"Votre Excellence," said Colonel d'Aboville, saluting, "moi cannoniers vous implorent de leur donner l'honneur immortel en mettant feu au premier coup de cannon."

Washington, realizing that the speech was addressed to him, turned to Rochambeau with a helpless and questioning look.

"Zay desire zat your Excellency does zem ze honneur to fire ze first gun," explained the French general.

Washington removed his hat and bowed. "Try as we will, count," he said, "we cannot equal your nation in politeness." In silence he stepped forward to the gun the colonel indicated, and the captain of the piece handed him the loggerhead with a salute and then fell back respectfully.

Washington touched the red-hot iron to the port fire; there was a puff of smoke, a deafening crash; and the great gun gave a little jump, as if for joy. A thousand pairs of eyes strained after the solid shot as it flew, then as it disappeared over the British earthworks and was heard to go tearing its way through some wall a great shout went up from one end of the lines of the allies, to the other.

Instantly came the roar of the other five cannon, and two ten-inch mortars echoed their thunder by sending ten-inch shells curving high in the air. Ere they descended one of the guns peeping from a British redoubt rose on end and disappeared; raising another cheer. At last the siege was begun.

As if to prove that the foe was nothing daunted, a solid shot, just topping the redoubt, tore through the middle of the group of generals, scattering sand and pebbles over them. Colonel Cobb, who stood nearest Washington, turning impulsively, said, "Sir, you are too much exposed here. Had you not better step back a little?"

"If you are afraid, Colonel Cobb," quietly answered Washington, "you have liberty to step back."

By dark three batteries were firing, and all through the night the guns on both sides rained shot and shell at each other. Two more batteries of thirty-two pounders opened fire on the 10th, and by hot shot set fire that evening to the "Charon" frigate, making a sight of marvellous grandeur, for the ship became one mass of fire from the water's edge to her spintle-heads, all her ports belching flame and each spar and every rope ablaze at the same moment. The morning of the 11th found fifty-two pieces of artillery mounted and hurling a storm of projectiles into the British lines; and that evening, a second parallel was opened, bringing the guns of the besiegers less than three hundred yards from their earthworks, and putting all parts of the town within range. After this was completed, the defensive fire slackened, for every gun with which the garrison sought to make reply was dismounted the moment it was advanced into the embrasure, compelling their withdrawal during daylight hours; and though each night as soon as dark screened them from the accurate gunnery of the Americans, they were restored and the firing renewed, it was done with a feebleness that bespoke discouragement and exhaustion. For two days shot and shell splintered and tore through abattis and fraising, and levelled parapet and ditch, almost unanswered.

To the right of the new parallel, and almost enfilading it by their fire, were two detached redoubts of the British, well in advance of their main lines. To end their destructive cross fire, as well as to complete the investiture, it was determined to carry them by assault; and as dark settled down on the evening of the 14th, two storming parties, one of French grenadiers and chasseurs, drawn from the brigade of the Baron de Viomenil and under the command of the Comte de Deuxponts, and the second, of American light infantry, taken from the division of the Marquis de Lafayette and commanded by Alexander Hamilton, were moved out of the trenches, and, followed by strong supporting battalions, were advanced as far as was prudent.

It was while the American forlorn hope was standing at ease, awaiting the signal, that Colonel Brereton came hurrying up to where Hamilton and Laurens were whispering final details.

"I could n't keep out of this," he explained; "and the marquis was good enough to say I might serve as a volunteer."

"The more the merrier," responded Laurens. "Come along with me, Jack. We are to take the fort in the rear, and you shall have your stomach full of fighting, I'll warrant you. Here, put this paper in your hat, if you don't want to be stuck by our own men."

Hamilton, turning from the two, addressed the three battalions. "Light infantry," he said, "when the council of war reached the decision to carry the works in our front, Baron de Viomenil argued that both should be left to his troops, as the American soldiery could not be depended upon for an assault. The commander-in-chief would not disgrace us by yielding to his claim, and 't is for us to prove that he was right. We have shown the French artillerists that we can serve our guns quicker and more accurately; now let us see if we cannot prove ourselves the swifter and steadier at this work. Let the sergeants see to it that each man in his file has a piece of paper in his hat, and that each has removed the flint from his gun. I want you to carry the redoubt without a shot, by the bayonet alone."

A murmur of assent and applause passed along the lines, and then all stood listening for the signal. It was a night of intense darkness, and now, after ten days of unending bombardment, the cannonading had entirely ceased, giving place to a stillness which to ears so long accustomed to the uproar seemed to have a menacing quality in it.

Suddenly a gun boomed loud and clear; and as its echo reverberated out over the river, every man clutched his musket more firmly. Boom! went a second close upon the first, and each soldier drew a deep breath as if to prepare for some exertion. Boom! went a third, and a restless undulation swept along the lines. Boom! for a fourth time roared a cannon, and some of the men laughed nervously. Boom! rolled out yet a fifth, and the ranks stood tense and rigid, every ear, every sense, straining.

Boom! crashed the sixth gun, and not a man needed the "Forward, light infantry!" of the commander, every one of them being in motion before the order was given. Steadily they advanced in silence, save only for muttered grumbles here and there over the slowness of the pace.

Without warning, out of the blackness came a challenge, "Who goes there?"

Making no answer, the stormers broke into a run and swept forward with a rush.

"Bang!" went a single musket; and had it been fired into a mine, the tremendous uproar that ensued could not have come more instantaneously, for twenty cannon thundered, and the redoubts fairly seemed to spit fire as the defenders' muskets flashed. High in the air rose rockets, which lit up the whole scene, and for the time they lasted fairly turned the night into day.

As the main and flanking parties swept up to the redoubt, the sappers and miners, who formed the first rank, attacked the abattis with their axes; but the troops, mad with long waiting and fretted by the galling fire of the foe, would not wait, and, pushing them aside, clambering, boosting, and tumbling went over the obstruction. Not pausing to form in the ditch, they scrambled up the parapet and went surging over the crest, pell-mell, upon the British.

Brereton, sword in hand, had half sprung, half been tossed upon the row of barrels filled with earth which topped the breastworks, only to face a bayonet which one of the garrison lunged up at him. A sharp prick he felt in his chest; but as in the quick thought of danger he realised his death moment, the weapon, instead of being driven home, was jerked back, and the soldier who had thrust with it cried:—

"Charlie!"

"Fred!" exclaimed Jack, and the two men caught each other by the hand and stood still while the invaders poured past them over the barrels.

It was Mobray who spoke first. "Oh, Charlie!" he almost sobbed, "one misery at least has been saved me! My God! You bleed."

"A pin-prick only, Fred. But what does this mean? You! and in the ranks."

"Ay, and for three years desperately seeking a death which will not come!"

"And the Fusileers?"

"Hold this redoubt. Oh, Charlie, to think that your sword should ever be raised against the old regiment!"

As Mobray spoke, came a cry from the garrison, "We yield!" and the clatter of their weapons could be heard as they were grounded, or were thrown to the earth.

"Quick!" cried Brereton, fairly hauling Sir Frederick to where he stood. "Run, Fred! At least, you shall be no prisoner." Jack gave him a last squeeze of the hand and a shove, which sent his friend fairly staggering down into the ditch.

Mobray sprang through a break in the abattis, but had not run ten feet when he turned and shouted back something which the thundering of the artillery prevented Brereton from entirely hearing, but the words he distinguished were sufficient to make him catch at the barrels for support, for they were:—

"Janice Meredith ... Yorktown ... point of death ... small-pox."

For a moment Brereton stood in a kind of daze; but as the full horror of Mobray's words came home to him, he groaned. Turning, he plunged down into the fortress with a look of a man bereft, and striding to the commander cried, "For God's sake, Hamilton, give me something to do!"

"The very man I wanted," replied the little colonel. "Carry word to the marquis that the redoubt is ours, and that the supports may advance."

Dashing out of the now open sally port, Jack ran at his top speed, and within two minutes delivered the report to General de Lafayette.

"Ah, mes braves," ejaculated the marquis, triumphantly. "My own countreemen they thought they would not it do, and now my boys, they have the fort before Deuxponts has his," he went on, as he pointed into the darkness, out of which could be seen the flash of muskets. "Ah, we will teach the baron a lesson. Colonel Barber," he ordered, turning to his aide, "ride at your best quickness to General Viomenil; tell him, with my compliments, that our fort, it is ours, and that we can give him the assistance, if he needs it."

The help was not needed, for in five minutes the second outpost was also in the possession of the allies. Working parties were at once thrown forward, and before morning the two captured positions were connected with and made part of the already established parallel.

The fall of these two redoubts in turn opened an enfilading fire on the British, and in desperation, just before dawn on the 15th a sortie was made, and the French were driven out of one of the batteries, and the guns spiked but the advantage could not be held against the reserves that came up at the first alarm, and they were in turn forced out at the point of the bayonet.

