CHAPTER VI
A TALE IS TOLD
I lay there at the inn, I do not know how long, but they told meafterward it was for many days, hanging on the brink between life anddeath, until one day I heard in my dreams the music of the fife andthe rattle of the drums, and awoke to life and hope again. Thesunlight was streaming through the south window across the counterpaneof the bed, and outside could be heard the steady tread of marchingmen.
"What troops are those?" I asked somewhat hazily, for I was still onthe borderland of dreams.
"They are the Maryland Line marching away to the North to join GeneralWashington."
"Marching to the North? Then I must join them." And I tried to rise inmy bed, for it came back to me with a rush that I was a Lieutenant inthe Line. But strong hands pushed me gently back upon my pillow, and Irecognised now the voice of my nurse, Mrs. McLean.
"No, no, Mr. Frisby; be still. You are a regular little bantam, butyour spurs are clipped for some time yet."
"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. McLean? How did I come here?"
"Law bless the boy!" said the good old soul. "He has clean forgot."
But the dull pain in my side soon brought back to me that clear, freshmorning on the bank of the Elk, and for a moment I lay still.
"Did I kill Rodolph?" I asked.
"That you did, lad; and no man deserved it more."
Then I heard a heavy step in the passageway outside, and then alighter one. The next moment the door opened and I saw my mother, morepale and fairy-like than ever, and behind her came Captain Ramsay,bluff and hearty, but looking very solemn at that moment. But they sawthe news on Mrs. McLean's good-natured face, and when I spoke to mylady, the old-time happy look came back again, as she came to mybedside and kissed me, while the great voice of the Captain camehearty and strong.
"Aye, lad, I told them that you would pull through; make a gallantfight, my boy, and you will have a shot at the redcoats yet."
"But, Captain, you are marching away without me."
"You will be in time for the fighting, never worry; lie still and getwell. Half the young men in the Line are envying you, you rogue, forbecoming a hero before them all." And the Captain took my hand, andbade me good-bye, for he must hurry away to join his regiment.
A few minutes later there came the clank of a sword and a hurriedstep, and then the door burst open and in marched Master Dick in allthe glory of his full regimentals. And so brave was the show that hemade in his cocked hat, scarlet coat, with its facings of buff, andthe long clanking sword, that I longed to spring up and don my ownthen and there. But my mother's finger on her lip caused him to stopthe cheery greeting, and he came forward on his tiptoes, holding hissword carefully to keep it from clanking, for by this time I wasgrowing weak again. Master Dick shook my hand gently and murmured,"Cheer up, old fellow, you will soon be with us again," but I couldonly give him a slight smile, for I was again on the borderland ofdreams. Dick stood for awhile looking down on me; then he, too, had todepart. Gradually the steady tramp of marching feet died away, andeverything became quiet and still again.
The days passed by, week followed week, and though at first I gainedstrength but slowly, the process seeming a long and dreary one, thevigour of a youthful frame soon asserted itself, and I could feel thereturning tide of health and strength. But as yet I lay there upon thegreat four-post bed, with my mother sitting near by, her dear facebending over the embroidery frame, as her deft fingers weavedbeautiful designs with the silk. As I lay there, I would wander backagain to that day before the duel, to the swift challenging glance ofa pair of blue eyes as a blood-red rose was pinned to my coat. Butthat was so long ago, years it seemed to me, away back in the past, amemory as it were of a fairy tale heard from the lips of a grandmotherbefore the big open fire in the great hall on a winter night; a fairytale, aye, and she the Princess, with her blue eyes and hair of wavingbrown, with her step as light as the dew-drop, and her voice as lowand soft as the breath of the Southern breeze in the spring; and thenI would be her Prince Charming, with my coal-black horse. But, pshaw!I am becoming a child again; whereas I am a man, who has fought hisduel as becomes a man, with a right to the sword by his side. And yetthose blue eyes, what fate was in store for them? And would theirchallenging glance ever meet mine again? But here my mother stoppedthe trend of my thoughts for a moment.
"James," she said, "John Cotton tells me that an old darky comes toinquire for you every night. Strange, is it not? We know so fewpeople here."
"Yes," I replied. "Does John Cotton know who he is?"
