Daughters of the Revolution and Their Times Part 18

Robert and Rachel could prolong their stay in Boston and enjoy the hospitality of their friends. It was Monday evening the 5th of the month. Berinthia had invited Ruth Newville to tea.

"The soldiers and the ropemakers are at loggerheads," said Tom, as he came in and laid aside his coat.

"What is the trouble?" Robert asked.

"It seems that a negro hemp-stretcher, down in Gray's ropewalk[42], last Friday asked a soldier if he wanted to work, and the redcoat replied he did. What the ropemaker told him to do wasn't very nice, and they had a set-to. The soldier got the worst of it, and swore vengeance. The redcoat went to the barracks, but was soon back again with eight others, armed with clubs, swearing they'd split the skulls of the beggars. The ropemakers seized their woolding-sticks, and they had it hot and heavy, but the lobsters got a licking. You'd better believe there was a buzzing in the barracks. Pretty soon between thirty and forty of the hirelings, armed with bayonets, clubs, and cutla.s.ses, rushed down to the ropewalk. The ropemakers rallied, but all told they were only fourteen. They showed what stuff they were made of, though, and proved themselves the better men. They whacked the lobsters' skulls and drove them."

[Footnote 42: Edward Gray, in 1712, purchased a large tract of land on the westerly side of Hutchinson's Lane, now Pearl Street, and erected a ropewalk seven hundred and forty feet long. The large number of s.h.i.+ps built in Boston and other New England towns made it a lucrative occupation. His son, Harrison Gray, was appointed treasurer of the Province. He was a loyalist, and took his departure from Boston upon its evacuation by the British. His property was confiscated to the state. He proceeded from Halifax to London, where he gave generous hospitality to his fellow exiles in that city.]

"Good for the ropemakers," said Berinthia, clapping her hands.

Robert saw a lighting up of Miss Newville's eyes, but no word fell from her lips.

"I fear," said Mr. Brandon, "there will be an outbreak between the soldiers and the people. Since the funeral of Snider, the soldiers have been growing more insolent. The long stay of the troops with nothing to do except the daily drill and parade, and drinking toddy, has demoralized them. The under-officers are but little better than the men, spending most of their time in the taverns playing cards.

Discipline is lax. I shall not be surprised at whatever may happen."

Miss Newville and Robert sat down to a game of checkers. He debated with himself whether or not he would let her win the first game. Would it be gentlemanly to defeat her? Ought he not to allow her to win? But almost before he was aware of what had happened she was victor, and he was making apology for playing so badly. Again the men were set, and again, although he did his best to win, his men were swept from the board.

"I see I'm no match for you," he said.

"I am not so sure about that. I saw your mistake. You would soon learn to correct it," she said with a smile.

Although yet early in the evening, Miss Newville said she must be going home, as her parents might be concerned for her.

"I trust the soldiers will not molest you," said Mrs. Brandon, bidding Miss Newville farewell.

"I am sure I shall be safe with Mr. Walden," she replied. There was a meaning in her eyes which he alone understood, the silent reference to their first meeting.

The moon was at its full, its silver light gleaming upon the untrodden snow. There was no need for them to hasten their steps when the night was so lovely.

"Oh, look, Mr. Walden! see Christ Church!" Miss Newville exclaimed.

"Tower, belfry, turret, and steeple are glazed with frozen sea-mist and driven snow."

The church loomed before them in the refulgent light, a ma.s.s of s.h.i.+ning silver. Above all was the tapering spire and golden vane.

"It is the poetry of nature. Such beauty thrills me. I feel, but cannot express, my pleasure," she said.

"It is indeed very beautiful," he replied. "The snow, the silver, gold, light and shade, the steeple tapering to a point, make it a wonderful picture. Would that you could see on such a night as this the view from my own home,--upland and valley, meadow and forest, walls and fences, leafless oaks, elms, and maples in fields and pastures, pure white and s.h.i.+ning like polished silver in the moonlight, and all the twigs and branches glittering with diamonds. On such nights, when the crust is hard and firm, we boys and girls pile ourselves on a sled and go like the wind from the top of the hill in the pasture down to the meadow, across the intervale, over the river bank, and out upon the gleaming ice. We wake the echoes with our laughter and have a jolly time."

"Oh, how I should enjoy it," she said.

Suddenly they heard other voices, and as they turned the corner of the street came upon a group of men and boys armed with cudgels.

"We'll give it to the lobsters," they heard one say.

"I fear there may be trouble," Robert remarked, recalling the conversation at the supper-table.

Pa.s.sing the home of Doctor Warren, they saw a light burning in his office, and by the shadow on the window curtain knew he was seated at his writing-desk. Turning from Hanover towards Queen Street, they found several soldiers in earnest conversation blocking the way.

"I'd like to split the heads of the blackguards," said one, flouris.h.i.+ng a cutla.s.s.

"Will you please allow me to pa.s.s?" said Robert.

"When you take off your hat to us," the answer.

"This is the king's highway," said Robert.

He felt Miss Newville's arm clinging more firmly to his own.

"You can pa.s.s if your wench gives me a kiss," said the soldier with the cutla.s.s.

Swiftly Robert's right arm and clenched fist sent the fellow headlong into the snow. He faced the others a moment, and then with Miss Newville walked leisurely away. He could feel her heart palpitating against his arm. He cast a glance behind, but the redcoats were not following him.

"It seems we are fated to meet ill-bred men," he said.

"Oh, Mr. Walden, how resolute and brave you are!"

"It is not difficult to be courageous when you know you are right."

"But they are so many."

"We are more than they," he replied, smiling.

"More than they! We are only two."

"He who is in the right has all of G.o.d's host with him. They knew they were in the wrong; that made them cowards."

Again he felt the warmth and pressure of her arm, as if she would say, "I know I shall be safe with you to protect me."

They were pa.s.sing King's Chapel. Its gray walls never had seemed so picturesque as on that evening with the moon casting the shadows of pillar, cornice, roof, and tower upon the pure white snow that had fallen through the day. Beyond it were the young elms of Long Acre, twig and limb a ma.s.s of glittering diamonds. They stood at last beneath the portico of her home.

"I have been thinking," she said, "of the strange happenings that have come to us--how you have been my protector from insult. I cannot express my grat.i.tude, Mr. Walden."

"Please do not mention it, Miss Newville. I should indeed be a poltroon did I not resent an indignity to a lady, especially to you. I esteem it an honor to have made your acquaintance. May I say I cannot find words to express the pleasure I have had in your society? I do not know that I shall see you again before we start on our homeward journey."

"Must you go? Can you not prolong your stay?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: King's Chapel, 1895.]

"We have already overstayed our time; but not to our regret. I never shall forget, Miss Newville, these days and evenings which you, with Berinthia, Tom, Miss Shrimpton, and Roger Stanley have made so enjoyable."

"I trust we shall not be like s.h.i.+ps that signal each other in mid-ocean, then sail away never to meet again," she replied.

She reached out her hand to bid him farewell. It rested willingly in his.

"I hope," she said, "I never shall be so ungrateful as to forget what you have done for me. I certainly shall not forget the lesson you have taught me--to stand resolutely for the right. I shall always be pleased to see you."

"You may be sure, Miss Newville, I never shall fail to pay my respects to one whose very presence makes life more beautiful and worth the living."