On the morning of the 16th almost a hundred heavy guns and mortars were in position; and for twenty-four hours the whole peninsula trembled, as they poured a torrent of destructive, direct, and raking fire, at the closest range, into the weakened defences and crumbling town, with scarcely pretence of resistance from the hemmed in and exhausted British, every shot which especially told being greeted with cheers from the trenches of the allies.

One there was in the uniform of a field officer, who never cheered, yet who, standing in a recklessly exposed position, staringly followed each solid shot as it buried itself in the earthworks, or, passing over them, was heard to strike in the town, and each shell, as it curved upwards and downwards in its great arc. Sometimes the explosion of the latter would throw fragments of what it destroyed in the air,—earth, shingles, bricks, and even human limbs,—raising a cry of triumph from those who served the piece, but he only pressed his lips the more tightly together, as if enduring some torture. Nor could he be persuaded to leave his place for food or sleep, urge who would, but with careworn face and haggard eyes never left it for thirty hours. Occasionally, when for a minute or two there would come an accidental break in the firing, his lips could be seen to move as if he were speaking to himself. Not one knew why he stood there following each shot so anxiously, or little recked that, when there was not one to fasten his attention, he saw instead a pair of dark eyes shadowed by long lashes, delicately pencilled eyebrows, a low fore-head surmounted by a wealth of darkest brown hair, a little straight nose, cheeks scarcely ever two minutes the same tint, and lips that, whether they spoke or no, wooed as never words yet did. And as each time the vision flashed out before him, he would half mutter, half sob a prayer:—

"Oh, God, rob her of her beauty if you will, but do not let disease or shot kill her."

It was he, watching as no other man in all those lines watched, who suddenly, a little after ten o'clock on the morning of the 17th, shouted:—

"Cease firing!"

Every man within hearing turned to him, and then looked to where his finger pointed.

On the top of a British redoubt stood a red-coated drummer, to the eye beating his instrument, but the sound of it was drowned in the roar of the guns. As the order passed from battery to battery, the thunder gradually ceased, and all that could be heard was the distant riffle of the single drum, sounding "The Parley." Once the cessation of the firing was complete, an officer, whose uniform and accoutrements flashed out brilliantly as the eastern sun shone on them, mounted the works, and standing beside the drummer slowly waved a white flag.

LXII WITHIN THE LINES

One there was in Yorktown whose suffering was to the eye as great as he who had watched from the outside. A sudden change came over Clowes with the realisation of their danger. He turned white on the confirmation of the arrival of the French fleet; and when the news spread through the town that a deserter had arrived from the American camp with word of Washington's approach, he fell on the street in a fit, out of which he came only when he had been cupped, and sixty ounces of blood taken from him. Not once after that did he seek out Janice, or even come to the custom-house for food or sleep, but pale, and talking much to himself he wandered restlessly about the town, or still more commonly stood for hours on the highest point of land which opened a view of the bay, gazing anxiously eastward for the promised English fleet.

Janice was too occupied, however, with her mother even to note this exemption. The exposure and fatigue of the long, hot march to Yorktown had proved too great a tax upon Mrs. Meredith's strength, and almost with their arrival she took to her bed and slowly developed a low tidal fever, not dangerous in its character, but unyielding to the doctor's ministrations.

It was on the day that the videttes fell back on the town, bringing word that the allies were advancing, that the girl noticed so marked a change in her mother that she sent for the army surgeon, and that she had done wisely was shown by his gravity after a very cursory examination.

"Miss Meredith," he said, "this nursing is like to be of longer duration than at first seemed probable, and will over-tax your strength. 'T is best, therefore, that you let us move Mrs. Meredith into the army hospital, where she can be properly tended, and you saved from the strain."

"I could not but stay with her, doctor," answered Janice; "but if you think it best for her that she be moved, I can as well attend her there."

The surgeon bit his lip, then told her, "I'll try to secure you permission, if your father think it best." He went downstairs, and finding the squire said: "Mr. Meredith, I have very ill news for you. It has been kept from the army, but there has been for some days an outbreak of small-pox among the negroes, and now your wife is attacked by it."

"Don't say it, man!" implored the squire.

"'T is, alas! but too true. It is necessary that she be at once removed on board the hospital ship, and I shall return as quickly as possible with my assistants and move her. The more promptly you call your daughter from her bedside, the better, for 't will just so much lessen the chance of contagion."

Before the father had well broken the news to Janice, or could persuade her to leave the invalid, the surgeon was returned, and, regardless of the girl's prayers and tears, her mother was placed upon a stretcher, carried to the river-side, and then transferred to the pest-ship, which was anchored in mid-stream. Against his better judgment, but unable to resist his daughter's appeals, the squire sought out Cornwallis with the request that she might be allowed to attend Mrs. Meredith on the ship, but the British general refused.

"Not only would it be contrary to necessary rules, sir, but it would merely expose her needlessly. Fear not that Mrs. Meredith will lack the best of care, for I will give especial directions to the surgeons. My intention was to send a flag, as soon as the enemy approached, with a request that I might pass you all through the lines, out of danger; and this is a sad derangement to the wish, for General Washington would certainly refuse passage to any one sick of this disease, and all must justify him in the refusal. I still think that 't would be best to let me apply for leave for you and Miss Meredith to go out, but—"

"Neither the lass nor I would consider it for a moment, though grateful to your Lordship for the offer."



"Then I will see that you have room in one of the bomb-proofs, but 't will be a time of horror, that I warn you."

He spoke only too truly, and the misery of the next twenty days are impossible to picture. The moment the bombardment began, father and daughter were forced to seek the protection of one of the caves that had been dug in the side of the bluff; and here, in damp, airless, almost dark, and fearfully overcrowded quarters, they were compelled to remain day and night during the siege. Almost from the first, scarcity of wood produced an entire abandonment of cooked food, every one subsisting on raw pork or raw salt beef, or, as Janice chose, eating only ship biscuit and unground coffee berries. Once the fire of the allies began to tell, each hour supplied a fresh tale of wounded, and these were brought into the bomb-proofs for the surgeons to tend, their presence and moans adding to the nightmare; yet but for them it seemed to Janice she would have gone mad in those weeks, for she devoted herself to nursing and feeding them, as an escape from dwelling on her mother's danger and their own helplessness. Even news from the pest-ship had its torture, for when her father twice each day descended the bluff to get the word from the doctor's boat, as it came ashore, she stood in the low doorway of the cave, and at every shot that was heard shrieking through the air, and at every shell which exploded with a crash, she held her breath, full of dread of what it might have done, and in anguish till her father was safe returned with the unvarying and uncheering bulletin the surgeons gave him of Mrs. Meredith's condition.

Yet those in the bomb-proofs escaped the direst of the horrors. Above them were enacted scenes which turned even the stoutest hearts sick with fear and loathing. The least of these was the slaughter of the horses, baggage, cavalry, and artillery, which want of forage rendered necessary, one whole day being made hideous by the screams of the poor beasts, as one by one they were led to a spot where the putrefying of their carcasses would least endanger the health of the soldiery, and their throats cut. All pretence of care of the negroes disappeared with the demand on the officers and soldiers to man the redoubts, and on the surgeons to care for the sick and wounded soldiers, who soon numbered upwards of two thousand. Naked and half starving, they who had dreamed of freedom were left for the small-pox and putrid fever and for shot and shell to work their will among them. In the abandoned houses and even in the streets, they lay, sick, dismembered, dying, and dead, with not so much as one to aid or bury them.

On the morning of the 17th a fresh number of wounded men were brought into the already overcrowded cave; and though Janice was faint with the long days of anxiety, fright, bad air, poor food, and hard work, she went from man to man, doing what could be done to ease their torments and lessen their groans. The last brought in was in a faint, with the lower part of his face and shoulder horribly torn and shattered by the fragments of a shell, but a little brandy revived him, and he moaned for water. Hurriedly she stooped over him, to drop a little from a spoon between the open lips.

"Janice!" he startled her by crying.

"Who are—? Oh, Sir Frederick!" she exclaimed. "You! How came you here?"

"They let me out of the prison Clowes me put in," Mobray gasped; "and having nothing better, I enlisted in the ranks under another name." There he choked with blood.

"Doctor," called Janice, "come quickly!"

"Humph!" growled the surgeon, after one glance. "You should not summon me to waste time on him. Can't you see 't is hopeless?"

"Oh, don't—" began Janice.

"Nay, he speaks the truth," said Mobray; "and I thank God 't is so. Don't cry. I am glad to go; and though I have wasted my life, 't is a happier death than poor John Andre's."

For a moment only the sobs of the girl could be heard, then the dying man gaspingly resumed: "A comrade I once had whom I loved best in this world till I knew you. By a strange chance we loved the same girl; I wish I might die with the knowledge that he is to have the happiness that was denied to me."

"Oh, Sir Frederick, you must not ask it! He—"

"His was so bitter a story that he deserves a love such as yours would be to make it up to him. I can remember him the merriest of us all, loved by every man in the regiment, from batman to colonel."

"And what changed him?" Janice could not help asking.

