The Loyalist

  CHAPTER VI

  I

  "I have always contended, Griff, that a bigot and a patriot areincompatible," remarked Stephen as he sat on the side of his bed, andlooked across the room and out into the sunlit street beyond.

  "Is that something you have just discovered?" answered Sergeant Griffinwithout taking his eyes from the newspaper before him. He was seated bythe window, musing the morning news, his curved pipe hanging idle fromhis mouth, from which incipient clouds of smoke lazily issued and aslazily climbed upward and vanished through the open casement intothreads of nothingness.

  "No," was the reply, "but I have come to the conclusion that thephilosophy of religious prejudice cannot be harmonized with truepatriotism. They stand against each other as night and day. The onenecessarily excludes the other."

  "Do you know, Captain," the sergeant reasoned, pointing towards Stephenwith the stem of his pipe, "a hard shell and a fool are somewhat alike;one won't reason; the other can't."

  "I guess you're right," Stephen laughed. "But love of country and loveof one's neighbor should be synonymous. This I have found by actualexperience to be almost a truism."

  He was idling about the room gathering wearing apparel from the closetsand drawers, pausing for a moment to feel a pile of wet clothing thatlay across the back of a straight chair.

  "You must have fallen overboard last night," observed the sergeant.

  "I didn't fall, Griff; I jumped."

  "And let me tell you, Griff," Stephen continued, "Arnold has become oneof the most dangerous men in the whole American Army."

  He was dressing quietly.

  "And you discovered that, too?"

  "I am certain of it, now."

  "That is more like it. I don't suppose you ever had any doubts about it.Now you have the facts, eh?"

  "I have some of them; not all. But I have enough to court-martial him."

  "And you got them last night?"

  "I did."

  "And got wet, too?"

  "I almost got killed," was the grave response.

  "How?"

  "Anderson shot at me."

  "Was he with you, also?"

  "No. After me."

  "Come, let us hear it. Where were you?"

  "At Mount Pleasant."

  "With Arnold and Anderson?"

  "Yes. But they did not know it. I shadowed Anderson to the house and layconcealed in the park. In the evening they came into the park, that is,Arnold and Peggy and Anderson."

  "And they discovered you?"

  "I think they did not. I was unfortunate enough to break a branchbeneath my foot. They heard it. Of course, I was obliged to leavehurriedly, but Anderson must have seen me running. The distance was toogreat to allow him to recognize me. Then, again, I was not in uniform."

  "And he shot at you, I suppose."

  "He did, but the shots went wide. I decided the river was the safestcourse, so I headed for that and dived in. I believe I was fortunate inattempting to swim under water; this I did as long as I could hold mybreath. When I arose, I allowed myself to float close to the shore alongwith the current until I had moved far down the river. After that I lostall sight of him."

  He was now dressed in his military uniform and looked little exhaustedfrom his experience of the night before, notwithstanding the fact thathe had enjoyed but a few hours' sleep. Still, it was past the hour often, and he could tell from the appearance of the street that the sunwas already high in the heavens. He went to the window and looked out atthe citizens hurrying to and fro about their several errands. From anopen window directly across the way resounded the familiar strain of"Yankee Doodle" drawn from a violin by a poor but extremely ambitiousmusician. He stood for a minute to listen.

  "There are a few of them in the colonies," he remarked.

  "I would there were one less," was the reply.

  Stephen turned from the window.

  "We have some work ahead of us, Griff," he said after a long pause. "Theplot is about to sizzle. Are you ready?" he asked.

  "Of course. When do you want me?"

  "I cannot tell you now. I have learned that the work of recruiting isabout finished and that the organization will take place some time nextweek. The company will leave the following day for New York on a vesselfor which Arnold has already issued a pass."

  "Arnold?"

  "Yes, Arnold," he repeated. "He has been in this scheme from the start.Remember that note I told you about? I have watched him carefully sincethen, awaiting just such a move. I can have him court-martialed forthis."

  "For this pass?"

  "Certainly. That is a violation of Section Eighteen of the Fifth Articleof War."

  The sergeant whistled.

  "And I am going to this meeting."

  "You are going?"

  "Yes."

  "How?"

  "That I do not know. But I shall find a way. They have forced JimCadwalader into the company."

  "Jim?"

  "Yes. I learned that last night. Today I mean to see Jim to learn theparticulars. After that we shall be in a position to decide further. Youwill be here when I return?"

  "Yes. I shall stay here."

  "I won't go until late this afternoon. Until then keep your eye open."

