots where the tears had fallen justunder her pleading little postscript:--
"Because of all you said to me in Joscelyn's parlour, because of your red roses which I wore in the privacy of my room until they faded, I beseech you, save my brother!"
"But oh, Joscelyn, suppose he can do nothing?"
"Then, dear, we must carry our plea to Lord Cornwallis. My father and hewere friends in England; perhaps we may gain his ear through thatold-time acquaintance."
"And how will you reach Cornwallis?" Mistress Clevering askeddoubtfully.
"If need be, Betty and I will seek him in General Clinton's camp."
Betty put her cheek close to the girl's. "Joscelyn, after all you arenot indifferent to Richard," she whispered, half wistfully, halfjoyously.
But Joscelyn's face was almost stern. "This letter from Colborn is intruth a plea from Richard, since he must have bid the man write. Thinkyou I could let such a thing pass unanswered--and from your brother,too?"
"God bless you, Joscelyn, though your heart is as hard as flint."