The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 13, 1903, Page 2

ered oppo. ted to de- fer Y am t Major Fer- look em re is hastily, and upon the deliv appears erguson, it from 1 you say e late other in and_apolo. t ringed us ess and gave ocs t of gratulation im Yeates raised a black-legged imp o shing his way the one that e wagon bar- -hoofs on the rifie went to t flew wide and bed figure clinging to the soon out of sight tter look out for ittle varmint, Cap'n d man, carefully wip- tory to reloading it. and ye'll have to rlater. I ‘lowed but old Bess got e trouble, I yestiddy. with all the shoot- goins on, and 1 hain't got no te clean her out. that 1 was fully exonerated I was free to go and come as I chose; nay, more, 1 was urged to cast in my lot with the overmountain partisans. As to this, I took « nsel with Richard Jennifer colonels were setting their n order for the march and loading the prisoners with the captured guns and ammunition. 'hat is to the fore, Dick?” I asked; here fighting?” The lad shook his head. “Never an- other blow, I fear, Jack. These fellows crossed the mountain to whi F‘errulon. aving done it they will go home.” I could not forego a hearty curse upon this worst of all militia weaknesses, the disposition to disperse as soon as ever a battle was fought. Madge Defies Sir Frank. THE SUNDAY CALL. love-sick schoolboys over the charms of that dear lddy to whom one of us was less than naught, and to whom the other r‘ould be naught while that . first one ved. We were still sitting thus before the kitchen arch when the dawn began to dim the flrcfltgh!. and the work of the new day confronted us. Pinned down, old Anthony confessed that some two or three horses of the Appleby Hundred stables had escaped the hands of the for- agers of both sides; and two fresh ani- mals he fetched for us. Of the twain one chanced to be Blackstar, the good beast which had carried me from New Berne in the spring; and so 1 had my own horse betwixt my knees when I set Dick a mile on the road to Salisbury, and bade him farewell. His last word to me was one of gener- ous caution. “Remember, Jack; ‘haste, haste. post haste,’ is your wateaword. There wiil be other couriers in from the battle field &t Kings Mountain; and you must hang and fire your news petard and vanish be- fore they come to betray you.” “Trust me,” said I, evasively; and so we parted, he to gallop eastward, and I to charge down peaceably upon that British outpost we had set abuzz in the small hours of the night. CHAPTER XLIL IN WHICH MY LORD HAS HIS MARCHING ORDERS. Though I had passed out of the Brit- ish llne‘l less thnlx’l a week before in de- cent good order, save for Colonel Tarle- ton's {11 word, I met with nothing like the welcome at the outpost camp that a king's courier had a right to expect. But as luck would have it, the first fa- wmiliar face I saw was that of Charles —— 1 up. for tide e quali none commitied to Colo- 1 of service land. to be figh tes and I— ht which rth. To Ma- d re tongue; and his dship sh the news quickly, n a lump. as you say. Let and ride post, we two; you at Hillsborough and 1 to Char- had thought of my part of that,” Then he came uld run. “But you can't to Cornwallis now, Jack; death. There will rs—there are sure to yreath to whisper what rou have done will hang you higher than Haman. I shrugged at this. hazard.” He looked at me curiously. I saw a shrewd question in his eyes and set in- stant action as a barrier in the way of sking. Let us find Colonel Sevier and beg us the loan .of a pair of horses,”.sald I; and £0 we were kept from coming upon the 15 ground of pointed questions and evasive answers, Somewhat to my surprise, both Sevier and Shelby fell in at once with our pro- ject, commending it heartily; and I learned from the lips of that courtliest of frontiersmen, “Nolichucky Jack,” the real reason for the proposed hurried re- turn of the over-mountain men. The erokees, never to be trusted, had, as it scemed, procured war supplies from the British posts to the southward, and were even now on the verge of an uprisiig. By forced marches these hardy borderers hoped to reach their homes in time to de- fend them. Otherwise, as both comman- ders ured us, they would take the fleld with Gates, We made our acknowledgments; and when 1 had bespoken good care for Ty- bee we took leave of these stout fighters, and of old Ephraim as well, since the old borderer was to serve as a guide for the over-mountain men, at least till they were come upon familiar ground to the westward. Once on the high road we pushed on briskly for the river, nor did we draw rein until the sweating beasts were pick- ing their way in the darkness down the last of the hills which sentinel the Ca- tawba to the westward. An hour later we