  "Yes, sir," he replied, saluting.

  II

  When Stephen had presented himself that afternoon at Jim Cadwalader'smodest home, he had almost persuaded himself that all would not bewell. That the members of the Catholic regiment, whom Anderson boastedhad totaled nearly an hundred, could so easily be dissuaded from theiroriginal purpose, he thought highly improbable. He was well aware thatsome of his co-religionists had been subject to British official orpersonal influence; that other some were vehemently opposed to the manyoutrages which had been committed and condoned in the name of Liberty;that others still were not unmindful of the spirit of hostilitydisplayed by the Colonists during the early days, and had now refusedfor that reason to take sides with their intolerant neighbors in theirstruggle for Independence. Hence it was quite true that many Catholicswere loyal to the mother country, more loyal, in fact, than they were tothe principles of American Independence and the land of their birth.These, he feared, might have composed the bulk of the recruits and thesemight be the less easily dissuaded. On the other hand, he was satisfiedthat many who were unwilling to barter their allegiance had beenconstrained to yield. If the complexion of the regiment was of thelatter variety, all would be well. His misgivings were not withoutfoundation.

  He knocked upon the small white door of Jim's house and inquired of Mrs.Cadwalader if he might see her husband. Jim was at the door even as hespoke, and grasped his hand warmly, exchanging the greetings of the day.He then led him to the chairs under the great tree.

  "I want to see you on a matter of great importance," Stephen said withno further delay. "Tell me about Mr. Anderson."

  "I guess ther' ain't much t' tell," Jim replied.

  "You have held conference with him?"

  "'Twas him thet held it; not me."

  "About the Regiment?"

  "Aye!"

  "Have you signed your name?"

  "I hed t'."

  He was all in a fever, for his manner and his hesitation indicated it.

  "When do they meet?"

  "Thursda' next."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Anderson hisself jest told me."

  "He has been here already?"

  "Ye-eh, this aft'rnoon."

  He looked down upon the ground, considering.

  "Where do they meet?"

  "Th' basement o' th' Baptist Church."

  "Tell me, Jim," Stephen asked quietly. "Why did you enlist in thatcompany?"

  "I hed t', I told ye."

  "Were you compelled to?"

  "I was."

  And then he told him of the number of debts which beset him, and thestarvation which was beginning to prick him. He told of the first visitof Anderson and his offer of four pounds to every volunteer in the newr
egiment of Catholic soldiers. He declared that he had refusedabsolutely to take part in any disloyal act, however great might be thereward, and had said that he preferred to starve until the colonists hadobtained their rights. He then told of Anderson's second visit, duringwhich he offered to relieve him of all financial obligations oncondition that he would sign with him; which offer he again refused. Andfinally he related how he was threatened with imprisonment for hisindebtedness, and was actually served with the papers of arrest andconfinement in the stocks unless his signature was given, and how he wasat length obliged to yield and sign over the allegiance.

  Stephen listened intently throughout it all, oddly studying the face ofhis companion, reading into his very soul as he spoke. He was satisfiednow with Cadwalader's story.

  "Jim," he said at length. "You do not want to join this regiment?"

  "No, sir!" he exclaimed aloud. "Not a bit uv it."

  "If I promise to assist you to escape from this man, will you lend meyour help?"

  "Will I? Enythin' y' ask, sir."

  His eyes brightened with manifest ardor.

  "I want to go to that meeting, and I want you to let me take yourplace."

  "Sure, y' ken."

  "And I want to borrow your clothes."

  "I ain't got much," observed Jim, extending his hands and looking downat his clothing, "but what I hev, is yours."

  "And I want you to be in the vicinity of the building to join in anyagitation which may result against Mr. Anderson."

  "I'll do thet, too."

  "Of course, if we fail it may go hard with us. A crowd is an uncertainelement to deal with, you realize. But it is our only chance. Will youtake it?"

  "O' course, I'll take it. I'll do enythin' y' say, enythin'."

  "And Jim! You know of many so-called members of that company who havebeen impressed in a manner similar to yours and who, very likely, areof the same state of mind as you."

  "I know meny, sir."

  "Very good! Can you not move among them and acquaint them secretly withwhat I have just told you? Secure their cooperation for me so that, whenthe moment comes, I may depend upon them for support. Urge them, too, tojoin in whatever demonstration may be made against the project."

  "I'll do thet, sir, and y' may depend 'n me fur it."

  "You say Thursday night? Keep me informed of any further developments.At any rate, I shall see you before then. Remember, however," hecautioned, "what I have just confided to you must be kept with theutmost secrecy."