"T was one evening at the mess of the Fusileers, when Powel, too deep in drink to know what he was saying, blurted out something concerning Mrs. Loring's relations with Sir William. Poor Charlie was the one man in the force who knew not why such favouritism had been shown in his being put so young into Howe's regiment. But that we were eight to one, he'd have killed Powel then and there. Prevented in that, he set off to slay his colonel, never dreaming he was his own father. He burst in on me late that night, crazed with grief, and told me how he had found him at his mother's, and how she had robbed him of his vengeance by a word. The next day he disappeared, and never news had I of him until that encounter at Greenwood. Does he not deserve something to sweeten his life?"

"I feel for him deeply," replied the girl, sadly, "the more that I did him a grave wrong in my thoughts, and by some words I spoke must have cut him to the quick and added pain to pain."

"Then you will make him happy?"

"No, Sir Frederick, that I cannot."

"Don't punish him for what was not his fault."

"'T is not for that," she explained. "Once I loved him, I own. But in a moment of direst need, when I appealed to him, he failed me; and though now I better understand his resentment against my father and myself I could never bring myself to forgive his cruelty, even were my love not dead."

"I will not believe it of him. Hot and impulsive he is by nature, but never cruel or resentful."

"'T is, alas! but too true," grieved Janice.

Once again the baronet choked with blood and struggled for a moment convulsively. Then more faintly he said: "Wilt give him my love and a good-by?"

"I will," sobbed the girl.

Nothing more was said for some time, then Mobray asked faintly: "Is it that I am losing consciousness, or has the firing eased?"

Janice raised her head with a start. "Why, it has stopped," she exclaimed. "What can it mean?"

"That courage and tenacity have done their all, and now must yield. Poor Cornwallis! I make no doubt he'd gladly change places with me at this instant."

Here Mr. Meredith's voice broke in upon them, as standing in the mouth of the cave he called: "Come, Janice. The firing has ceased, to permit an exchange of flags with the rebels. Up with ye, and get the fresh air while ye can."

"I will stay here, father," replied the girl, "and care for—"

"Nonsense, lass! Ye shall not kill yourself. I order ye to come away."

"Go, Miss Meredith," begged Mobray. "You can do naught for me, and—and—I would have—Do as he says." His hand blindly groped until Janice placed hers within it, when he gave it a weak pressure as he said, "'T is many a long march and many a sleepless night that the memory of you has sweetened. Thank you, and good-by."

Reluctantly Janice came out of the bomb-proof, blinking and gasping with the novelty of sunlight and sea breeze, after the darkness and stench of the last weeks; and her father, partly supporting, led her up the bluff. It was a strange transformation that greeted her eyes,—ploughed-up streets and ruins of buildings dismantled by shot or left heaps of ashes by the shell, everywhere telling of the fury of the siege.

Keep your eyes closed, lass," suggested the squire, "for there are sights of horror. In a moment I'll have ye at headquarters, where things have been kept more tidy. There, now ye can look; sit down here and fill your lungs with this good air."

Silently the two seated themselves on the steps of the Nelson house, now pierced in every direction by the shot of the allies, though less damaged than many others. Presently Janice's attention was caught by the sound of shuffling footsteps, as of one with only partial use of his legs, and glancing up she gave a slight cry of fear. And well she might, for there stood the commissary, with his face like one risen from the dead, it was so white and staring.

"Meredith," he whispered, as if his larynx were parched beyond the ability to speak aloud, while with one hand he held his throat in a vain attempt to make his speech less weak and raucous, "they say 'The Parley' has been beat and a flag sent out, and that the post is to be surrendered. Tell me that Cornwallis will never do that. He 's a brave man. Tell me it is n't so."

"Nothing else is there for him to do, Clowes. He 's made a splendid defence, but now scarce a gun is left mounted and powder and shot are both exhausted; to persist longer would be useless murder."

"No, no! Let him hold out a few days longer. Clinton will relieve us yet. He must n't give up. God! Meredith, they'll hang me! He must n't surrender. I can't die just as life is worth something. No, no! I can't die now. I'm rich. Ninety thousand pounds I've made. To be caught like a rat! He must n't surrender the post." And muttering to himself, the miserable man shambled away, to repeat the same hopes and expostulations to the next one he found.

"He had another fit last night," remarked the squire; "and no one has seen him eat or sleep in four days, nor can he be persuaded to either, but goes wandering unceasingly about the town, quite unminding of shot and shell. Ho! what 's here?" he ended, pointing up the street.

Three officers were coming towards them, arm in arm, the two outsiders in red coats, and the middle one in a blue one, with buff facings. Occasionally as they advanced, he in the blue uniform swerved or stumbled slightly, as if he might be wounded or drunk. But one look at his face was sufficient to show the cause, for across his eyes was tied a broad white band.

"Oh, dadda," murmured Janice, suddenly paling, "'t is Colonel Brereton they have captured!"

"Nonsense, Jan! 't is impossible to know any man, so covered."

The girl attempted no reassertion, and as the three officers marched up to the headquarters, the two hastily rose from the steps.

"Ha!" exclaimed one of the British officers. "Here stands Miss Meredith now, Colonel Brereton, as if to end your doubting of my assurances of her being alive."

The blindfolded man, with a quick motion, withdrew the hand passed through the arm of his guide and raised it impulsively to the bandage.

"Hold," warningly said the British officer, as he caught the hand. "Small wonder the handkerchief becomes intolerable, with her to look at, but stay on it must till you are within doors."

Jack's hand clutched the officer's arm. "God! man, you are not deceiving me?"

"Speak up, Miss Meredith, and convince the sceptic that General O'Hara, though Irish, is yet a truth-teller on occasion."

"Oh, Colonel Brereton," said Janice, "I have just left Sir Frederick, who is at the point of death, and he gave me a message of farewell to you. Can you not go to him for a moment? 'T would be everything to him."

Jack hesitated. "My mission is so important—General O'Hara, wilt deliver this letter with a proper explanation to his Lordship, while I see this friend?"

"Certainly. If Miss Meredith will guide you and Lord Chewton to where he lies, I'll see that Lord Cornwallis gets the letter."

In the briefest possible time Brereton stood beside Mobray. Yet when the officer in charge of him untied the handkerchief and stepped back out of hearing, Jack's eyes did not seek his friend, but turned instead to the face of the girl standing beside him. For a moment they lingered in a gaze so steadfast, so devouring, that, try as she would not to look at him, Janice's eyes were drawn to his, despite herself. With a long breath, as if relieved of some dread, Jack finally turned away and knelt beside his friend. "Fred, old comrade," he said, as he took his hand.

"Charlie!" gasped Mobray, weakly, as his eyes opened. "Is 't really you, or am I wandering?"

"'T is I, Fred, come into town with a flag."

"You've beat old Britain, after all, have n't you?"

"No, dear lad," replied Jack, gently. "'T is the old spirit of England that has conquered, as it ever will, when fighting for its rights against those who would rob it of them."

"True. We forgot 't was our own whelps, grown strong, we sought to subjugate. And you had the better man to lead you, Jack."

"Ay, and so we ever shall, so long as Britain makes men generals because they are king's bastards."

"Nay, Charlie, don't let the sore rankle through life. 'T is not from whence you came that counts; 't is what you are. I'd take your shame of birth, if I could rid myself of mine. Fortune, position, and opportunity I've wasted, while you have won rank and glory."

"And now have not one thing to make life worth the while."

"Don't say it, Charlie. There's something for you to live for still. Put your hand into my shirt—yes—to the left— now you have it."

Brereton drew forth a miniature set with brilliants; and as his eyes lit upon it, he gave an exclamation of surprise.

"'T is the one thing I concealed from my creditors," moaned Sir Frederick, "and now I leave it to you. Watch over and care for her for the sake of your love and of mine, Charlie."

Brereton leaned down and kissed Mobray on the cheek, as he whispered, "I will."

"Is—is Miss Meredith here, Charlie?" asked the dying baronet.

"Yes, Sir Frederick," replied Janice, with a choke.

"I—I—I fear I am a ghastly object," he went on, "but could you bring yourself—Am I too horrible for one kiss of farewell from you? Charlie will not grudge it to me."

The girl knelt beside Brereton, and stooping tenderly kissed the dying man on the same spot that Jack had kissed. Mobray's left hand feebly took hers, and, consciously or unconsciously, brought the one which still held Jack's to it. Holding the two hands within his own so that they touched, he said chokingly:—

"Heaven bless you, and try to forgive him. Good-by both. I have served my term, and at last am released from the bigger jail." A little shudder, a twitch, and he was dead.

For a minute the two remained kneeling, then Brereton said sadly:—

"He was the only friend left me in the world, and I know not why he is taken and I am left." He withdrew his hand from contact with the girl's, and rose. "I cannot stay, for my mission is not to be slighted, but I will speak to O'Hara, and see that he gets a funeral befitting his rank." Brereton squared his shoulders and raised his voice, to say: "Lord Chewton, I am—"

With a quick motion, the girl rose to her feet and said: "I have no right to detain you, Colonel Brereton, but—but I want you to know that neither dadda nor I knew the truth concerning Mrs. Loring when we said what we did on that fatal night. We both thought—thought—Your confession to me that once you loved her, and her looking too young to be your mother, led me into a misconception."

