Matilda Montgomerie; Or, The Prophecy FulfilledRichardson, Major (John)
History
Matilda Montgomerie; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled
Richardson, Major (John)
United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction
"It were unkind," remarked the general, good-humoredly, "to separate
Major Montgomerie altogether from his niece. Either the young lady must
partake of our rude fare, or we shall consider ourselves included in
your dinner party."
"You could not confer on me a greater pleasure, General, and indeed I
was about to solicit it. Commodore Barclay, may I hope that so short and
unceremonious an invitation will be excused by the circumstances? Good,
I shall expect you. But there is yet another to be included among our
guests. Gerald, you will not fail to conduct this gentleman, whose name
I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing"--and he looked at the
latter, as if he expected him to announce himself.
"I fear, sir," observed the young officer, pointedly, "that your dinner
party would be little honored by such an addition. Although he wears the
uniform of an American officer, this person is wholly unworthy of it and
of a seat at your table."
Every eye was turned with an expression of deep astonishment on the
speaker, and thence upon the form of the hitherto scarcely noticed
militia officer; who, with his head sunk sullenly upon his chest, and an
eye now and then raised stealthily to surrounding objects, made no
attempt to refute, or even to express surprise at, the singular
accusation of his captor.
"This is strong language to apply to a captive enemy, and that enemy
apparently an officer," gravely remarked the general; "yet I cannot
believe Mr. Grantham to be wholly without grounds for his assertion."
Before Grantham could reply, a voice in the crowd exclaimed, as if the
utterer had been thrown off his guard, "What--Phil!"
On the mention of this name, the younger prisoner looked suddenly up
from the earth on which his gaze had been riveted, and cast a rapid
glance around him.
"Nay, nay, my young friend, do not, as I see you are, feel hurt at my
observation," resumed the general, extending his hand to Gerald
Grantham; "I confess I did at one moment imagine that you had been rash
in your assertion, but from what has this instant occurred, it is
evident your prisoner is known to others as well as to yourself. No
doubt we shall have everything explained in due season. By the bye, of
what nature is your wound? slight, I should say, from the indifference
with which you treat it."
"Slight, General--far slighter," he continued, coloring, "than the wound
that was sought to be affixed to my fair name in my absence."
All looked at the speaker, and at each other with surprise, for, as yet,
there could have been no communication to him of the doubts which had
been entertained.
"Who is it of you all, gentlemen," pursued the young man, with the same
composedness of voice and manner, and turning particularly to the
officers of the forty-first regiment, who were grouped around their
chief, "Who is it, I ask, on whom has devolved the enviable duty of
reporting me as capable of violating my faith as a subject, and my honor
as an officer?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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