rode the scant mile through the stubble fields to my old roof iree. As you would guess, we looked to find the manor house turned into an out- post headquarters; but now we were des- perate enough to face anything. Howbeit, not to rush blindly into the jaws of a trap, we first routed out the ©old black majordomo at the negro quar- ters; and when we learned from him that the great house was quite deserted, we took possession and had the black make us a rousing fire in the kitchen 'arch. Nay, more; when we had steamed our- selves a little dry we had old Anthony stew and grill for us and fetch us a bot- LI: of that Madeira of my father's laying “A toast!” cried Richard. when the bottle came, springing to his feet with the glass held high. “To the dear lady of Appleby Hundred, and may she fore- gather with the man she loves best. be it you, or 1. or another, Jack Ireton! We drank it standing; and after would “’'Tis but a war be * inquiry he directed me Stedman Cn my = at supper at Mr. Stair's. ! news, captain?’ breath of rellef. Happily the the y had not_made me the bearer of stale tidings. So I made an- Il proper reticence, saying that it it was for Lord Corn- st of all. None the less, if ry general were pleased to ne— ne ) He took the hint once; and he it was who procured me instant admittance to and_who_took upon himself ility of breaking in upon 1 the supper room. ot soon forget the scene that fronted us when we came into my lord's The supper was in some sort la feast held in honor of my lord's his earldom. The table, silver candelabra which Ireton - heirlooms, was by the members of the house mander in ef's military family. with the earl at the head and Mistress Margery, bedight as befitted a lady of behind the tea urn at the foot. incoming all eyes were turned but it required ‘my lord’s sharp me leave off dwelling cet lady's radiant beauty. Captain Ireton? Do you s from the major quality At our , my lord.” what of him? You left him ejoin with his new loyalist v my sword, reversed it and laid it upon the table. “May all the enemies of the common- wealth be even as he is, my lord,” T sald, quietly. truly, I had hanged my petard nd ‘twas plain the shock of it had gone far to shatter the wall of*canfidence our enemies had builded on the field of Camden and elsewhere. Had a hand gre- nade with the fuse alight been dropped upon the table the consternation could scarce have been greater. To a man the tableful up and thronging round me; but above all the hubbub I heard a little cry of misery from the table-foot where my lady sat. “How is this, sir?—explain yoursel thundered my lord, forgetting for once his mild suavity. “’Tis but a brief tale, and I will make it as crisp as may be in the telling,” I replied. “I came upon the major some miles this side of the crossing of the Broad. He was marching to rejoin you, in accordance with his orders. But when he had your lordship’s command to stand and fight, he obeyed.” “My command?—but I gave him no such order!” “Nay, truly, you did not—neither in the original nor in the duplicate, my lord. But when we had waylatd Lieu- tenant Tybee and quenched the durllc‘te, and had so amended the original as to make it fit our purpose, the brave major thanked you for what you had not done and made his stand to await the upcom- ing of the over-mountain men.” ‘'or a moment I thought they would hew me lMmb from limb, but my lord quelled the flerce outburst with a word. “Put up your swords, gentleman. We shall know how to deal with this trait- " he said. And then to me: “Go on, o sir, if {ou please; there has been a bat- tle, as I take it?” “There has, indeed. The mountain men came up with us in the afternoon of the Saturday. In an hour one-third of the major's force was dead or dying, the major himself was slain and every living man left on the fleld was a prisoner.” Again a dozen swords hissed from their scabbards, and again I heard the little cry of misery from the table-foot. bowed my head, looking momently to pay the penalty; but once more my lord put the swords aside. “Let us have a clean breast of it this time, Captain Ireton,” he'said. *“You know well what 'you have nothing you can w will or worse for you. Was this in mtl.klnl your submission Tt wan” "A.Ig_d you have been a rebel from the sit before the fire, havering like two I met the cold anger in the womanish eyes as a condemned man might. "I have, my lord—since tne day nine years zgone when I learned that your king's minions had banged my father in the regulation.” y “Then it was a farrago of lies you told me about your adventures in the western mountains?" y “Not wholly. It was your lordship's good pleasure to send succors of powder and lead to your allics, the western sav- ages. I and three otners followed Cap- tain