From Kingdom to Colony
picture already in his mind, by adding to it the scenes amid which her
daily life was passed.
Such was the young man's desire; and his was a nature whose longing was
likely to manifest itself by acts, and more especially now, in the very
first heart affair of his life.
As soon as the guards were posted and the countersign given out, he
discarded his uniform for a fisherman's rough coat, and put on a large
slouch hat, which covered his head, bandage and all. And thus attired,
he set forth alone to visit the scene of his morning's adventure, and
to investigate its surroundings.
CHAPTER XIII
The night was clear, bright, and starlit, with not a wreath of vapor
drifting. The rising wind moaned through the woods about the Devereux
homestead, that loomed, a dark mass, and silent as a deserted house.
From the shore below came the hoarse roar of the tumbling water, to
mingle with the wailing murmur of the wind; and now and then could be
heard, clear-cut and eerie, the cry of a screech-owl from the woods.
As evening closed in, Joseph Devereux had ordered that no lights be
shown about the house, lest they might attract the attention of any
straggling soldiers; and he felt assured that this warning would be
sufficient to intimidate the women into the greatest caution.
As for the men, they were all, even old Leet, out with the party
watching at the "Black Hole,"--a bit of the sea shut in by a wood that
bordered a wide sweep of meadow known as the "Raccoon Lot." It was
here that the expected powder and arms were to be concealed by burying
them in the earth, after being wrapped in oilskin coverings.
Johnnie Strings had gone alone to the Sachem's Cave, ready to give the
signal.
The cave was somewhat farther down the shore, and a light shown above
it could be plainly seen from the open sea.
The rising wind piped softly about the closed window where Mary
Broughton was sitting in the starlight, absorbed in her own anxious
thoughts, until aroused by something unusual in Dorothy's appearance
and manner of moving about. The girl was at the farther side of the
unlit room, and Mary asked her what she was doing.
A low laugh was the only answer; and upon the question being repeated,
Dorothy came to the window, and Mary saw that she was clad in a
complete suit of boy's clothes.
The unexpected transition was so startling that for a moment she could
not speak, but sat looking at Dorothy in amazement.
"Oh, Dot," she then exclaimed, "you should take shame to yourself for
doing such a thing!"
She could see, even in the gloom, the wilful toss of Dorothy's head,
whose curls were let down and tied back with a ribbon, thus completing
the masculine disguise.
"Whatever are you thinking about, to play such pranks at a time like
this?" Mary demanded reproachfully.
"That is just it, Mary," Dorothy replied. She seemed in no wise
abashed, but spoke with perfect seriousness. "I do it because of the
time, and of what is going to happen to-night. Father said 't was not
safe for us to go abroad, because we wore petticoats. Now here is this
old suit Jack outgrew years ago, and I've always kept it to masquerade
in; but to-night it will serve me in a more serious matter. I cannot
stop in the house; I am too anxious about Jack. I want to see him and
the others get ashore in safety; and I've no fear but, dressed in this
way, it will be easy for me to do so."
"But you must not," Mary protested. "How can you dare to think of such
a thing? Suppose some of the men should recognize you,--and they will
be keeping a sharp lookout for strangers--what would your father say?"
And she began to have thoughts of seeing him, and so frustrating this
wild scheme.
"I tell you I must go, and will go, Mary; so do not try to prevent me.
I know every inch of ground hereabouts, and can easily keep out of the
way, even should any one try to hinder me. Why will you not go with
me?"
Dorothy spoke quietly, but very earnestly; and as she finished, she
placed both her hands on Mary's shoulders, as though to compel her
consent.
Mary hesitated. There was in her own heart a like desire to that of
the younger girl; she, too, wished to get out of doors, and see all
that should take place. But she held herself to be more prudent than
the impulsive Dorothy, and so for a time she demurred with her
inclination.
But it was only for a time. Dorothy's impetuous arguments fairly swept
her off her balance, as usually happened with any one who was fond of
the girl; and Mary agreed to be her companion.
It was some minutes after this when the two stole noiselessly down the
back stairway and let themselves out of the door opening toward the
sheds at the rear of the house. As Dorothy locked it on the outside
and put the key in her pocket, she whispered: "We might have bribed
Tyntie to let us out, but 't is as well not to risk getting her into
trouble. I shall tell father all about it to-morrow, and I know of a
certainty he'll not be angry. To be sure, he may scold me a little;
but"--with a low laugh--"I can soon kiss him into good humor again."
"Don't you think, Dot, it is rather of a shame,--the way you do things,
and then tell your father afterwards?" Mary asked as they walked along.
"Assuredly not," was the ready answer, "else I might not get so many
chances to 'do things,' as you call it. I never do aught that is
really wrong; I love my father far too dearly for that. But I am
young, and he is old; and that, I suppose, is why we do not think alike
about all matters. He has often said I ought to have been a boy, and I
agree with him; though I dare say I shall be a proper enough old maid
some day. Only," with a laugh, "I cannot quite imagine such a thing."
