Maryland -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
“Your tongue, you sot,” the captain went on, drawing his sword in his
anger, “is it true you have made use of a gentleman's son for your low
purposes?”
But Weld was still silent, and not a sound came from either side until
old Robbins spoke up.
“There are many here can say I warned him, your honour,” he said.
“Warned him!” cried the captain. “Mr. Carvel has just given you twenty
pounds for your wife, and you warned him!”
Robbins said no more; and the butcher's apprentice, hanging his head,
as well he might before the captain, I was much moved to pity for him,
seeing that my forwardness had in some sense led him on.
“Twas in truth my fault, captain,” I cried out. The captain looked at
me, and said nothing. After that the butcher made bold to take up his
man's defence.
“Master Carvel was indeed somewhat to blame, sir,” said he, “and Weld is
in liquor.”
“And I'll have him to pay for his drunkenness,” said Captain Clapsaddle,
hotly. “Get to your homes,” he cried. “Ye are a lot of idle hounds, who
would make liberty the excuse for riot.” He waved his sword at the pack
of them, and they scattered like sheep until none but Weld was left.
“And as for you, Weld,” he continued, “you'll rue this pretty business,
or Daniel Clapsaddle never punished a cut-throat.” And turning to Jack
Ball, he bade him lift me to the saddle, and so I rode with him to the
Governor's without a word; for I knew better than to talk when he was in
that mood.
The captain was made to tarry and sup with his Excellency and my
grandfather, and I sat perforce a fourth at the table, scarce daring to
conjecture as to the outcome of my escapade. But as luck would have
it, the Governor had been that day in such worry and perplexity, and my
grandfather also, that my absence had passed unnoticed. Nor did my good
friend the captain utter a word to them of what he knew. But afterwards
he called me to him and set me upon his knee. How big, and kind, and
strong he was, and how I loved his bluff soldier's face and blunt ways.
And when at last he spoke, his words burnt deep in my memory, so that
even now I can repeat them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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