Falconunet and his Indians, and I have the honor to report that we over- took and exploded them with their own powder cargo.” i “And Captain Sir Francis Falconnet with them?” w “f do 8o hope and trust, my lord. He turned short on his heel, and for a moment a silence as of death fell upon the room. Then he tock the Kerara from ble and sought to break it over his but the good blade, like the cause it stood for, bent like a withe and would not snap. “Put this spy in irons and clear the room,” he ordered sharply. And this is how the little drama ended: with the supper guests crowding to the door; with my lord pacing back and 1orth at the table-head; with two sergeants bearing me away to await, where and how I knew not, the word which should efface me and leave clear for my lad Dick toe way to my lady’s heart. CHAPTER XLIIL IN WHICH I DRINX A DISH OF TEA. Being without specific orders what to do with me, my two sergeant balliffs thrust me into that little den of a strong room below stairs where I had once found the master of the house, and one of them mounted guard while the other fetched the camp armorer to {ron me. T'he shackles securely on, I was left to content me as I could, with the door ajar and my two jailers hobnobbing be- fore it. Having done all I had hoped to do, there was nothing for it now but to wait upon the consequences. So, hitch- ing my chair up to the oaken table, I made a pillow of my fettered wrists and presently fell adoze. know not what hour of the night it was when the half-blood Scipio, who was Mr. Gilbert Stair's body-servant, came in and roused me. I started up suddénly at his touch, making no doubt it was my summons. But the mulatto brought me nothing worse than a cold fowl and a loaf, with a candle end to see to eat them by, and a dish of hot tea to wash them down, I kanew well enough whom I had to thank for this, and was set wondering that my lady's charity was broad erough to mantle even by this little my latest sins against the king's cause. None the less, I ate and drank gratefully, drain- ing the tea dish to the dregs—which, by the way, were strangely bitter. 1 had scarce finished picking the bones of the capon before sleep came again to drag at my eyelids, a drowsiness so masterful that I could make no head against it. And so. with the bitter taste oflhe tea still on my tongue, 1 fell away a second time into the pit of forgetful- ness. When T awakened from what seemed in the memory of it the most unresting sleep I ever had. it was no longer night, and 1 was stretched upon the oaken set- tle in that same lumber garret where I 1ad been bedded through _that other night of hiding. So much I saw at the waking glance; and then I realized, The Duel in the Wine Cella: give a moment's thought of others, Captain Ireton? This was past all endurance. “If I had.not, should I be here this moment?” “You do make me sicker than I was, my lady.” “Yet I say you are selfish,” she insist- ed. “What have I done that you should come here to have yourself hanged for a spy “Let us have plain speech, in God's name,” I retorted. “You know well enough there-was no better way in which I could serve you.” . “Do 1, indeed. mon ami?’ she flashed out. “Let me teil you, sir, had she ever a blush of saving pride, Margery Stair— or Margery Ireton, if you like that bet- ter—would kill you with her own hand rather than have it said her husband died npon a gallows!” A sudden light broke in upon me and I went blind in the horror of it. “God in heaven!" 1 gasped; “’twas you, then? T do believe yvou poisoned me in that dish of tea you sent me last night!” She laughed, a bitter little laugh that I hated to think on afterward. “You have a most chivalrous soul, Captain Ireton. I do not wonder you are so fierce to shake it free of the poor body of clay. “But you do not deny it!” T cried. 'Of what use would it be? I have said that T would not have you die shame- fully on the gallo: so I may as well to the feelings confess to the poppy juice in the tea. Tell me, Monsicur .fohn: was it nasty bitter?” ey T — - vaguely at first, but ' presently with startling emphasis, that it was the west- ering sun which was shining in at the high roof windows, that the shackles were still on, and that my temples were throbbing with a most skull-splitting headache. Being fair agasp with astoundment at this new spinning of fate's wheel, T sprang up quickly—and was as quickly glad to fall back upon the pallet. For with the upstart a heaving nausea came to supplement the headache, and for a lon~ time I lay bat-blind and sick as any landsman in his first gale at sea. The sunlight was fading from the high windows, and 1 was deep sunk in a sick man’s megrims before aught came to disturb the silence of the cobwebbed arret. From nausea and racking pains had come to the stage of querulous self-pity. 