Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 99, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 August 1899 — THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN.

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.

I CHAPTER IV. little time Marian Eastcourt ith. one hand clasping Robert’s itching firmly, and bearing heavthe other pressed upon her >ver the region of the heart. The iw that she was weak and faint, iupported her tenderly, lady, what can I do for you? Mr. Krupp’s dwelling. Shall I you in?” dear madam —dear mother ” l! I shall be strong in a moment. stand here. Let me lean upon a, Robert. There —so. My breath ig. - I have hurried out to speak a. I might have waited, but I tat from this time I am to be very narrowly. While you were with my husband in the reception made a discovery, or my maid for me, and communicated it. itcourt has two new servants in le, one of whom received you this and those servants are of his nd, and have been posted in the tat all that transpires may be re- » the master. Every word we 1 the parlor this night he will Now I want you to tell me what band said to you in that anteGive me his words as nearly- as a little reflection the young man and gave an account of the intereproducing the conversation alird for word. you believed he was sincere !" Woman, who had not interrupted lie he was speaking. “And you him?” ressed my gratitude. I could not wise. As for his sincerity, I hardwhat to think. I was amazed, well you might have been. And I you to promise that the friendween you should not be severed?” he asked me that, but I did not in that way. I promised that ring of our friendship should not r ork of my hand.” were safe in that, Robert, for be re can be no friendship between , Jacob Eastcourt is a traitor at nd he only seeks to betray you. I know whereof I speak, and for * of those whom I dearly love I solved to speak plainly for the yourself and Lillian, who are t 6 he twin apples of my eye—the of my mother’s love. Do not inme, but listen. I must not tarry • my absence must not be discovsted her head upon Robert’s arm, r a pause, during which she seemsummoning her strength, she rea dying woman who is speaking Robert. I have not dared to tell but I must tell you. The bullet ks in your father’s vitals is not rely fatal than is the foe to life set its inexorable grasp upon me. uician, who knows me well, and i I have every confidence, assures another attack will be most likese my earthly career. You know have suffered, and how I have weaker, day by day.” -yes—l know,” replied the youth, ed, anxious tones; “but you must up. O! do not—do not—speak lobert, it is the truth, and to you be told'. I have a reason for :. I must have had a reason, very id weighty, to have led me hither our, while spies are in my house; ive come, aud I must speak the uth. While I live my darling Lillian may be protected, because, if worst -should come to the worst, I could call for 'help upon the Committee of Safety. But even that opportunity, though life were ii continued to fne, may not long be mine. A few short months may bring wondrous -changes. Washington cannot occupy the large towns. His army must be constant|J» on the offensive. When the British are -driven from New York, they will be likely to come to Philadelphia. They never ;«Can find footing again in Boston. And if }illian is in that hour without a mother, -you must watch over her." "Dear mother, did not her father promsfae me, this very night that ” “Oh, Robert, Robert, are you so blind «s to have listened seriously to those false "Words? Listen to me —and I call God to 'writness that I speak what I know to be the truth —Jacob Eastcourt does not mean that Lillian shall ever be your wife! He | would make you the cat’s-paw with which to rake his chestnuts from the fire, and ht .will hold out to you Lillian's hand to entice you on. He means to hold you bound to him while he can, and through you he to gain information which will be -valuable to the king's cause. He will use -you, if he can, and he will betray you Swfcen it suits his purpose. Robert, he you most malignantly!” HPjJut.” gasped the youth, horrified, “he regard for his danghter. i has a heart.” replied the woman, “I lite human; and I often ut a heart. His treathter is a marvel. I have ; and narrowly, and have for a glimmer of that l parent is supposed to only child. There is a f man—a mystery which I am sometimes led to Lillian is in truth his have been the child of not been his. That first teen.a widow, as was I; I am lost when I start out into iflhi* mystery. I only know that Lillian jpls never received from Jacob Eastcourt Hi warm beaming of a father’s love; and la the trial that is to come he will seek her for his own profit and advanW**f l teU Robert, he would this h 4« own hand if hp darpd HBpjgi i dagger to your heart sooner than ipAyott wed with bis daughter. I know

