For Love of Country. Cyrus Townsend Brady
which opened from the rear of the hall.
The table was a mass of splendid plate, which sparkled under the soft light of the wax candles in candelabra about the room or on the table, and the simple meal was served with all the elegance and precision which were habitual with the gentleman of as fine a school as Colonel Wilton.
At the table, instead of the light and airy talk which might have been expected in the situation, the conversation assumed that grave and serious tone which denoted the imminence of the emergency.
The American troops had been severely defeated at Long Island in the summer, and since that time had suffered a series of reverses, being forced steadily back out of New York, after losing Fort Washington, and down through the Jerseys, relentlessly pursued by Howe and Cornwallis. Washington was now making his way slowly to the west bank of the Delaware. He was losing men at every step, some by desertion, more by the expiration of the terms of their enlistment. The news which Colonel Wilton had brought threw a frail hope over the situation, but ruin stared them in the face, and unless something decisive was soon accomplished, the game would be lost.
"Did you have a pleasant ride up the river, Katharine?" asked her father.
"Very, sir," she answered, blushing violently and looking involuntarily at Seymour, who matched her blush with his own.
There was a painful pause, which Seymour broke, coming to the rescue with a counter question.
"Did you notice that small sloop creeping up under the west bank of the river, colonel, this evening? I should think she must be opposite the house now, if the wind has held."
"Why, when did you see her, Mr. Seymour? I thought you were looking at—at—" She broke off in confusion, under her father's searching gaze. He smiled, and said—
"Ah, Katharine, trained eyes see all things unusual about them, although they are apparently bent persistently upon one spot. Yes, Seymour, I did notice it; if we were farther down the river, we might suspect it of being an enemy, but up here I fancy even Dunmore's malevolence would scarcely dare to follow."
Katharine looked up in alarm. "Oh, father, do you think it is quite safe? Chloe told me that Phoebus told her that the raiders had visited Major Lithcomb's plantation, and you know that is not more than fifty miles down the river from us. Would it not be well to take some precaution?"
"Tut, tut, child! gossip of the negro servants!" The colonel waved it aside carelessly. "I hardly think we have anything to fear at present; though what his lordship may do in the end, unless he is checked, I hardly like to imagine."
"But, father," persisted Katharine, "they said that Johnson was in command of the party, and you know he hates you. You remember he said he would get even with you if it cost him his life, when you had him turned out of the club at Williamsburg."
"Pshaw, Katharine, the wretch would not dare. It is a cowardly blackguard, Seymour, whom I saw cheating at cards at the Assembly Club at the capital. I had him expelled from the society of gentlemen, where, indeed, he had no right of admittance, and I scarcely know how he got there originally. He made some threats against me, to which I naturally paid no attention. But what did you think of the vessel?"
"I confess I saw nothing suspicious about her, sir," replied Seymour. "She seemed very much like the packets which ply on the river; I only spoke idly of the subject."
"But, father, the packet went up last week, the day before you came back, and is due coming down the river now, while this boat is coming up," said Katharine.
"Oh, well, I think we are safe enough now; but, to relieve your unusual anxiety, I will send Blodgett down to the wharf to examine and report.—Blodgett, do you go down to the boat-landing and keep watch for an hour or two. Take your musket, man; there is no knowing what you might need it for."
The old soldier, who had stationed himself behind the colonel's chair, saluted with military precision, and left the room, saying, "Very good, sir; I shall let nothing escape my notice, sir."
"Now, Katharine, I hope you are satisfied."
"Yes, father; but if it is the raiders, Blodgett won't be able to stop them."
"The raiders," laughed the colonel; and pinching his daughter's ear, he said, "I suspect the only raiders we shall see here will be those who have designs upon your heart, my bonny Kate—eh, Seymour?"
"They would never dare to wear a British uniform in that case, father," she retorted proudly.
"Well, Seymour, I hear, through an express from Congress to-day, that Captain Jones has been ordered to command the Ranger, and that the new flag—we will drink to it, if you please; yes, you too, Katharine; God bless every star and stripe in it—will soon be seen on the ocean."
"It will be a rare sight there, sir," said Seymour; "but it will not be long before the exploits of the Ranger will make it known on the high seas, if rumor does not belie her captain."
"I trust so; but do you know this Captain Jones?"
"Not at all, sir, save by reputation; but I am told he has one requisite for a successful officer."
"And what is that?"
"He will fight anything, at any time, or at any place, no matter what the odds."
Colonel Wilton smiled. "Ah, well, if it were not for men of that kind, our little navy would never have a chance."
"No, father, nor the army, either; if we waited for equality before fighting, I am afraid we should wait forever."
"True, Katharine. By the way, have you seen Talbot to-day?"
"No, father."
"I wish that we might enlist his services in the cause. I don't think there is much doubt about Talbot himself, is there?"
"No. It is his mother, you know; she is a loyalist to the core. As were her ancestors, so is she."
The colonel nodded gently; he had a soft spot in his heart for the subject of their discussion. "With her teaching and training, I can well understand it, Katharine. Proud, of high birth, descended from the 'loyal Talbots,' and the widow of one of them, she cannot bear the thought of rebellion against the king. I don't think she cares much for the people, or their liberties either."
"Yes, father; with her the creed is, the king can do no wrong."
"Ah, well," said the colonel, reflectively, "I thought so too once, and many is the blow I have struck for this same king. But liberty is above royalty, independence not a dweller in the court; so, in my old age, I find myself on a different side." He sipped his wine thoughtfully a moment, and continued—
"Madam Talbot has certainly striven to restrain the boy, and successfully so far. He is a splendid fellow; I wish we had him. He would be of great service to the cause, with his name and influence, and the money he would bring; and then the quality of the young man himself would be of value to us. You have met him, Seymour, I believe?"
"Yes, sir, several times; and I agree with you entirely. It is his mother who keeps him back. I have had one or two conversations with her. She is a Tory through and through."
"Not a doubt of it, not a doubt of it," said the colonel. "Katharine, can't you do something with him?"
"Oh, father, you know that I have talked with him, pleaded with him, and begged him to follow his inclination; but he remains by his mother."
"Nonsense, Katharine! Don't speak of him in that way; give him time. It is a hard thing: he is her only son; she is a widow. Let us hope that something will induce him to come over to us." He said this in gentle reproof of his spirited daughter; and then—
"Permit me to offer you a glass of wine, Seymour—you are not drinking anything; and to whom shall we drink?"
Seymour, who had been quaffing deep draughts of Katharine's beauty, replied promptly—
"If I might suggest, sir, I should say Mistress Wilton."