"Then you forgive me?" he cried eagerly.

"For the words you spoke then I do not even blame you, sir. But what was, can never be again."

"Ay," said the officer, bitterly. "You need not say it. You cannot scorn me more than I scorn myself."

Not giving her time to reply, he crossed to where the officer with the bandage stood waiting him, and once again was blindfolded, and led to headquarters.

"This way," directed General O'Hara, leading him into a room where stood Cornwallis.

"Are you familiar, sir, with the contents of General Washington's letter?" asked the earl.

"No, my Lord; I was its bearer only because I begged the Marquis de Lafayette to secure me the service."

"He grants a suspension of hostilities for two hours from the delivery of this, for me to put my proposals in writing. Did he say aught to you, sir, of the terms he would grant?"

"I am no longer on General Washington's staff" answered Brereton, "so I know not his expectations."

"From all I hear of him," said the general, "he is not a man to use a triumph ungenerously. He fought bravely under the British standards, and surely will not now seek to bring unnecessary shame on them." Seating himself at the table, he wrote a few lines, which he folded and sealed. "Will you not, use your influence with him to grant us the customary honours, and spare the officers from the disgrace of giving up their side arms?"

"I no longer possess influence with or the confidence of his Excellency," replied Brereton, gravely; "but he is a generous man, and I predict will not push his advantage merely for your humiliation."

"Will he not forbear making our surrender a spectacle?"

"If the talk of the camp be of value, my Lord, 't is said you are to be granted the exact terms you allowed to General Lincoln at Savannah; and you yourself cannot but acknowledge the justice of such treatment."

"'T was not I who dictated the terms of that surrender."

"Your observation, my Lord, forces the reply that 't is a nation, not an individual, we are fighting."

The proud face of the British general worked for a moment in the intensity of his emotion. "We have no right to complain that we receive measure for measure," he said; "and yet sir, though the lex talionis may be justified, it makes it none the less bitter."

Colonel Brereton took the letter, his eyes were blindfolded again, and he was led back beyond the lines.

With the expiration of the two hours, the firing was not resumed; and all that day and the next flags were passing and repassing between the lines, with the result that on the afternoon of the latter, commissioners met at the Moore house and drew up the terms of capitulation, which were signed that evening.

At twelve o'clock on the 19th, the English colours were struck on the redoubts, and the American were hoisted in their stead. Two hours later the armies of the allies took up position opposite each other on the level ground outside the town, and the British troops, with shouldered arms, cased colours, and bands playing, as stipulated, an English air, "The World Turned Upside Down," came marching out of their lines. As they advanced, Washington turned to an officer behind him and ordered, "Let the word be passed that the troops are not to cheer. They have fought too well for us to triumph over them." In consequence not a sound came from the American ranks as the British regiments marched up and with tears in many a brave man's eyes grounded their arms and colours. But the officers, through Washington's generosity, were allowed to retain their swords, sparing Cornwallis the mortification of having to be present in person; and it was General O'Hara who spoke the formal words of surrender, and who led the disarmed and flagless regiments back into the town, once the formalities had been completed. By nightfall twenty-four standards and over eight thousand prisoners were in the possession of the allied forces.

But one had escaped them, for in a cellar, hidden behind a heap of refuse and boxes, his body already stripped of its clothes by pilfering negroes, his face horribly distorted, and with froth yet on his lips, lay the commissary, dead.

And at the very moment the next day that two companies, one of British Fusileers, and one of New Jersey Continentals, were firing a volley over a new-made grave, in which, wrapped in the flag of his country, and buried with every military honor, had been deposited the body of him who had been Sir Frederick Mobray, a fatigue party were rolling into a trench, and carelessly covering with earth from the battered redoubts, along with the bodies of negroes and horses, and of barrels of spoiled pork and beef, the naked corpse of him who had been John Ombrey, Baron Clowes.

LXIII ON BRUNSWICK GREEN

On a pleasant June afternoon in the year 1782, the loungers about the Continental Tavern in the village of Brunswick were discussing the recent proclamations of the governor and commander-in-chief forbidding illicit trading with New York, both of which called forth general condemnation, well voiced by Bagby, when he remarked:—

"A man with half an eye can see what they are working for, and that their objections to our supplying the Yorkers is only a blind. What they really wants is that we patriots, who don't spend our days idling about in camp all winter at Rocky-Hill and now at Middle-Brook, doing nothing except eat the people's food, and spend the people's money, but who earn a living by hard work, sha' n't have no market but the continental commissaries, and so will have to take whatever they allow to offer us for our crops."

"'T aint the proclamations ez duz the rale injoory," asserted Squire Hennion; "fer printed orders duz n't hurt nobody, but when the gin'ral sends a hull brigade of sogers ter pervent us sellin' our craps then I consarned ef it aint tyranny ez every freeman is baound ter resist, jest ez we did in '65 an' '74."

Bagby, with a sour look at Hennion, said: "That 's one of the biggest grievances, but not the way some pretended friends of the people would have us think. What do your fellows say to officers having been fixed, so that pickets are only put where they'll stop us from sending boats to New York, while there 's one right here is allowed to send cargoes just when he likes?"

"Does yer mean that, Joe?" demanded a farmer.

"That I does," asserted Bagby, looking meaningly at Hennion. "I was told as a chance was given to the army to catch the man deepest in the business—and in worse—red handed. But what 's done? Instead of laying a trap, and catching him, they don't stir a finger, but wait ten months and then sends the very officer who did n't do nothing to put a stop to it. For weeks that high cock-a-lorum Brereton 's been smelling about this town, and lining the river at night with his pickets, when all the time he could have come here any afternoon, and arrested the traitor."

"Thet 'eres lucky fer yer," snarled Hennion viciously. "yer ain't the only one ez kin tell tales, I warns yer."

"I have n't done no bribing, and it was n't me as the information was lodged against," retorted Joe, rancourously.

"You can't mean as General Brereton 's winking at the trade, when scarce a boat 's got out of the river since his brigade camped there," demanded one of the loungers, indicating with his thumb Brunswick Green, whitened by rows of tents.

"I mean as Brereton could lay hands any time he pleased on one traitor, and why he has n't done so is what I want to know. What 's more, I'd like to know, why Washington does n't take any notice of the charges that I've been told was preferred against Brereton nigh six months ago for this very matter. I tell you, fellows, that money 's being used, and that some of those who hold themselves highest, is taking it."

"Don't seem like his Excellency 'ud do anythin' ez sneaky ez that," observed the publican, glancing upwards with pride at his signboard, now restored to its former position. "Folks says he's a 'nation fine man."

I'm just sick of all this getting on the knees to a man," grumbled Joseph, "just because he went and captivated Cornwallis. Washington is n't a bit better than some of us right here and it won't be long before you'll find it out."

"How do you make that, Joe?"

"Is n't he trying to bully Congress into paying the army, just as if he was king, as I suppose he hopes to be some day. You wait till he gets his way, and I guess the tax collectors will make the people sing a different tune about him. If I'm elected to the Assembly this spring, I calculate to make some ears buzz and tingle a bit, once the legislature meets. I'll teach some of these swaggering military chaps—who were n't nothing but bond-servants once yet who some of you fellows is fools enough now to talk of sending to Congress— that this is a nation of freemen, and that now that the British is licked, we don't have no more use for them, and—"

"Waal, I declare, if thet don't favour Squire Meredith, an' his darter," interjected a farmer, suddenly, pointing with his pipe to where an army waggon was approaching on the Princeton post-road.

"Swan, ef yer ain't right," cried Hennion. "I did hope we wuz quit of them fer good an' all."

"Wonder what the gal 's in black fer?" observed a lounger.

"My nigger cook Sukey," said the landlord, "told me that Gin'ral Brereton told her the ole lady wuz mortal sick o' the small-pox an' that when he went aboard the pest-ship, she wuz so weak it did n't seem like she could be moved, but he an' the doctor got her safe ashore, an' when he last hearn, 'bout the first o' the year, she wuz gainin'."

The publican rose and went forward as the van stopped in front of his door. "Glad tew see yer, squire," he said, "an' yer, too, Miss Janice. Seems most like ole times. Hope nuthin 's wrong with Miss Meredith?"

The squire slowly and heavily got down from the box seat. "We have her body in the waggon," he said wearily and sadly.

"I vum, but that 's too bad!" exclaimed the landlord, and, for want of words of comfort, he hesitatingly held out his hand, but recollecting himself, he was drawing it back, when Mr. Meredith, forgetful of rank, caught and squeezed it.

"She never really rallied," went on the squire, with tears in his eyes, "and though she lived on through the winter, she did n't have the strength to mend. She died three weeks ago, and we have come back here to bury her."