  He raised his hand high above his head and stood up.

  "I hope t' God I die----"

  "Never mind swearing," interrupted Stephen, pulling him back again intohis chair. "Simply be on your guard, that is all."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You are right to come back," he said; "you should have persevered inyour resistance."

  "I couldn't help it, could I? I was made t'."

  "We become vigorous under persecution," answered Stephen.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Well then--tell me. Do you know aught of this Mr. Anderson?"

  He stared at him with a questioning look. He was completely bewildered.

  "Thet I don't. Why? What--what could I know?"

  "I mean do you know who he is?"

  He sat up.

  "Why, I never thought o' him. He seem'd c'rrect 'nough, I thought.Marj'rie brought 'im here, I think."

  Stephen set his teeth.

  "Marjorie?" he repeated. "Are you sure of that?"

  "I am, sir."

  "When was this?"

  "It's a good time now. I jest can't r'member."

  "Did she know of his purpose?"

  He paused as if he would say more, but dared not.

  "Thet I can't say. If I r'member c'rrectly she kept herself wid th' oldlady."

  "How often did she accompany him?"

  "Just thet once."

  "You mean she simply made you acquainted with him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  A light began to glimmer in Stephen's mind, and gradually the truthbegan to dawn upon him.

  "In her presence, I presume, the conversation was more or less general.He alluded to the scheme which was uppermost in his mind only secretlywith you?"

  "Thet wuz all, sir."

  He knew well enough now what his friend meant, though nothing of thedetails, and from the uncertainty and the apprehension of his manner hejudged that there was much of which he was still in the dark. Andersonhad come to Jim with the girl to secure an advantageous introduction;after that he had no immediate need of her company. He was of theopinion that she was entirely ignorant of the man's character andmotives, although she was unwittingly an important instrument in hishands. Stephen longed to reveal the truth of the situation to her, butdared not; at any rate, thought he, not until the proper time came. Thenshe would be enabled to appreciate for herself the trend of the wholeaffair.

  "Can I ask ye," inquired Jim in a voice that indicated timidity, "willthis affair--I mean, d'ye s'ppse this thing 'll bring us t' eny harm, 'rthet they'll be a disorder?"

  Stephen's eyes danced with excitement.

  "Do they observe the courtesies of the law? If it comes to the worst,yes,--there will be a scene and the grandest scene in which a villainever participated."

  Marjorie entering through the gate posts immediately commanded theirattention.

  III

  "I should be happy to be permitted to accompany you home," Stephenwhispered to her at a moment when they chanced to be alone.

  "I should be happy to have you," was the soft response.

  "You look well," she said to him after they had made their adieus to theCadwaladers and begun their walk together down the street.

  Her eyes twinkled, and a pretty smile stole across her face.

  "I am as tired as I can be. I have endured some trying experiences."

  "Can you not leave here and take a rest? I fear that you will overtaxyourself."

  He turned and looked seriously at her.

  "Honestly?" he asked.

  "Yes. I mean it. Do you know that I have allowed no day to pass withoutpraying for you?"

  "To know that, and to hear you say it is worth a series of adventures.But, really, I could not think of leaving here now; not for anotherfortnight at least. The moments are too critical."

  "Are you still engaged in that pressing business?"

  "Yes."

  "For your success in that I have also prayed."

  She was constant after all, he thought. Still he wondered if she couldbe sincere in her protestations, and at the same time remain true toAnderson. For he really believed that she had been deceived by hisapparent infatuation.

  "I suppose you know that Jim has been ensnared?" he asked suddenly.

  "Jim? No.... I,----What has happened?"

  She was genuinely surprised.

  "He has enlisted in the regiment."

  "Has he forsworn?"

  "Not yet. But he has signed the papers of enlistment."

  "I am sorry, very sorry." Then after a pause: "It was I who broughtAnderson to Jim's house, you know."

  "Yes. I know."

  "But I must confess that I did not know the nature of his errand. I,myself, was seeking an advantage."

  "No matter. It may eventually redound to our credit."

  "I regret exceedingly of having been the occasion of Jim's misfortune."

  Her eyes were cast down, her head bent forward as she walked in whatone might characterize a meditative mood.

  "I, too, am sorry. But there are others."

  "Many?"

  "That I do not know. Later I shall tell you."

  "And why not now?"

  "I cannot."