'Twas monstrous, this bury- ing a man alive, ill, fettered, uncared- for, to live or die in utter solitude as might happen. I could not remotely guess to whom I owed this dismal fate, and was too petulant to speculate upon it. But the meddler, friend or foe, who had bereft me of my chance to die while I was fit and ready came in for a Turk- ish cursing—the curse that calls down in all the Osmanl! varjants the same pangs in duplicate upon the banned one. It was in the midst of one of these im- potgnt fits of malediction that the wain- scot door was opened and closed softly, and light footsteps tiptoed to my bed- side. I shut my eyes willfully when a voice low and tender asked: “Are you awake Monsieur John?" I hope you will hold me forgiven, my dears, if 1 confess that what with the nausea and ths headache, the fetters and the solitude, I was rabid enough to rail at her. 'Twas so near dusk in the ill- lighted garret that I could not see how she took it, but she let me know by word of mouth. “Merci, monsieur,” she said, icily. And then: “Gratitude does not seem to be among your gifts.” At th broke out in all a sick man's pettishness. “Gratitude! Mayhap you will tell me what it is I have m}ge grateful for. All I craved was the chance to die as a sol- dier should, and some one must needs spoil :xe of that.” “Selfish—selfish always and to- the last,” she murmured. “Do you never “Good Lord!" I groaned; “are you a woman or a flend?” “Either or both, as you like to hold me, sir. But come what might, 1 said you should not die a felon's death. And you haven't, as yet.” “Better a thousand times the rope and tree than that I should rot by inches here with you to sit by and gird at me. Ah, my lady. you are having your re- venge of me. “Merci, encore, leave you?” “No, not that.” A cold sweat broke out upon me in a sudden childish horror of the solitude and the darkness and the fetters. And then I added: “But 'twould be angel kindness if you weuld leave off torturing me. I am but a man, dear lady, and a sick man at that.” All in a flash her mood changed and she bent to lay a cooling palm on my throbbing temples. “Poor Monsieur John!” she said softly; “I meant not to make you suffer more, but rather less.” Then she found water and a napkin to wring out and bind upon my aching head. At the touch and the word of womanly sympathy I forgot all, and the love-mad- ness came again to blot out the very present memory of how she had brought AR, That 1s better—b “Ah, that is ter—better,” I sighed, when the pounding hammers in my'tum- ples gave me some surcease of the agony. “Then you forgive me?’ she asked, whether jestingly or in earnest I could not‘_lggll. 4 & “There is none so much to forgive,” I replied. “One hopeless day last s‘l’.lmmer I put my life in pledge to you; and you— in common justice you have the right to do what you will with it.” 3 “Ah; now you talk more like my old- time Monsieur John with the healing sword-thrust. But that day you speak of ‘was not more hopeless for you than for me.’ “I know. it,” said I. thinking omly of how the loveless marriage must grind upon _her. “But it must needs be hope- lissbfoord.l?"flh till death steps in to break e D Again she laugh t] £t um;-r 1‘;‘{ h.“ ughed, that same bifter “Inde was a great wro; did that nl‘httfialth-it 1 elo:;‘l;l :.hh. E: g nl‘l.{ as you, m undone. this is idle talk. Let me see if this key Shall I go away and flflr:arwr manacles. I have been all out who had it, and I am not be the right one, after all.™ prove to be the right one; the irons were off I feit more less like a baited bear. better,” said I, drawtnrs breath rellef. “I bear my Lo Charles no malice, but ‘twas a needless precaution, this ironing of a man who was never minded to run away.” “But you are going to run away,” she said, decisively; “and that as soon as ever you are able to hold a horse be- tween your knees. Shall I bring you an- other dish of tea? Nay, never look so horrified; I shall not poison you this time.' “Stay,” I cried. “You mean that you S are going to help me escape? 