lordships and earldoms. He knows that Lillian is very beautiful, and no doubt he hopes through her to win relationship to a wealthy and influential member of thie British nobility. There are plenty of noble lords and knights in the English army.” “Dear lady,” cried Robert, trembling from head to foot, “you frighten me, and yet I cannot doubt you. In fact, when I reflect, I see how true it all may be. But, if Jacob'Eastcourt dares to attempt my betrayal, or the betrayal of his daughter, he must look to himself!” “Robert,” said the matron, still holding him by the arm. “I have come out here to-night to put you on your guard. Will you be watchful of every movement of my husband?” “Yes—l promise!” “And will you be also watchful of Lillian’s welfare?” “My soul! Can you ask it?” “Will you, if need should come, snatch her from the grasp of Jacob Eastcourt?” “With her consent, yes.” “My son, I see dark days coming. It may be that the loosening of the bonds of this earthly life gives me dearer perceptions of the future. I see the British army in possession of Philadelphia. I see a dissolute and debauched soldiery running riot in this fair town. I see the British officers, separated by a broad ocean from all the endearing ties and restraining influences of home, given up to the grossest revelry; and be sure those ofllcers, wearing glittering titles and empty honors, will be admitted to the homes of a betrayed people. O! Robert, it will be dreadful! When that hour comes, will you, at the risk of your life, if necessary, be watchful of Lillian? In all the wide world she may have not one but you to truly love and honor her.” “Woman! My mother!” exclaimed \the youth, seizing her hand, “what new thing have you discovered? What dread secret has been revealed to you?” “Only that which I calmly and understandingly see, my son. Will you promise what I have asked?” “Yes! yes! Upon my honor I promise. All that an honorable man may do I will do for Lillian. My life, if need be, shall be devoted to her service.” “Bless you, Robert! And now beware of Jacob Eastcourt. He is your enemy, though he will, for a time, profess to be your friend. I>t him not know that you suspect him. In this way you will gain admittance to our house. But remember that in that house spies will be constantly on the watch henceforth. I shall inform Lillian, so that she, also, may be on her guard. Enough for now. I can say no more. God knows I have spoken to you the truth. You will not forget what I have said. You will be watchful, and I know you will be true.” “I will be watchful; and I will be true.” He had become calm and reflective, and was now able to comprehend the full meaning of the woman's mission. She had given him sufficient warning, and it was for him to be watchful, and to decide upon emergencies as they should arise. Though the revelation of Marian Eastcourt had greatly shocked him, and rudely demolished his last hope in the ultimate manhood of the father of his beloved, yet he could not doubt it. In fact, when he came to reflect, he remembered that the character given to the man by his wife was the same as he had heard his own father set forth.

Robert gave Mrs. Eastcourt his arm, and having assisted her as far on her way as was thought prudent, he blessed her and bade her good-night. It would be useless to attempt to follow his thoughts as he afterwards wended his way slowly homeward, for of all his thoughts not one was clearly followed to a possible legitimate result. It was near midnight when he reached his home, and as he found his father sleeping, he retired at once to his chamber, where he was soon in bed, dreaming of things more strange than could have been conceived in his waking fancies. On the following morning he found his father still asleep, breathing a little heavily, but regularly. After breakfast he told Patience that he was going out to be gone an hour. “If my father inquires for me,” he said, “tell him I have gone to the State House to meet my company; and if the doctor comes while I am gone, beg him to remain until I return.” With this he went out. At the entrance to the State House he met two men, in respect to whom he removed his hat. They were Richard Henry Lee of Virginia and John Adams of Massachusetts. “Captain Seaton,” said the Virginian, smiling and extending his hand, “I have good news for you. You have heard of my young cousin Harry?” “Heard of him?” repeated Robert, flushing with pride and pleasure in the grateful remembrance. “We were classmates at Princeton.”

“Aye, I remember. Well, my friend, Patrick Henry, has anticipated me, and nominated him to Congress as a captain of cavaJry; so I did the next best thing left for me to do, and nominated you.” “As captain of infantry?” “No, my boy—as captain of cavalry. A few of your father’s old friends, out of love for him, and feeling assured that his son would do honor to the position, have clubbed together, and bought and equipped a hundred and ten of the very best horses they could find. Your commission was made out last night, and the horses shall be turned over to you as soon as your men can be gathered and mustered. What do you say to that?” Robert Seaton caught the noble Virginian’s hand in both his own, but it was sopae moments before he could speak. FinaDy, his eyes beaming refulgently through the gathering tears, he said: “Let my deeds rather than my words show my gratitude. I will be true to the trust thus reposed in me, and while life is mine I will keep the faith of the grand Declaration which my country has just given to the world.” laying 0 his 11 n * RotorS 4-., \„ ’ - • <■- ' * ♦ - J