  It was a troublesome situation in which the two found themselves. Herewere two souls who loved each other greatly, yet without being able toarrive at a mutual understanding on the subject. They were separated bya filmy veil. The girl, naturally frank and unreserved, was intimidatedby the restrained and melancholy mien
of her companion. Yet she feltconstrained to speak lest deception might be charged against her.Stephen, troubled in his own mind over the supposed unfavorablecondition of affairs, skeptical of the affections of his erstwhileconfidante, felt, too, a like necessity to be open and explain all.

  So they walked for a time, he thinking, and she waiting for him tospeak.

  "For two reasons I cannot tell you," he went on. "First, the nature ofthe work is so obscure and so incomplete that I could give you nological nor concise account of what I am doing. As a matter of fact, I,myself, am still wandering in a sort of maze. The other reason is that Ihave taken the greatest care to say no word in any way derogatory to thecharacter of Mr. Anderson."

  "You wouldn't do that."

  "That's just it. I should not want to be the cause of your forming anopinion one way or the other concerning him. I would much prefer you todiscover and to decide for yourself."

  "That is charity."

  "Perhaps!"

  "And tact."

  She peeped at him, her lips parted in a merry smile. Evidently she wasin a flippant mood.

  "It would be most unfair to him were I to establish a prejudice in yourmind against him."

  "Yet you have already disapproved of my friendship with him."

  "I have, as I already have told you."

  "Yet you have never told me the reason," she reminded him.

  "I cannot."

  He shook his head.

  For he would not wound her feelings for the world; and still it painedhim to be compelled to leave her in a state bordering on perplexity, notto say bewilderment, as a result of his strange silence. A delicatesubject requires a deft hand, and he sensed only too keenly hisimpotency in this respect. He, therefore, thought it best to avoid asmuch as possible any attempts at explanation, at least for the present.

  Furthermore, he was entirely ignorant of her opinion of Anderson. Ofcourse, he would have given worlds to know this. But there seemed noreasonable hope that that craving would be satisfied. He was persuadedthat the man had made a most favorable impression upon her, and if thatwere true, he knew that it were fruitless to continue further, forimpressions once made are not easily obliterated. Poor girl! he thought.She had seen only his best side; just that amount of good in a bad manthat makes him dangerous,--just that amount of interest which oftenmakes the cleverest person of a dullard.

  Hence she was still an enigma. As far as he was concerned, however,there had been little or no variation in his attachment to her. She wasever the same interesting, lovely, tender, noble being; complete in herown virtues, indispensable to his own happiness. Perhaps he had beenmistaken in his analysis of her; but no,--very likely she did care forthe other man, or at any rate was beginning to find herself in thatunfortunate state--fortunate, indeed, for Anderson, but unfortunate forhim.

  For this reason, more than for any other, he had desisted from sayinganything that might have lessened Anderson in her regard. It would bemost unfair to interfere with her freedom of choice. When the facts ofthe case were revealed in all their fullness, he felt certain that shewould repent of her infatuation, if he might be permitted to so term hercondition. It seemed best to him to await developments before furtherpressing his suit.

  "Stephen," she said at length. "What are you thinking of me?"

  "I--Why?--That is a sudden question. Do you mean complimentary orcritical?"

  "I mean this. Have you misjudged my relations with John Anderson?"

  "I have thought in my mind----" he began, and stopped.

  Marjorie started. The voice was quiet enough but significant in tone.

  "Please tell me," she pleaded. "I must know."

  "Well, I have thought that you have been unusually attentive to him."

  "Yes."

  "And that, perhaps, you do care for him,--just a little."

  There! It was out. She had guessed aright.

  "I thought as much," she said quietly.

  "Then why did you ask me?"

  "Listen," she began. "Do you recall the night you asked me to be of someservice to you?"

  "Perfectly."

  "I have thought over that subject long and often. I wondered whereinthat service could lie. During the night of Peggy's affair it dawnedupon me that this stranger to whom I was presented, might be more artfulthan honest. I decided to form his acquaintance so that I might learnhis identity, together with his mission in the city. I cherished theambition of drawing certain information from him; and this I felt couldbe accomplished only by an assumed intimacy with him."

  Stephen stopped suddenly. His whole person was tense and magnetic as hestared at her.

  "Marjorie!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean it?"

  "Truly. I read his character from the first. His critical attitudedispleased me. But I had to pretend. I had to."

  "Please! Please forgive me." He turned and seized suddenly both herhands. "I thought,--I thought,--I cannot say it. Won't you forgive me?"

  Her eyes dropped. She freed her hands.