'Tis a needle: rolonging of the agony. Go and tell the guards where they can find me. She stopped midway to the wainscot door and turned to give me my answer. “No; you are a soldier, and—and I will ® not be a gallows-widow. Do you hear, sir? If you are so eager to dle, there is always the battlefleld” And with that she left me. > I may pass over the two succeeding days in the silence I was condemned to endure through the major part of them. After that first visit, Margery came only at stated intervals to bring me food and drink, and my nurse was an old black beldame, either deaf and dumb, or else so newly from the Guinea Coast as to be wnable to twist her tongue to the Eng- Ush. “Mistress Stair Is My Wife, Sir.” o o And in the food-bringings I could neither make my lady stay nor answer any question; this though I was hunger- ing to know what was going on beyond the walls of my garret prison. Indeed, she would not even tell me how I had been spirited away from the two ser- geants keeping watch over me in her father's strong room below stairs. “That is Scipio’s secret,” she would say, laugh- ing at me, “and he shall keep it.” But in the evening of the third the mystery bubble was burst, an learned from Margery's lips the thing I longed to know. Lord Cornwallis had decided to abandon North Carolina, and in an hour or two the army would be in motion for withdrawal to the southward. “Now, thanks be to God!" I sald most fervently. {ings Mountain has begun the good work, and we shall show Far- mer George a thing or two he had not day d I ) lady drew herself up most proudly and her lip curled. “You forget, sir, you are speak Mr. Gilbert Stair's daughter.” I did forget. ng to “True,” said I; We are at cross purposes in t in all things else. I crave your p madam.” Her were s 15 by now. Never tell me, my dears, that eyes of the fire when they blue-gray can not wiil. sly you will go about you!" she burst out. “How pains to make me ate And then, all in the same breath: “But you will be rid of me presently, for good and all.” “Nay. then, Mistress Margery, you are always taking an ell of meaning for my inch of speech. 'Tis I who should do the ridding.” “Mon_Dieu!” she cried. in a sudden burst of petulance; “I am sick to death of all this! Is there no way out of this coil that is strangling us both, Captain Ireton?” “I had thought to make a way three days ago; did so make it, but you kept me from walking in it. Yet that way is still open—Iif you will but drop a word in my lord's ear when you go below stairs.” “Oh, yes—a fine thing: the wife betray the husband!” This with another lip- curl of scorn. “I have some shreds and patches of pride left, sir, if you have no ‘Then free me of my obligation to you and let me do it myself. 1 am well enough to hang.” “And so make me a consenting accom- plice? Truly, as I have said before, you é\;\\'z a most knightly soul, Captain ire- on. 1 closed my eyes in very wearine: “You are hard to please, my lady. “You have not to try to please me, sir. I am going away—to-night. “Going away?” I echoed. “Whither, if I may-ask?" “My father has taken protection and we shall go south with the army. As Lord Cornwallls says. Mecklenburg is a hornet’s nest of rebellion, and in an hour of two after we are gone you will be among your friends.” She made to leave me now, but I would not let her go without trying the last blunt-pointed arrow in the quiver of expedients. “Stay a moment,” I begged. “You are leaving the untangling of this coil you speak of to a chance bullet on a battle- field. Had you ever thought that the church can undo what the church has done?” Again I had that bitter laugh which was to rankle afterward in memory. “You are a most desperate. pertina- cious man, Captain Ireton. Failing all else, you would even storm heaven itself to gain your end.” she scoffed; then, at the very pitch-point of the scornful out- burst she put her face in her hands and fell a-sobbing as if her heart would break. I knew not what to say or do, and end- ed, manlike, by saying and doing noth- ing. And so. still crying softly, she let herself out at the wainscot door, and this was our leave-taking. CHAPTER XLIV. HOW WE CAME TO THE BEGINNING OF THE END. As Margery had promised, I passed out of my garret prison and out of door on that memorable evening of October 14 to find the British gone from Char- Jotte and the town jubilant with patriotic Joy. Having nothing to detain me, and be- ing bound in honor by the wish of my dear lady not to follow and give myself up to the retreating British general, I took horse and rode to Salisbury, w I had the great good fortune t Dick, already breveted a captain i nel Washington's command, hurry troop southward to whip on the B withdrawal. Here was my chance to drown b burnings in an onsweeping tide tion, and then and there I became a g« tleman volunteer in Dick's comp: king nothing of my dear lad save t might ride at his stirrup and shar s hazards. Touching the hazards, t plenty of them in t s ceding and the month or more our new general's coming t fleld, as you may know care to follow the ga ‘Washington's light-h the pages of the have little or na m and I pass the will anticipate: t forays and brush aging parti Tory bullet e man who was e \ As for my most miserabl " " ment, the lapse of time mad better nor worse, nor grea and there was litt dog One graiz dreary weel quartering in chanced to fall Sciplo, who had been left Stair