"No; he refuses to tell, and all John Cotton can find out is that heleaves town by the river road. He appears to be a stranger to all theother darkies, and nobody seems to know him."
By the river road! Could it possibly be, then, that it was the Torymaid who sent those many miles to see if I were in the land of theliving or the dead? Ah, it was too pleasant a thing to dream of; toopleasant to have it shattered by the rough hand of fact. And so I saiddreamily, "It is only one of John Cotton's stories, I suppose."
Yet I would not have believed it otherwise for all of John Cotton'sweight in gold. Thus it was I was thinking one day of the Tory maid,when the door opened, and a tall, dignified gentleman came in--the manwho had stood by my side that day when with drawn sword I held thedoor against Rodolph and his followers--Mr. Lambert Wilmer of theWhite House in Kent.
He came forward and greeted me with many kind phrases. While he sattalking to me of the duel and its cause, I thought of that great burstof laughter when he told Rodolph to put up his sword, as by this timehe should have had enough of Gordon of the Braes, and I asked thereason for it all.
"It is a long story, lad," said he, "but I will tell it to you."
Then he told me how, many years before, Mistress Margaret Nicholsonhad been the loveliest girl in Kent, and the belle of the whole shore,and how there was not a bachelor within three counties who did notseek her as his bride, or who would not have sold his soul for aglance of her eyes or the soft pressure of her hand; and how whenJames Rodolph of Charlestown Hundred came riding down from Cecil andboasted of his wealth, his horses, and his slaves, swearing that hewould win her or no one would, the suitors stood aside to see how hewould fare with this the proudest of Kent beauties. To their dismay,he seemed to prosper well, until one day there disembarked from avessel that came sailing up the broad Chester a young gentleman ofdistinguished appearance, who asked his way to Radcliffe, the home ofthe Nicholsons.
"Now, the Nicholsons, as you know," said Mr. Wilmer, "are Scotch, andthis young gentleman was Scotch, for his accent betrayed him, and we,thinking he might be a cousin and have brought news from over thewater, welcomed him, and showed him the way to Radcliffe. He, thoughhe was very reserved, told us that he had indeed come from over thesea, and bore a letter to the Nicholsons, who were old friends of hisfamily, but of himself he would say no more. And so, when he strodeoff, we turned to Captain Hezekiah Brown of the Maid of Perth, who wasa man who delighted to talk. From him we learned that his name wasGordon, and that there was a mystery about him, as people suspectedhim of being one of the young chiefs who had led that famous clan inthe recent rebellion against the King. But this we held not to hisinjury, for there were still many lovers of the White Rose in the fairprovince of Maryland, and we afterward welcomed him the more heartilyfor it. From the advent of the stranger the good fortune of JamesRodolph began to wane; for the rich planter of the border, with hiswild and boisterous manners, was no match for the Scottish cavalier.It is true that he was penniless, but he was very handsome, ofdistinguished manners and address, and when it became known that hewas out in 'forty-five' the mantle of romance that fell around PrinceCharles was shared as well by him, and he became the hero of many apair of fair eyes.
"James Rodolph soon saw this, and his hatred grew from day to day, ashis rival became more successful. One day there was a quarrel, andnext morning, upon the smooth, sandy shore of the river, they met andfought it out. Rodolph was fiery
, quick, and fierce; Gordon cool andsteady; until Rodolph, growing weary and desperate, tried a foul anddangerous stroke, to find his rapier flying through the air, to fallwith a splash into the river.
"'I would not stain my blade by killing you,' said Gordon; and turningwith the other gentlemen who had seen the foul stroke, he walked away,leaving him there.
"And so it was that Rodolph came back to Cecil with a blot upon hisname, and Gordon married the maid, and became in time the owner of theBraes, for she was an heiress as well as a great beauty. From thattime has grown the feud which we may some day see the end of. And thatis why the people laughed and Rodolph slunk away. For the old story isknown throughout the shore, and Rodolph proved, in his fight with you,the bad blood in his veins. It never does to cross the white bloodwith the red, for the treachery of the Indian will taint the race forgenerations."
Thus it was, by the light of this old tale of thirty years before, Isaw and read the cause and reason of it all--of his fatal course, ofour quarrel, and of the meeting by the banks of the river Elk.