United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction; War stories
The elder woman shrank for a moment; there was a quick flash in her
eyes; then she drew Mary still nearer and held her fast. The comfort of
a warm young life so close to her shivering loneliness, the sense of her
own weakness and that Mary was the stronger, kept her from breaking now
into the stern speech of which her heart was full. She said nothing for
a long time but sat waiting; and now and then she laid her hand on the
girl’s soft hair, until Mary’s fit of weeping had passed.
"Bring the little footstool here and sit by me; we must talk of many
things together," she gave command at last; and Mary, doing the errand
like a child, lingered by the window, and then returned with calmness to
her old friend’s side. The childish sense of distance between them had
strangely returned, and yet she was conscious that she must take a new
charge upon herself, and keep nearer than ever to this sad heart.
"I did not know his plans until that very night," she said to Madam
Wallingford, looking bravely and sweetly now into the mother’s face. "I
could not understand at first why there was such excitement in the very
air. Then I found out that the mob was ready to come and ruin you, and
to drag him out to answer them, as they did the Loyalists in Boston. And
there were many strangers on our side of the river. I heard a horrid
humming in the crowd that gathered when the captain came; they kept
together after he was in the house, and I feared that they were bent
upon a worse errand. I was thankful to know that Roger was in
Portsmouth, so nothing could be done that night. When he came to me
suddenly a little later,"—the girl’s voice began to falter,—"I was angry
with him at first; I thought only of you. I see now that I was cruel."
"My son has been taught to honor and to serve his King," said Madam
Wallingford coldly.
"He has put his country above his King, now," answered Mary Hamilton,
who had steadied herself and could go on: yet something hindered her
from saying more, and the wind kept up its steady plaint in the chimney,
but in this difficult moment the little bird was still.
"To us, our King and country have been but one. I own that the colonies
have suffered hardship, and not alone through willfulness; but to give
the reins of government to unfit men, to put high matters into the hands
of rioters and lawbreakers, can only bring ruin. I could not find it in
my heart to blame him, even after the hasty Declaration, when he would
not join with English troops to fight the colonies; but to join the
rebels to fight England should shame a house like this. Our government
is held a high profession among the wise of England; these foolish
people will bring us all upon the quicksands. If my son had sailed with
officers and gentlemen, such"—
"He has sailed with a hero," said Mary hotly, "and in company with good
men of our own neighborhood, in whom he can put his trust."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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