"Naow yer an' Miss Janice come right intew my place, an I'll fix yer both ez comfortable ez I kin," invited the publican, warmly, once again forgetting himself so far as to pat Mr. Meredith on the back. Then as he helped Janice down, he shouted, "Abram, mix a noggin o' sling, from the bestest, an' tell Sukey that she's wanted right off, no matter what she's doin'."

The last direction was needless, for the slave, in some way informed of the arrival, had Janice in her arms ere the landlord well completed his speech, and was carrying more than leading her into the hotel and up the stairs to the room reserved for people of quality only, where she lifted her on to the bed and with her arms still clasped about the girl wept over her, half in misery, and half in an almost savage joy, while repeating again and again, "Oh, my missy, my Missy Janice, my young missy, my pooty young missy, come back to ole Sukey."

"Oh, Sukey," sobbed Janice, "but mommy is dead."

"Doan young missy pine," begged the slave. "De Lord he know best, an' he bring my chile, dat I dun take care ob from de day he dun gib her, back to ole black Sukey."

Meantime, the squire, after a question as to where the coffin could be temporarily placed, and a direction to the driver of the wagon, asked the publican: "We had word in Virginia that Greenwood was sold by the state; is 't so?"

"Yes, squire, it wuz auctioned last August an' wuz bought by ole squire Hennion, an' jes naow his Excellency 's usin' it fer headquarters, till the army moves north'ard."

A sadder look came on Mr. Meredith's face. "That 's worse news yet," he grieved, with a shake of his head; "but perhaps he'll not carry his hatred into this." He walked over to where the all-attentive loungers were sitting, and going up to Hennion, said humbly: "We were once friends, Hennion, and I trust that such ill feeling as ye bear for me will not lead ye to refuse a request I have to make."

"An' what 'ere is thet?" inquired Hennion, suspiciously.

"'T was Matilda's—'t was my wife's dying prayer that we should bring her back here, and lay her beside her four babies, and to let her die happy I gave her my word it should be done. Ye'll not refuse me leave, I'm sure, man, to bury her in the private plot at Greenwood."

"Yer need n't expect ter fool me by no sich a story. I ain't goin' ter let yer weaken my title by no sich a trick!"

"For shame!" cried Joseph, and a number of others echoed his words.

"Yelp away," snarled Hennion, rising; "If't 't wuz yer bull ez wuz ter be gored yer 'd whine t' other side of yer teeth." With which remark he shuffled away.

Not stopping to listen to the expressions of sympathy and disgust that the idlers began upon, Mr. Meredith entered the public of the tavern.

"Here yer be, squire, jus' mixed from my very bestest liquor, an' it'll set yer right up," declared the landlord, offering him a pewter pot.

The squire made a motion of dissent, but seeing the publican's look of disappointment, he took the cup and drained it. "Ye've not lost your skill, Simon," he remarked kindly, as he returned it. "Canst tell me if 't is possible for me to get a letter into New York quickly?"

"'T aint ez easy ez it wuz afore the soldiers come here fer they pervent the secret trade, but if yer apply tew Gin'ral Brereton, ez lodges with the paason, I calkerlate he kin send it in with a flag if he hez a mind tew"

Mr. Meredith shook his head in discouragement. "It seems as if all I ask must be begged of enemies. However, 't is small grief, after what has passed. Wilt give me pen and ink, man?"

While he was writing, Bagby came into the public, and interrupted him.

"I did n't offer to shake hands, squire," he said, "seeing as you were in trouble, and took up with other things, but I'm glad to see you and Miss Janice back, and there 's my hand to prove it."

Mr. Meredith laid down his pen, and took the proffered handshake. "Thank ye, Mr. Bagby," he said, meekly.

"I would n't stop what you're at now," went on Joseph, sitting down at the table, "if I had n't something in my mind as I think 'll interest you big, and may make some things easier that you want."

"What's that?"

"If I put you on to this, I guess you'll be so grateful that I don't need to make no terms beforehand. You 'd give me about what I asked, would n't you, if I can get you Greenwood back again?"

"How could ye e'er do that?"

"It 's this way. That general act was n't drawn very careful, and when old Hennion bid the place in, I looked it over sharp, and I concluded there was a fighting chance to break the sale. You see, the act declares certain persons traitors, and that their property is forfeited to the state. Now what we must do is to make out that Greenwood was Mrs. Meredith's and that as she was n't named in the act, of course the sale was n't valid and is void."

The squire wagged his head despondingly. "By the colony law it became mine the moment she inherited it."

"You see if I can't make a case of it," urged Bagby. "I've come out a great hand at tieing the facts up in such a snarl as no judge or jury can get them straight again, and this time the jury will be with us before we begin. You see old Hennion's been putting the screws on his tenants tight as he can twist them, and glad enough they 'd be if they could only have you again, 'stead of him. The whole country's so down on him that I've been planning to prevent his being re-elected to Assembly this spring. Now, you know, as well as I, what I would like, and I guess you won't be so set against it now, for I've got nigh to twenty thousand pounds specie, laid out in all sorts of ventures, so even if we don't get Greenwood, I'll be all the better match, but we won't say nothing about all that till we've seen what comes."

"Nay, Mr. Bagby, I'll not gain your aid by a deceitful silence. I owe ye an apology for the way I treated your overture before, but I must tell you that both my own, and my girl's word is given to Major Hennion, and so—"

"But he's been attainted, an' 'll never be able to come back here.

"Aye, and we too expect to accept exile with him. When we left Williamsburg, we planned once we had buried our dead, to go to New York, where the two will marry, and then I shall follow them to wherever his regiment is ordered."

"But you don't need to go, now that General Brereton 's persuaded the governor to pardon you," protested Joseph, "and you—"

"Was it Brereton did that?" demanded Mr. Meredith.

"Between you and me, squire, I'd been at Livingston ever since you was sent away, and had about won him over, when Brereton got back from Virginia and went to see him."

"I'm glad to hear he's willing to do me a kindness, for not once at Yorktown did he come nigh us, and so I feared me he would refuse a favour I must shortly ask of him."

"What 's that?"

"I'm writing to Phil Hennion, begging him to intercede with his father and get me permission to bury my wife at Greenwood."

"You would n't need to do no asking if you 'd only let me get the property back."

"You 're right, man, and if it does nothing more, we'll perhaps frighten him into yielding us that much."

"'T will take time, you understand, squire, and it can't be done if you go to York or out of the country."

"We'll stay here as long as there 's nothing better to do."

"That's the talk. And don't you wherrit about your lodgings, if you 're short of cash. I'll fix it with Si, and chance my getting paid somehow. I'll see him right off, and fix it so you and Miss Janice has the best there is." He started to go; then asked, "I hope—there is n't any danger—I suppose—she'll keep, eh, squire?"

The husband winced. "Yes," he replied huskily. "The Marquis de Lafayette, quite unasked, ordered the commissaries to give us all we needed of a pipe of rum."

"That was mighty generous," said Bagby, "for I suppose he had to pay for it. Even a major-general, I take it, can't draw no such a quantity gratis."

"I writ him, asking that I might know the cost, but he answered that 't was nothing. 'T is impossible to say what we owe to him. 'T was he, so Doctor Craik told me, who asked him to bring Mrs. Meredith off the pest-ship, and 't was he who furnished us with the army-van in which we've journeyed from Virginia. Had we been kinsmen, he could not have been kinder."

"Now that only shows how a man tries to take credit for what he has n't had a finger in. Brereton, who, since he was made a general and got so thick with the governor, has put on airs enough to kill a cat, told your Sukey, as now is cook here, that 't was he went aboard the pest-ship with the doctor, and brought her off."

"'T is the first I've heard of it," averred Mr. Meredith, incredulously yet thoughtfully.

"I tell you that Brereton is a sly, sneaky fellow, as needs watching in more than one matter. Nigh ten months ago I showed him how he could nab old Hennion, so that like as not he'd have gone to the gallows, but he did n't stir a finger, durn him! Oh, here 's Si, now. Say, I want you to treat Mr. Meredith and Miss Janice real handsome, and don't trouble them with no bills, but leave me to square it," he said to the landlord, who had come bustling in.

"Lor, Joe, yer duz n't think I wuz goin' tew make no charge fer this? Why, the squire lent me the money ez started me, an' I calkerlate he kin stay on here jus' about ez long ez he elects tew." Then the publican laughed. "Like ez not there won't be no supper tew-night, squire. That 'ere Sukey hez got yer gal tucked in my best tester bed, an' is croonin' her tew sleep jes' like she wuz a baby ag'in. She most bit my head off when I went in tew tell her supper-time wuz comin'. 'Stonishin' haow like white folks niggers kin feel sometimes, ain't it?"

"I bought her when our first baby was coming, and she saw four born and buried, and nigh broke her heart over each one in turn," said the squire, huskily; "so when Janice came, 't was as if she was her own child." He rose, his letter completed, and with a word to explain his movements, walked across the green to the parsonage, where his knock brought Peg to the door, and resulted in a series of wild greetings and exclamations. At last, however, the old-time master was permitted to make known the object of his call, and was ushered into a room where Brereton was sitting writing.