  "Then I tricked you as well," she exclaimed with a laugh.

  "And you mean it? I am made very happy today, happier than words canexpress. What loyalty! You have been helping me all the time and Inever knew it. Why did you not tell me this before?"

  "You never gave me leave. I wanted to talk to you so much, and youseemed to forbid me.... I prayed for an opportunity, and none came."

  "I am very sorry."

  "Anderson interested me only in this,--he came into our society for avery definite purpose, the nature of which I was most desirous oflearning. I know now that he is not of our faith, although he pretendsto be. He is not of French extraction, yet he would lead one to assumethat he was. He is a British officer and actively engaged in the serviceof the enemy. At present the recruiting of the proposed regiment ofCatholic Volunteers for service with the enemy is his immediate work. Hehopes to find many displeased and disloyal members of our kind. Them hewould incorporate into a company of deserters."

  "You have learned that from him?"

  "Aye! And more. General Arnold has been initiated into the scheme. I donot know what to think except that he has yielded to some influence. Hisantipathy toward us would require none, nevertheless I feel that someundue pressure has been brought to bear upon him."

  "Anderson?" he asked.

  "I do not know. At any rate he will bear watching. I think he is aboutto ask for a more important command."

  Stephen then told her of his adventures, relating to her wholly andcandidly the details of his suspicions, together with his plan for thefuture. Throughout it all she listened with attention, so muchinterested that she was scarce aware that they were crossing the wideroad before her own home. Her eyes had been about her everywhere as theywalked, yet they had failed to perceive anything.

  "Won't you come in?" she asked. "You are almost a stranger here now."

  "I would like to more than I can tell you; but truly I have businessbefore me which is pressing. Pardon me just once more, please."

  "Mother would be pleased to see you, you know," she insisted.

  "I should like, indeed, to see your mother. I shall stop to see her,just to inquire for her."

  "Will you come when this terrible business is completed?"

  "Gladly. Let us say,--next week. Perhaps you might be pleased to comecanoeing with me for the space of an afternoon?"

  "I should be delighted. Next week?"

  "Yes. Next week. I shall let you know."

  "Here is mother, now."

  He went in and shook her hand, inquiring diligently concerning her.

  IV

  As Stephen walked away from the home of his beloved, ruminating over thestrange disclosures of the day and how satisfactory and gratifying theywere to him, his state of mind was such that he was eager for thecompletion of the more serious business that was impending so that hemight return to her who had flooded his soul with new and suddendelight. Never was he more buoyant or cheerful. He was cheerful,notwithstanding his remo
rse.

  For he did chide himself over his absurd stupidity. He should haveknown her better than to have entertained, for even a passing moment, athought of her inconstancy, and that he should have so misjudgedher,--her whom he himself would have selected from among his host ofacquaintances as the one best fitted for the office assumed,--disturbedhim not a little. His own unworthiness filled him with shame. Why did hequestion her?

  And yet he would have given his own life to make her happy, he who wasquietly allowing her to vanish out of it. He tried to explain hisfallacy. First of all, the trend of circumstances was decidedly againsthim. There was his arrest and subsequent trial, days when he had longedto be at her side to pursue the advantages already gained. Then therewere the days of his absence from town, the long solid weeks spent intrailing Anderson, and in meeting those who had been approached by himin the matter of the recruiting. It was well nigh impossible, duringthis time, to seize a moment for pleasure, precious moments during whichAnderson, as he thought, had been making favorable progress both withhis suit and with his sinister work. If Marjorie had forgotten himquite, Stephen knew that he alone was responsible. Him she had seen butseldom; Anderson was ever at her side. No girl should be put to thistest. It was too exacting.

  Despite his appreciation of these facts, his soul had been seized with avery great anguish over the thought of his lost prize; and if he hadfailed to conceal his feelings in her presence, it was due to the factthat his sensitive nature was not equal to the strain imposed upon it.Who can imagine the great joy that now filled his heart to overflowingas a result of his conversation today, when he learned from her ownlips that throughout it all she had been steadfast and true to himalone? His great regard for her was increased immeasurably. Hercharacter had been put to the test, and she had emerged more beautiful,more radiant, more steadfast than before.

  This new analysis led him to a very clear decision. First of all hewould defeat the cunning Anderson at his own game; then he would rescuehis countrymen from their unfortunate and precarious condition; and,finally, he would return to Marjorie to claim his reward. Altogether hehad spent an advantageous and a delightful afternoon. He was ready toenter the meeting house with renewed energy.