"No," said Mary, looking into Dorothy's eyes, bright as the stars that
were now being shut away by the branches of the trees in the woods they
were entering; "no--nor I. But we'd best stop our chattering and use
our eyes and ears. Heavens! what's that?" And she clutched Dot's arm
in sudden fright as a wild cry rang out directly over their heads.
"Pooh!" said Dorothy, with a laugh, "'t is but an old hoot-owl. If
you'd been in the woods as much as I, you'd not be frightened so
easily."
They came to a halt at the edge of the timber growth overlooking the
rock peak above the Sachem's Cave, and crouched among the bushes to
watch for the light, keeping a lookout as well upon the sea, for the
first signal from the ship.
And there they remained, listening to the incessant crying of the
insects in the grass and the rustling of the wind in the trees
overhead, these being mingled with the never-ceasing sound of the sea,
as the breakers of the incoming tide flung themselves against the
boulders with a quavering roar that seemed to pulse the air like great
heart-throbs.
Presently Mary whispered, "Why not let us go and stop beside Johnnie
Strings?" Then quickly, "Oh, I forgot--the way you are dressed would
make it imprudent."
"I should not care very much for Johnnie Strings," Dorothy began; but
Mary said hastily,--
"Oh, no, Dot, 'twould never do."
A long silence ensued, broken at length by Mary saying in a tone of
alarm, "Oh, Dot, whatever would we do, if your father went to speak to
you for somewhat, and should not find us in the house at this late
hour?"
"No fear of such a thing," was the confident reply. "He has made sure
long since that I am abed and asleep."
It was half-past ten of the clock when the two girls left the house;
and so they reckoned it must be now several minutes after the next hour.
"Suppose it should be far into the night before the ship comes in
sight," Mary suggested, for she was beginning to feel cramped and
uncomfortable. "Let's not wait for so long a time as that."
"No, we will not," Dorothy assented with a yawn. But the next moment
she was all alive, with her small fingers holding Mary's arm in a tight
clutch as she whispered excitedly: "Look, Mary--there it is! There was
one light, and 't is gone. Now there are the two; and there comes the
third, as Jack said."
The girls arose and stood erect in eager interest, looking out over the
water, where, several hundred yards from shore, the lights gleamed and
then disappeared. And now their eyes, accustomed to the gloom,
discerned a slim blackness, as of a man's form, appear on the highest
point of rocks above the cave; and then a soft glow of tremulous light
illumined the darkness.
While they watched this, they were startled to see a taller figure
spring from the shadows, and a second later the two seemed to melt into
one enlarged blur, as if they were struggling.
Quick as thought the boyish form beside Mary broke from the bushes and
sped with flying steps toward the peak.
"Dot--Dot--come back!" cried Mary, regardless now of who might hear
her. "Whatever are you thinking to do?"
A low but clear reply came to her from over Dorothy's shoulder.
"The lanterns--they must be put out, else Jack may be hurt!"
On, on, she flew, with no fear of the peril into which she might be
rushing,--with no heed of her unmaidenly garb. Her mind held but the
one thought,--that the lanterns must be extinguished, for danger
threatened her brother and his companions if they should seek to land
unwarned.
So absorbed were the men in their fierce wrestling that neither of them
saw nor heard the slight figure that came straight up to them, and
then, dashing at the lanterns, sent them flying into the water beneath.
Then the larger of the two, catching sight of the intruder, relaxed his
hold on the other; and Johnnie Strings, with a derisive whoop, twisted
his wiry little body from the slackened grip and sped down the rocks
and away into the night.
"You young rascal, what does all this mean?" demanded Southorn, for he
it was; and seizing the boyish shoulder firmly, he shook the slender
form.
Dorothy, although greatly overcome by agitation now that her brave deed
was accomplished, thought she recognized the voice that addressed her
so roughly, and was silent from embarrassment.
"Are you dumb?" the Englishman asked angrily, shaking her again.
"Speak up, you young rebel, or I may try what a salt-water bath will do
for the unlocking of your stubborn tongue."
"Stop shaking me, you great--brute," Dorothy gasped indignantly. "Have
you no--manners?"
At sound of the soft-toned voice, Southorn seemed to feel that he was
dealing with no yokel, as he had supposed; and now, peering closely, he
saw that the head of his prisoner was finely shaped, and the features
refined and delicate.
"If you object to rough treatment, my young friend," he said a little
more gently, "you should not put your nose into such doings as these."
But he still kept a firm hold of the arm and shoulder, as though to
stifle any idea of escape.
"I should say 't was you who deserved rough usage,--coming onto my
father's land at this hour, and putting your nose into business that
can in no wise concern you." Dorothy had by this time fully recovered
her composure, and being certain as to the completeness of her
disguise, spoke with saucy assurance.
"Your father's land!" exclaimed the young man, in evident surprise.
"Pray, who is your father?"
"A gentleman who has no great taste for stranger folk prowling about
his estate." She gave her arm and shoulder a slight twitch, as though
to loosen them from his hold. But this he would not have, although his
voice had a still milder sound as he asked, "Is your name Devereux?"
"And whether it is or not," she answered, "pray tell me what matters it
to you?"
"It matters this to me," he said quickly: "that if it is, then I'll let
you off, and will go on my way, although I don't quite like the looks