Accordingly, I took ship at Norfolk for "home," as we called it in those days; and, after a stormy passage and overmuch waiting as my cousins' guest in Lincolnshire, had my pair of colors in the Scots Blues3, lately home from garrison4 duty in the Canadas.
Of the life in barracks of a young ensign with little wit and less wisdom, and with more guineas in his purse than was good for him, the less said the better. But of this you may like to know that, what with a good father's example, and some small heritage of Puritan decency5 come down to me from the sound-hearted old Roundhead stock, I won out of that devil's sponging-house, an army in the time of peace, with somewhat less to my score than others had to theirs.
It was in this barrack life that I came to know Richard Coverdale and his evil genius, the man Francis Falconnet. Coverdale was an ensign in my own regiment6, and we were sworn friends from the first. His was a clean soul and a brave; and it was to him that I owed escape from many of the grosser chargings on that score above-named.
As for Falconnet, he was even then a ruffler and a bully7, though he was not of the army. He was a younger son, and at that time there were two lives between him and the baronetcy; but with a mother's bequeathings to purchase idleness and to gild8 his iniquities9, he was a fair example of the jeunesse dorée of that England; a libertine10, a gamester, a rakehell; brave as the tiger is brave, and to the full as pitiless. He was a boon11 companion of the officers' mess; and for a time—and purpose—posed as Coverdale's friend, and mine.
Since I would not tell my poor Dick's story to Richard Jennifer, I may not set it down in cold words here for you. It was the age-old tragic12 comedy of a false friend's treachery and a woman's weakness; a duel13, and the wrong man slain14. And you may know this; that Falconnet's most merciful role in it was the part he played one chill November morning when he put Richard Coverdale to the wall and ran him through.
As you have guessed, I was Coverdale's next friend and second in this affair, and but for the upsetting news of the Tryon tyranny in Carolina,—news which reached me on the very day of the meeting,—I should there and then have called the slayer15 to his account.
How my father who, Presbyterian and Ireton though he was, had always been of the king's side, came to espouse16 the cause of the "Regulators," as they called themselves, I know not. In my youthful memories of him he figures as the feudal17 lord of his own domain18, more absolute than many of the petty kinglings I came afterward19 to know in the German marches. But this, too, I remember; that while his rule at Appleby Hundred was stern and despotic enough, he was ever ready to lend a willing ear to any tale of oppression. And if what men say of the tyrant20 Tryon's tax-gatherers and law-court robbers be no more than half truth, there was need for any honest gentleman to oppose them.
What that opposition21 came to in '71 is now a tale twice told. Taken in arms against the governor's authority, and with an estate well worth receiving, my father had little justice and less mercy accorded him. With many others he was outlawed22; his estates were declared forfeit23; and a few days later he, with Benjamin Merrill and four more captivated at the Alamance, was given some farce24 of a trial and hanged.
When the news of this came to me you may well suppose that I had no heart to continue in the service of the king who could sanction and reward such villainies as these of the butcher William Tryon. So I threw up my lieutenant's commission in the Blues, took ship for the Continent, and, after wearing some half-dozen different uniforms in Germany, was lucky enough to come at length to serviceable blows under my old field-marshal on the Turkish frontier.
To you of a younger generation, born in the day of swift mail-coaches and well-kept post-roads, the slowness with which our laggard25 news traveled in that elder time must needs seem past belief. It was early in the year '79 before I began to hear more than vague camp-fire tales of the struggle going on between the colonies and the mother country; and from that to setting foot once more upon the soil of my native Carolina was still another year.
What I found upon landing at New Berne and saw while riding a jog-trot thence to the Catawba was a province rent and torn by partizan warfare26. Though I came not once upon the partizans themselves in all that long faring, there were trampled27 fields and pillaged28 houses enough to serve as mile-stones; and in my native Mecklenburg a mine full charged, with slow-match well alight for its firing.
Charleston had fallen, and Colonel Tarleton's outposts were already widespread on the upper waters of the Broad and the Catawba. Thus it was that the first sight which greeted my eyes when I rode into Queensborough was the familiar trappings of my old service, and I was made to know that in spite of Mr. Jefferson's boldly written Declaration of Independence, and that earlier casting of the king's yoke29 by the patriotic31 Mecklenburgers themselves, my boyhood home was for the moment by sword-right a part of his Majesty's province of North Carolina.
You are not to suppose that these things moved me greatly. As yet I was chiefly concerned with my own affair and anxious to learn at first hands the cost to me of my father's connection with the Regulators.
Touching32 this, I was not long kept in ignorance. Of all the vast demesne33 of Appleby Hundred there was no roof to shelter the son of the outlawed Roger Ireton save that of this poor hunting lodge34 in the mighty35 forest of the Catawba, overlooked, with the few runaway36 blacks inhabiting it, in the intaking of an estate so large that I think not even my father knew all the metes37 and bounds of it.
I shall not soon forget the interview with the lawyer in which I was told the inhospitable truth. Nor shall I forget his truculent38 leer when he hinted that I had best be gone out of these parts, since it was not yet too late to bring down the sentence of outlawry39 from the father to the son.
It was well for him that I knew not at the time that he was Gilbert Stair's factor. For I was mad enough to have throttled40 him where he sat at his writing table, matching his long fingers and smirking41 at me with his evil smile. But of this man more in his time and place. His name was Owen Pengarvin. I would have you remember it.
For a week and a day I lingered on at Queensborough, for what I knew not, save that all the world seemed suddenly to have grown stale and profitless, and my life a thing of small account. One day I would be minded to go back to my old field-marshal and the keeping of the Turkish border; the next I would ride over some part of my stolen heritage and swear a great oath to bide42 till I should come to my own again. And on these alternating days the storm of black rage filled my horizons and I became a derelict to drive on any rock or shoal in this uncharted sea of wrath43.