"Mr. Meredith!" exclaimed Jack, starting to his feet. "How are you all—that—how is Miss Meredith?"

"She's stood the grief and—I know not if ye have heard of Mrs. Meredith's death?"

"Yes; a friend in Virginia wrote me."

"She's borne up under that and under the hard journey wonderfully, and has been braver and more cheerful, I fear, than I myself. I've come to ye, General Brereton, to ask if ye could send a letter for me, under flag, to New York?"

"Certainly, if 't is of a character that makes it allowable."

"I've not sealed it, that you might read it," answered the squire, holding out his letter.

Brereton read it slowly, as if he was thinking between the words. "It shall be sent in at once," he promised, his lips set as if to conceal some emotion. Then he asked, "You write to Colonel Hennion as if—are he and—you intend to give Miss Meredith to him?"

"Yes."

Jack wheeled and looked out of a window for an instant; without turning he said, "Is she—does she—she is willing?"

"Ay, the lass has at last found she loves him, and is as ready now as I ever was."

Again Brereton was silent for a breathing space. "When will they wed?" he questioned finally.

"Once we can get to York."

"And that will be?"

"The burial of Mrs. Meredith and other matters will keep us in Brunswick for an uncertain length of time."

"And you will lodge where?"

"At the tavern."

"'T is no place for Miss Meredith."

"Beggars cannot be choosers, sir."

For a moment Brereton said nothing; then remarked as he faced about, "If I can serve you in any other way, Mr. Meredith, hesitate to ask nothing of me."

"My thanks to ye, general," answered Mr. Meredith, gratefully. "I fear me I little merit courtesy at your hands."

"'T is a peace-making time," replied Jack, "and we'll put the ill feeling away, as 't is to be hoped Great Britain and our country will do, once the treaty is negotiated and ratified."

"'T is no country I have," rejoined the squire, sadly. "One word, sir, and I will be gone. I was but just told that 't was ye who got Mrs. Meredith off the pest-ship; and if—"

Brereton held up his hand. "'T was the Marquis who gave the order, Mr. Meredith, and the Surgeon-General who superintended the removal."

"So I was told at the time, but I feared that I might have been misinformed. None the less, general, I am your present debtor;" with which words the squire bowed himself out.

Left alone, Brereton stood like a stone for some minutes ere he resumed his seat. He glanced down at the sheet, on which was written:—

Brunswick, June 13th, 1782. "SIR,—After three months' test, I can assure your Excellency that it is possible to very materially if not entirely check the illicit trade with New York, but only by the constant employment of a considerable force of men in a service at once fatiguing to them and irritating to the neighbourhood. I would therefore suggest, in place of these purely repressive measures, that others which will at once bring to justice those most deeply concerned in the trade, and terrify by example those who are only occasionally guilty, be employed, and therefore beg to submit for your consideration the following plan of action.

Shoving the paper to one side, Brereton took a fresh sheet, and wrote a hurried letter, which, when sealed, he addressed to "Lady Washington, Headquarters at Greenwood Manor." This done, he finished his official letter, and going to the rows of tents on the green, he delivered the two into the hands of an officer, with an order to ride with them at once.

On the following day a coach drew up in front of the Continental Tavern, and with much dignity a negro in livery alighted from the seat beside the driver.

"You will deliber Lady Washington's an' my deferential complimen's to Miss Janice Meredith; likewise dis letter from his Excellency," he said grandly to the tavern-keeper.

"Waal, of all airs fer a nigger!" snorted mine host. "Duz his Excellency run yer jobs fer yer ter hum? Guess yer ain't so fat, be yer, that yer keant carry that inter the settin'-room yerself."

With a glance of outraged dignity that should have annihilated the publican, the man went across the hall, and after a knock, entered.

"Why, Billy!" exclaimed Janice, starting up from her chair, her arm outstretched.

The intense dignity melted away in a breath, and the darky chuckled and slapped himself with delight as he took the hand. "Der, now!" he cried, "I dun assure her Ladyship dat Missy would remember Billy. Here am a letter from his Excellency, Miss."

Opening it, Janice read it out to her father:—

Headquarters, 14 June, 1782. Dear Miss Janice,—In writing this I but act as Mrs. Washington's scribe, she having an invincible dislike to the use of a pen. She hopes and begs that you will favour us with the honour of your company for a time at Headquarters, and to this I would add my own persuasions were I not sure that hers will count above mine. However, let me say that it will be a personal gratification to me if you give us now the pleasure I have several times counted upon in the past. Thinking to make more certain of your granting this request, and that you may make the journey without discomfort, Mrs. Washington sends her coach.

I most sincerely regretted not seeing you at Yorktown, the more that Lord Cornwallis assured me when he dined with me on the evening after the surrender, that he would secure your presence at the banquet he tendered to the French and American officers; but I was still more grieved when told the reason for your refusal to grace the occasion by your presence. The sudden sickness of poor Mr. Custis, which compelled me to hasten away from York, and the affecting circumstance of his untimely death threw Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Bassett, who were both present, into such deep distress that I could not find it in my heart to leave Eltham, once the funeral rites were performed. The Marquis has since assured me that nothing was neglected which could be of comfort or service to your mother, and I trust that he speaks informedly. I have just learned of your loss, and hasten to tender you both Mrs. Washington's and my own sympathy on this melancholy occasion.

Be assured that your company will truly gratify both me and the partner of all my Domestic enjoyments, and that I am, my dear young lady, with every sentiment of respect and esteem, Yr most obedt hble servt Go Washington.

"'T is the very thing I'd have for ye, Jan," exclaimed the squire.

"Oh, dadda, I'll not leave you."

"That ye shall, for I'll be busy with this scheme of Bagby's, and the tavern is no place for ye, child, let alone what ye'll be forever dwelling on if ye have no distraction."

"An' his Excellency," said the messenger, "done tell me to say dat he done holds you' parole ob honour, an' dat, if you doan' come back with me in de coach, he done send de provost gyard to fotch youse under arrest. What 's mo, Miss, dat big villin, Blueskin, will be powerful joyed to see youse again."

LXIV A SETTLING OF OLD SCORES

On a night of the most intense darkness a strange-looking craft was stealing slowly up the Raritan, quite as much helped in its progress by the flood-tide as by the silent stroke of the oars, about which were wound cloths where they rubbed against the thole-pins. The rowers knelt on the bottom of the boat, so that nothing but their heads projected above the gunwale, which set low in the water, and to which were tied branches of trees, concealing it so completely that at ten feet distance on any ordinarily clear night it would have been difficult to know that it was not a drifting limb.

Lying at full length in the bottom of the boat were two men, one of whom from time to time moved impatiently.

"Will we never get there?" he finally whispered.

"Slow work it is," replied the other, in the lowest of voices, "but it has to be done careful."

"I understood you the river was open once more."

"Ay. We had word the regiments had been withdrawn, to go north with the main army; but this is only the second night the boats have ventured in, and cautious we've always had to be."

The note of a crow came floating over the water, and at the sound the last speaker raised himself on his elbow and deliberately began counting in a low voice. As he spoke the number "ten," once again came the discordant "caw, caw," and instantly the counter opened his mouth and sent forth an admirable imitation of the cry of a screech-owl. Counting once again to ten, he repeated the shriek, then listened.

In a moment the first splash of oars reached them.

"This way," softly called the man, and put out his hand to prevent a small boat colliding with the larger one.

"Thought I heard a bird just now," remarked the solitary occupant.

"If you did, 't was a king bird."

"I have n't much to-night," announced the new arrival, as he handed a small packet into the boat. "It contains a paper from No. 2, giving the decisions of the last council of war, and the line of march they have adopted for next week."

The one in the larger boat pulled up a cleverly fitted board in the bottom of the boat, and taking out a letter, slipped the just received parcel into the cavity and dropped the plank back into place. "There's a letter for you," he said, passing it to the new-comer. Without another word the stranger shoved off and in a moment was lost in the darkness.

"Was n't that Joe Bagby?" questioned the man's companion.

"'Sh! We don't mention no names, if it can be avoided."

"You need not fear me. I am in the general's confidence, and know as well as you that No. 2 is Major-General Parsons of the Connecticut line."

"That 's more than I knew," muttered the boatman; "so you see, Colonel Hennion, 't is as well not to mention names."

In silence the boat drifted onward, save for an order presently given that the rowers turn in toward the left bank.

"Seems like I hearn suthin'," suddenly came a voice out of the darkness.

"'T is only we, fishin' for what 's to be caught!" said the boatman.

"No danger of yer catchin' nuthin' here," asserted the unseen speaker.

"Pull into the pier, boys! We 're got your son aboard, Hennion."

A low exclamation came from the man standing on the rude wharf that suddenly loomed into view. "Yer duz n't mean my Phil

"Ay, dad," answered the colonel, as he rose and climbed out of the boat; "'t is me."

"Lordy me, if I ever expected ter see yer ag'in, Phil," cried the father, as he threw his arms about him. "This is a surprise ez duz my ole bones a heap of good. Naow say yer've come ter tell me thet I may make yer peace with the state, an' yer'll come back ter Boxely fer good. Terrible lonesome I've bin, lad, all these years yer ye bin off."