to be t town house. As you will had brought me the d word I had from b w ', shame for the cruel bad put upon my dear la §ib um sleep-drop to make buckra massa hol still twell we could tote 'im froo house a de w de at made her give me Having the object nder before he mar the res cheat the gal the sle 8 sson of my I disloyalty as a nt, and I do think it tenderer of Dick, whose bear- agh all these tempestuous st nobly generous and for- forgiving because 1 was the curstest of companions, as For when 1 was that wicket gate let me from the pat was in a wicked tert chill was of desp: I ten but ot Greene himself at e and lesser y 1 ts of t rgan for its ch Itke the down-s But for all d all Da the ill s by no sur designs. m, we g of Lord Cornw lack-knowl that I volunte to go to the British camp at Winnsborough in my old quality of spy; did this and had my ieave and or- ders before Dick 1 d of it. Left to my ¢ ces, I fear I should have slipped away wi t telling Jenni- dg. fer. But, as so ma mes before, fate intervened to me where I had meant to go. ¢ \e morning set for m departure I woke to a letter pinned to the ground beside me with an Indlan scalping knife thrust through it. ick was sitting by the newly-kindled fire, nursing his knees and most palpably ‘iaiuni for me to wake and find my mis- s “What is it?” I asked, eying the omi- nous thing @ tfully. “'Tis a _letter, as you see. Uncanoola left it.” Then most surlily Tis from Madge, and to you. on the back of it.” At this I must nceds read the letter, with the lad looking on as if he would eat me. 'Twas dated at Winnsborough, and was brief and to the point. “Monsfeur: When last we met you said the church might undo what the church had done. I have spoken to the good Pere Matthieu, and he has consented to write to the Holy Father at Rome. But it is necessary that he should have your declaration. :e the matter is of your own seeking, mayhap you can devise a way to communicate with Pere Matthieu, who is at present with us under our bor- rowed roof here.” That was all, and it was signed only with her initial. I read it through twice and then again to gain time. Fog Dick was walting. "Tis a mere formal matter of busi- ness,” said I, when I could put him oft no_longer. “Business?" he queried, the red light of suspicion coming and going in his eye. “What business can you have with Mistress Madge Stair, pray?™ “'Tis about—it touches the title to Appleby Hundred,” said I, equivocating as clumsily as a schoolboy caught in a fault. “Of course you know that the confiscation act of the North Carolina re-established my right and There is your name 'you never told writes you about :im t. o o “No, ald Then: “She ‘About a matter touching as I say. As you did not say,” he growled; after which a silence came between us, I holding the open letter in my hand and he staring glomily at the back of it. When the silence grew portentous I told him of my design to g0 a-spying. He looked me in the eye and his smile was not pleasant to see. “You are lying most clumsily, Jack; or at best u are telling me but half the truth. You are going to see Mistress Margery.” “That is altogether as it may happen. I retorted, striving hard to keep down the flame of insensate rivalry which his accusings always kindled in me. “It is not. Winnsborough is neither London nor yet Philadelphia, that you may miss her in the crowd. And you do not_mean to miss her.” “Well? And if I do chance to see her —what then?" “Don’t mad me, Jack. You should know by this time what a fool she has made of b A 'Tis your own folly,” I rejoined hot ly. “You should blame neither the la nor the man to whom she has nothing save—" “Save what?” he broke in savagely. on the brink as I had so Tne months of wait had hardened given many ing for the death i cra i thi : ‘would value lightl v ing you w d ah without her love. Let us ha ering; find the colo- to go with me, it you may do the lov making while I do the spying." “No,” said he »t while you stand it upon such a leg as that.” P eached across and gripped his hand and wrung it. “Shall we never have the better of thess senseless vaporings? I cried. *“'Tis as you say; I can neither live sane nor die mad without another sight of her, Dick, and that is the plain truth. And yet, mark me, this next see- ing of her will surely set a thing in train that will make her yours and not mine. Get your leave and come with me on your own terms. Mayhap she will show you how little she cares for me and how much she cares for you.” So this is how it came about mn:.fi % Then two, garbed as decent planters mounted upon the sleekest cobs the r ment afforded. took the road for Winns- borough together on a certain summer- fine morning in January in the year of § battles, seventeen hundred and eighty- one.