On one of these gallops44 farthest afield I chanced upon the bridle-path that led to our old hunting lodge in the forest depths. Tracing the path to its end among the maples45 I found the cabin, so lightly touched by time that the mere46 sight of it carried me swiftly back to those happy days when my father and I had stalked the white-tailed deer in the hill glades47 beyond, with this log-built cabin for a rest-camp. I spurred up under the low-hanging trees. The door stood wide, and a thin wreath of blue smoke curled upward from the mouth of the wattled chimney.
Then and there I had my first welcome home. Old black Darius—old when I had last seen him at Appleby Hundred, and a very grandsire of ancients now—was one of the runaways48 who made the forest lodge a refuge. He had been my father's body-servant, and, notwithstanding all the years that lay between, he knew me at once.
Thereupon, as you would guess, I came immediately into some small portion of my kingdom. Though Darius was the patriarch, the other blacks were also fugitives50 from Appleby Hundred; and for the son of Roger Ireton there was instant vassalage51 and loyal service. But best of all, on my first evening before the handful of fire in the great fire-place, Darius brought me a package swathed in many wrappings of Indian-tanned deerskin. It contained my father's sword, and, more precious than this, a message from the dead. My father's farewell was written upon a leaf torn from his journal, and was but a hasty scrawl52. I here transcribe53 it.
My Son:
I know not if this will ever come into your hands, but it and my sword shall be left in trust with the faithful Darius. We have made our ill-timed cast for liberty and it has failed, and to-morrow I and five others are to die at the rope's end. I bequeath you my sword—'tis all the tyrant hath left me to devise—and my blessing54 to go with it when you, or another Ireton, shall once more bare the true old blade in the sacred cause of liberty.
Thy father,
Roger Ireton.
You may be sure I conned55 these few brave words till I had them well by heart; and later, when my voice was surer and my eyes less dim, I summoned Darius and bade him tell me all he knew. And it was thus I learned what I have here set down of my father's end.
The next day, all indecision gone, I rode to Queensborough to ascertain56, if so I might, how best to throw the weight of the good old Andrea into the patriot30 scale, meaning to push on thence to Charlotte when I had got the bearings of the nearest patriot force.
'Twas none so easy to learn what I needed to know; though, now I sought for information, a curious thing or two developed. One was that this light-horse outpost in our hamlet was far in advance of the army of invasion—so far that it was dangersomely isolated57, and beyond support. Another was the air of secrecy58 maintained, and the holding of the troop in instant readiness for fight or flight.
Why this little handful of British regulars should stick and hang so far from Lord Cornwallis's main, which was then well down upon the Wateree, I could not guess. But for the secrecy and vigilance there were good reasons and sufficient. The patriot militia59 had been called out, and was embodying60 under General Rutherford but a few miles distant near Charlotte.
I had this information in guarded whispers from mine host of the tavern61, and was but a moment free of the tap-room, when I first saw Margery Stair and so drank of the cup of trembling with madness in its lees. She was riding, unmasked, down the high road, not on a pillion as most women rode in that day, but upon her own mount with a black groom62 two lengths in the rear. I can picture her for you no better than I could for Richard Jennifer; but this I know, that even this first sight of her moved me strangely, though the witching beauty of her face and the proudness of it were more a challenge than a beckoning63.
A blade's length at my right where I was standing49 in front of the tavern, three redcoat officers lounged at ease; and to one of them my lady tossed a nod of recognition, half laughing, half defiant64. I turned quickly to look at the favored one. He stood with his back to me; a man of about my own bigness, heavy-built and well-muscled. He wore a bob-wig, as did many of the troop officers, but his uniform was tailor-fine, and the hand with which he was resettling his hat was bejeweled—overmuch bejeweled, to my taste.
Something half familiar in the figure of him made me look again. In the act he turned, and then I saw his face—saw and recognized it though nine years lay between this and my last seeing of it across the body of Richard Coverdale.
"So!" thought I. "My time has come at last." And while I was yet turning over in my mind how best to bait him, the lady passed out of earshot, and I heard him say to the two, his comrades, that foul65 thing which I would not repeat to Jennifer; a vile66 boast with which I may not soil my page here for you.
"Oh, come, Sir Frank! that's too bad!" cried the younger of the twain; and then I took two strides to front him fairly.
"Sir Francis Falconnet, you are a foul-lipped blackguard!" I said; and, lest that should not be enough, I smote67 him in the face so that he fell like an ox in the shambles68.
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1
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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2
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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3
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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4
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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9
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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10
libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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12
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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14
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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15
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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16
espouse
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| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
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17
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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18
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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19
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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laggard
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| n.落后者；adj.缓慢的，落后的 | |
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26
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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27
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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28
pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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30
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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32
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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demesne
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| n.领域，私有土地 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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35
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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37
metes
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的第三人称单数 ) | |
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38
truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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39
outlawry
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| 宣布非法，非法化，放逐 | |
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40
throttled
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| v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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41
smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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42
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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43
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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44
gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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45
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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46
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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47
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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48
runaways
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| （轻而易举的）胜利( runaway的名词复数 ) | |
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49
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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50
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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51
vassalage
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| n.家臣身份，隶属 | |
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52
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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53
transcribe
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| v.抄写，誉写；改编(乐曲)；复制，转录 | |
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54
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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55
conned
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| adj.被骗了v.指挥操舵( conn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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57
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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58
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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59
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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60
embodying
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| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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61
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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62
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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63
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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64
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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65
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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66
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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67
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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68
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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