"Nay, dad, my heart 's too much in the service to ever let me get interested in turnips or cabbages again. What I've come for is to make you yield to Mr. Meredith's request, and if possible to get a word with Janice. Tell me he's mistaken, dad, in what he wrote. You never refused—"

"Look here, Hennion," growled the boatman, "we can't waste all night while you—"

He was in turn interrupted by a sharp click, the spit of a port fire sounded, and instantly came a glare of red light, which brought those on the pier into full view, and showed to them two boats full of soldiers on the river, and another party of them rising from behind a fence a few rods away.

With a scream of terror, Squire Hennion started down the wharf, hoping to escape before the troops closed in.

"Halt!" commanded some one; and when the old man still ran, he ordered "Fire."

"Bang!" went a musket on the word; but Hennion reached the end of the pier, and turned down the river bank. "Bang, bang," went two more; and the runner staggered, then pitched forward on his face.

"I surrender," announced Philemon, as the soldiers came crowding on to the wharf. "Where is your commander?"

"I am sorry to see you here, Hennion," said Brereton's voice. "You are the last man I wanted to take prisoner under such circumstances."

"Wilt let me go to my father?" steadily requested the British colonel. "I give my word not to escape."

"Let him go free," ordered Brereton; and together they walked down to the prostrate body, which an officer had already turned on its face, so that he might search the pockets.

As the two came up, the squire opened his eyes. "They've dun fer me, Phil," he moaned. "Yer ole dad 's gone ter the well once too offen, an' a durn fool he wuz ter go on, when he know'd they wuz arter them ez wuz consarned in it."

As he spoke, the keel of one of the boats which had rowed in, grated on the river bottom. An officer, springing ashore, joined the group, and saluting, reported: "General Brereton, when you fired the light, it revealed, close upon us, a small boat stealing up the river, in which we captured Mr. Bagby. He declares he was out fishing; but he had no tackle, and the bowsman swears that as we approached he saw him put something into his mouth and swallow it."

"Bring him here," ordered the commander; and Bagby, his hands and feet tied, was more speedily than politely spilled into the shallow water and dragged ashore.

"I'll pay you military fellows up!" he sputtered angrily. "Attacking and abusing citizens as is engaged in lawful occupations. You wait till the Assembly meets. Hello! Well, I'm durned, what 's happened to Squire Hennion?" he ejaculated. "You don't mean to say he's got his deserts at last? Now, I guess you see what your buying of Greenwood 's brought you. No man makes an enemy of Joe Bagby but lives to regret it."

A look of intense malignity came on the dying man's face, and pushing his son, who was kneeling beside him, away, he raised himself with an effort on one elbow. "So it wuz yer ez betrayed me, wuz it," he cried, "yer ez took yer share in it daown ter the time ez we split over Greenwood, an' naow goes an' plays the sneak? Duz yer hearn that, Phil? Ef yer care fer me one bit, boy, bide yer chance an' pay him aout fer what he's done ter—" He beat the air wildly with his free arm, in a vain attempt to steady himself, and then once more pitched forward on his face, the blood pouring from his mouth.

The sun had been up an hour when three companies of Continentals, guarding five prisoners, marched into Brunswick, and at the word of command halted on the green. The sight was enough to draw most of the villagers to doors or windows; but when the rumour spread like wild-fire that among those prisoners were Joseph Bagby and Philemon Hennion, every inhabitant who could, promptly collected about the troops, where, as the soldiers and officers paid no attention to their questions, they spent their time in surmises as to what it meant, and in listening to the Honourable Joseph's threats and fulminations against the military power.

Among those who thus gathered was Mr. Meredith; and the moment he appeared Colonel Hennion called to Brereton, who was busily engaged in conferring with the officer in actual command of the half battalion.

"General Brereton," he requested, "may I have a few words in private with Squire Meredith?"

"Withdraw your guards out of ear-shot, Captain Blaisdell," ordered Brereton.

"Why, Phil, this is a sad plight to find ye in," said the squire, regretfully, as he held out his hand, forgetful that the prisoner's cords prevented his taking it.

"'T is worse than you think, squire," answered Philemon, calmly; "I came but to see my father about your wish, but, caught as I was, they will never believe it, and will doubtless hang me as a spy the moment a court-martial has sat."

"Nay, lad, 't is not possible they—"

"'T is what we should do in the same circumstances, so 't is not for me to complain. 'T was not this, however, of which I desired to speak. My father was killed this morning, and his death makes it possible for me to end your difficulties. We had word in New York that the governor had pardoned you; is't so?"

"Ay."

"Then 't is all right, if we but act quick enough to complete it, ere I am sent to the gallows. Find a justice of the peace without delay, and let him draw deeds from me to— to Janice, of both Greenwood and Boxely, and bring them to me to sign

"Surely, Phil, 't is—" protestingly began the squire.

"Waste not a moment," importuned Philemon. "If 't is delayed till I am convicted, the state may claim that they were in escheat, but for these few hours I have a good title, and if ever they seek to invalidate the deeds, set up the mortgages on Boxely that you hold, as the consideration."

"But—"

"In God's name, squire, don't lose the opportunity by delay! 'T is best, whatever comes; for even if by the most marvellous luck I can convince the court that I am no spy, and so go free, the moment the legislature meets, they will vote a bill of forfeiture against me; so 't is the one means to save the property, whatever comes."

"Ye have the sense of it, lad," acceded Mr. Meredith, "and I'll do as ye tell me, this instant. But I'll do all that's possible to save ye as well, and if ye but go free, ye shall be not a penny the worse off, that I swear to ye."

"And if not, 't is what I would do with the lands, were I dying a natural death, squire."

"Don't lose hope, lad," said the squire, his hand on Phil's shoulder. "Once the parson has drawn the deeds, I'll see Washington himself; and we'll save ye yet." Then he hurried away towards the parsonage.

During this dialogue other occurrences had been taking place, which very much interested yet mystified the crowd of spectators. When the conference between the general and major had ended, Brereton walked to the doctor's house and entered it. The major meantime went over to the constable, and in response to something he said, the town official took out his keys, and unlocked the stocks, a proceeding which set both soldiers and townsfolk whispering curiously.

"Free the prisoner Bagby's hands and feet, Corporal Cox, and set him in," commanded the major.

"What in the 'nation is comin'!" marvelled one of the observers. "Of all rum ways o' treatin' a suspect, this 'ere is the rummiest."

Another pause followed, save for a new outburst from Joe, concerning the kinds of vengeance he intended to shortly inaugurate; but presently Brereton and the doctor came across the green, the latter carrying a bottle and spoon in his hand.

"This is the one," said the general; and then, as the doctor stepped forward and poured the spoon full from the bottle, he ordered, "Open your mouth, Mr. Bagby."

"This is tyranny," shrieked Joe, "and I won't do no such thing." He shut his mouth with a snap and set his jaws rigidly.

"Hold his head," commanded Brereton; and the corporal took it firmly and bent it back so that the helpless man looked skyward. "Snuff," said Jack, and a second officer, pulling out a small box, stepped forward, and placed a pinch in Bagby's nose.

"A-chew!" went Joe, and as his mouth flew open, the officer inserted the barrel of his pistol, so that when he tried to close his jaws again they only bit on steel. Instantly the spoon was put to his lips, and the contents emptied down his throat.

"How long will it take?" the general asked.

"The lobelia ought to act in about five minutes," replied the doctor.

Silence ensued, as soldiers and crowd stared at the immovable Joseph, whose complexion slowly turned from ruddy to white, and from white to greenish yellow, while into his eyes and mouth came a hang-dog look of woebegone misery and sickness.

LXV PEACE IN SIGHT

The occupants of Greenwood were still at breakfast that same morning, when word was brought to the commander-in-chief that Mr. Meredith desired speech with him.

"Set another place, Billy, and bid him to come in," ordered the hostess.

"I'll tell him, Lady Washington," cried Janice, springing up, and after she had nearly throttled her father on the porch, he was led in.

"My thanks to ye, Lady Washington," said the squire, once the introduction was made, "but I have broken fast already, and have merely come to intercede with his Excellency on a sad matter." In the fewest possible words he explained Philemon's situation. "The lad assures me that he came but to serve me, and with never a thought of spying," he ended. "I trust therefore that ye'll not hold him as one, however suspiciously it may appear."

"The matter shall have careful consideration at my hands, Mr. Meredith," replied Washington.

"All the more, I trust, that ye are good enough to take an interest in my Jan, who is his promised bride."

Both Washington and his wife turned to the girl, and the former said,—

"What, Miss Janice, is this the way thou hast kept thy promise to me to save thy smiles and blushes for some good Whig?"

"Janice Meredith! you are the most ungrateful creature that ever I knew!" asserted Mrs. Washington, crossly.

The girl only looked down into her lap, without an attempt at reply, but her father took up the cudgels.

"Nay!" he denied, "many a favor we owe to Mr. Hennion, and now he has topped them all by signing deeds within the hour that gives to the girl both Greenwood and Boxely."

Janice looked up at her father. "'T is like him," she said, chokingly. "Oh, General Washington, will you not be merciful to him?"

"What is done must depend wholly on General Brereton's report, Miss Janice," answered Washington, gravely.

"Oh, not on him!" besought the girl. "He has reason to dislike Major Hennion, and he is capable of such bitter resentments."

"Hush, child, have you no eyes?" cried Mrs. Washington, and Janice faced about to find Brereton standing behind her.

Not a feature of Jack's face showed that he had heard her, as he saluted and began,—

"The manoeuvre was executed last night, your Excellency, and I have the honour to hand you my report."

Washington took the document and began an instant reading of it, while the new arrival turned to give and receive a warm greeting with the hostess. "You'll eat some breakfast, Jack," she almost begged, with affectionate hospitality.

"Thank you, Lady Washington, I—I—some other morning," answered the officer.

An awkward silence fell, yet which no one attempted to break, as the commander-in-chief slowly conned each page of the report. Once finished, he turned to the squire, and said, "I must ask, Mr. Meredith, that you go into the parlour, where later I will see you. I have certain questions to put to General Brereton." Mr. Meredith gone, he asked,—

"What was the paper you recovered from this Bagby?"

"'T was a slip of tissue silk, which proves beyond doubt that he has been supplying the British with information, though unluckily there is nothing to show from whom in our army he received his information."

"'T is unfortunate, for we have long known that a leak existed in our very councils. However, 't is something gained to have broken the channel of communication, and to have brought one traitor to the gallows. You will deliver the prisoners into the hands of the provost-marshal, sir, and be at headquarters at two this afternoon, prepared to give your testimony and papers to the court I shall order."

Brereton saluted, and made a movement of departure, but Washington spoke again,—

"In this report, sir, you speak of having taken Lieutenant Colonel Hennion a prisoner of war. Under the circumstances in which he was captured 't is a strange definition to give to his footing."

Jack's bronzed face reddened slightly. "I so stated it, your Excellency, because I overheard the colonel tell his father that he had but stolen within our lines to do Mr. Meredith a service, and having myself read the letter that induced him to take the risk, I had every reason to believe that he spoke nothing but the truth. Yet I knew that no court-martial would take such a view, and so gave him that quality in my report, to save him from a fate he does not merit."

"Once, sir, you were guilty of a deceit," said Washington, sternly, "and the present conditions are enough similar to make me suspicious. Are you certain that the fact that Miss Meredith's happiness is concerned in this officer's fate, has had nothing to do with the quality you have given to his status?"

Despite the tan, General Brereton's cheeks paled. "My God, your Excellency!" he burst out. "It has been one long struggle from the moment I found him my prisoner, until my report was safe in your hands not to—not to send him to the gallows, as I could by mere silence so easily have done. That I reported so promptly was due to the fact that I dared not delay, lest the temptation should become too strong."

Washington's eye had never left Brereton during his outbreak, and at the end he said: "You will remain at headquarters, and report to me again, sir, in half an hour, after I have duly considered the facts."

Making no reply, Jack saluted, and passed out of the room. As he reached the doorway, Janice, who had risen, said:

"I pray you, General Brereton, to forgive me the grave wrong I have just done you in both thought and speech."

Silently Jack bowed, and closed the door.

"I should think thee 'd be well ashamed of thyself; miss," declared Mrs. Washington, fretfully.

"I am, Lady Washington," replied the girl, humbly, "but believe me, that wrong as I was in this instance, I am not so wholly to blame as I seem, for one example of General Brereton's temper which he gave me, proves that he can carry his resentment to all lengths, and

"And is it because the man has a temper that you have slighted his suit?" interrupted the matron, peevishly. "Child, child, don't you know that every man that is worth his salt has a warm constitution? Why, the tales and warnings that were brought to me of the general's choleric nature when he was wooing me were enough to fright any woman. And true they were, for once roused, his wrath is terrible. Yet to me he has ever been the kindest and most amiable of husbands."

Washington smiled, as he said, "Miss Janice will know who deserves the credit for that. But my wife is right. A man is not apt to vent his wrath on the woman he loves, unless she gives him extreme cause."

"Bitter cause we gave to General Brereton, I own, but— but I can never think that had he truly loved me he would have refused his aid in our extremity."

"Refused thee aid!" snapped Jack's partisan. "Has he done anything but help thee in every way he could? Who was it brought thy poor mother off that dreadful ship? Who was it has teased General Lafayette with such unending favours for thee, that the marquis asked me what was the source of General Brereton's interest in one Mr. Meredith? Who only last week wrote me a letter that would have melted a stone—anything, I believe, but thy heart—begging me to offer thee a home, that thou might'st escape the tavern discomfort and crowd? I declare, thy ingratitude nigh makes me regret my having wasted any liking upon thee."

"Oh, Lady Washington," cried Janice, "not a one of these did I know of; and if you but knew what gladness it brings me to learn that, once he knew we had insulted him unwittingly, he forgave us, and put his resentment away."

"Then you'll reward him as he deserves?" delightedly exclaimed the match-maker.

"I am promised, Lady Washington," replied the girl, gravely, "and were I not, I could never forget his once cruelty

"What did he?"

"I cannot bear to tell, now he has, by his kindness, endeavoured to atone for it."

"I make no doubt 't is more of his masked generosity. Never will I believe that loving you as I know he does, he could be hard-hearted or cruel to you."

"'T was not—'t was worse than if his anger had fallen on me, Lady Washington. He refused to aid my father, and but for his Excellency's untellable generosity and—"

Washington, who had been rereading the report, looked up, and interrupted: "Did General Brereton tell you that it was my act, Miss Janice?"

"No, your Excellency, 't was from Governor Livingston that we learned of the debt we owed to you, for which no thanks can ever—"

Once again Washington interrupted. "There are no thanks due to me, Miss Janice," he said, "for, much as I may have wished to service you, my public duties made it unwise. Your gratitude is wholly due to Brereton."

"I do not understand—What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl. "He—'t was your letter, so the governor said—"

"'T was my letter, but his act," replied Washington; and in a few words explained. "General Brereton expected, and should have been court-martialled and shot for what he did," he ended; "but he had served me faithfully, and so I refrained from making his misconduct public, and punished him no further than by demanding his resignation from my staff. You lost me a good friend and servant, Miss Janice, but now, with the war in effect ended, I scarce feel regret that his action, however blamable, spared you the loss of your father."

"Now, what do you say, miss?" inquired Mrs. Washington, triumphantly.

All the reply Janice made was to let her head fall forward on the table, as she burst into tears.

"There, there, my child!" cried the matron, putting her arms about and raising the girl, so that the down bent head might find a resting-place on her bosom. "I did not mean to pain thee."

"Oh, Lady Washington," sobbed Janice, as she threw her arms about the dame's neck, "I—I am so miserable, an— an—and so happy!"

Ten minutes later, Janice, with pale cheeks, but determined air, sought her father in the parlour, and going on her knees at his feet, said,—

"I have that to tell, dadda, which I fear will anger and pain you greatly." Then in a few words she repeated to him what Washington had told her.

"And why should that hurt me, lass? I own I treated the general somewhat scurvily, and that he has repaid it in different kind, but 't will be no grief to apologise and thank him for what he did."

"'T was not that of which I am apprehensive, but when I wrote to General Brereton, and besought his aid, I promised that I would wed him if he would but save you, and—and, oh, dadda, please be not angry with me, but I—I feel I must fulfil my pledge, if he asks it of me."

"And how of your promise—and mine—to Phil?"

"I came to you, ere seeking to see him, to explain—"

The squire shook his head doubtingly. "I can't lay blame on ye, Jan, since I owe my very life to what ye did. Yet 't is bitter to me to break faith with Philemon."

"I feel as guilty, dadda, but I think he will be generous, and give us back our promise, when I tell him all the facts."

"And 't is nigh as hard," went on the father, "to think of letting ye wed General Brereton, though I do owe my life to him."

"Ah, dadda, you will not punish him for the wrong his parents did him?"

"'T is not that, Jan, but because he is a rebel to—"

The girl gave a little laugh, as if a weight were taken from her thoughts, and she flung her arms about her father's neck and kissed him. "Why, dadda," she cried, with the old roguishness, "how can he be a rebel, now that they've won?"

The squire pulled a wry look. "Little I dreamed I'd ever break faith, or make friends of the enemies of my king, but the times are disloyal, and I suppose one must go with them. If ye can persuade Phil to release us, Jan, have your way."

Again his daughter kissed him, but this time tenderly, with all the archness gone. "Thank you, dadda, for yielding," she said, "for 't would have been horrible to me had you not."

The squire kissed her in return. "Better one rebel in the family than two," he responded with a laugh, which suggested that whatever his compunctions, he knew at heart that the outcome was for the best, and was already reconciled to it. "Thou 'rt too good a lass, Jan, to make into more of a rebel than this same Brereton will no doubt make thee."