I judge you to be a worthy son of such a sire. We have a great work to do.” “And to that work my life is devoted,” responded the youth, proudly, bat modestly. “Right," said Lee. “And now yon may go and inform your men what is in store for them. They should be proud of the distinction thus given them.” Half an hour later Robert met eighty of his men in the enclosure on the Walnut street side of the State House, and when he had informed them that horses and equipments were to be furnished them, and that they were to be mustered in as a company of cavalry, their joy was beyond bounds. They gathered around their youthful leader with shouts of gladness, and swore that they would be true and faithful. They cheered for Richard Henry Lee; they cheered for the men who had put forth their money for the horses; they cheered for Gen. Seaton; they cheered for their young commander, and then Robert joined them, and led in vociferous and heart-sent cheers for the Declaration of Independence. When our hero turned his steps homeward he seemed to walk on air; but the severest trial, thus far of his life, was in store for him. As he approached the house he met a neighbor who had been sent in quest of him. His father was dying! How he reached his home he knew not. In the hall he was met by Patience, who calmed him somewhat by informing him that the doctor had not yet given up hope. “But,” she added, “you must be careful, The doctor bade me warn you against exciting your father.” “Ah, Robert, my boy—thank God you have come!” So spoke Gen. Seaton, as his son appeared, and at sight of the youthful, handsome face, his spirits and his strength seemed to revive. The old general lay upon his bed, wfth his head propped upon high pillows, and the extreme pallor of his face, and the enlargement of the dark disks under the eyes, showed that he had been suffering. The young man sat down by the bedside, and took his father’s hand. “I would not have gone out this morning, my father, but I had an engagement which was absolute. Shall I tell you?” “Yes, my boy—tell me all.” Robert east an inquiring glance at the doctor, who said to him: “Speak freely what your father would like to hear. He knows his condition. We only wish to avoid any sudden emotion which may induce a spasm.” “Tell me what you have done, my boy,” urged the general. “I see the proud light in your eyes.” “Aye, father, I am proud. I have met Richard Henry Lee and John Adams —” “God bless them!” “ and at the nomination of Lee I have been appointed to the command of a company of cavalry, and the necessary horses and equipments have been furnished by a few wealthy men out of love and respect for my noble father.” “Robert!—my boy, is this true?” “Yes; and my company is more than full. I shall have my piek of men!” “My brave, true-hearted boy!” And for some moments the old soldier wept without speaking further —wept for pride and joy. In a little while the doctor approached him patient, and administered medicine, after which he placed his ear over the heart, and made a motion with his hand for perfect silence. When he arose from the acoustic examination, his face was very grave. , “General,” he said, “if you have anything of importance to communicate to your son, you had better do it at once. I will retire to the sitting room, where I can be called at any moment. You understand me. There may not be another spasm; but if there is ” “I understand,” interrupted the patient. “I know what another leap of my heart means.”

Tlie doctor then gave directions to the son how to administer cordial in case of simple prostration, and then withdrew. “Now, my boy,” said the general, as Robert resumed his seat by the bedside, “I have something to say to you. You remember, I promised you yesterday?” “Yes, father. You said you would tell be of Stephen Wilson.” “I will tell you of him anon. First, I must tell you of myself, and, some day, if Stephen Wilson comes back, he may tell you more. Behind my pillow is my sword. Put it in my hand, my son.” Robert got the sword and gave it to his father. It was of the sabre pattern, though curved but very slightly. Its hilt was of crusted gold, with a broad carnelian set in the pommel; the guard was of finely tempered steel, with gold work fretted about it; and the scabbard was of black leather, with gold mountings. With a brightening eye the old soldier drew forth the blade. It had become somewhat dim from age and long use, but there was no spot of rust anywhere upon it. He pressed the steel to his lips, and then gave the weapon back into the hands of his son.

“That salute, my boy, was not for the inanimate steel, but in memory, of him who gave it to me. Frederick the Great of Prussia was the donor. It is a Toledo blade. Marshal Schwerin bore it until he fell at the battle of Prague. He vyas a grand soldier, my son. Frederic held him to be worth ten thousand men. On that dreadful day there fell nineteen thousand Austrians, and sixteen thousand Prussians. The marshal died in my arms, and with his last' breath he bade me give his sword to his king, to be bestowed upon a man worthy to wield it. The king gave it to me. Do you wonder that I have prized it? It is a talisman, my boy—a sacred talisman —and I now give it to you, believing that by you it will be wielded in a cause as just and holy as ever inspired the soul of man. You shall never surrender it to a foe—you shall never lose it. In the time to come it may be more to you than you can now think. Look upon the carnelian of the pommel, and tell me what you find engraved there.” “I find,” answered the youth, who had often studied the cunning emblazonry, “very deftly inlaid with jet Mosaic, the black double-headed eagle of Prussia, wearing a golden crown, the talons holding a scroll in which is engraved the legend, ‘Deus Meumque Jus.’ ” “You know Latin enough for that, my boy?” “Yes.” “And don’t forget, my son, that God and our heaven-born Rights cannot be separated.” “But, father—of this man Wilson—tell me of him.” "Aye, Robert, I hope you will see him again. When he comes he will tell you, perhaps, something more of the sword. You must keep it sacredly. Plunge it into the earth to the hilt, and break off and preserve that hilt, if the worst should

come. That emblazonry Was put there, my boy, by Frederick’s order, drawn from his own design. It is the insignia of a secret order of princely knighthood. All! glorious old sword! It was Frederick’s; it was Marshal Schwerin’s. I bore it o# the fields of Diegnitz, of Tangan, and of Buckersdorf; and I bore it at Bunker Hill, and with it I led my brigade into Boston when we had driven the British out. It was the last of that siege that set the old wound in a tumult.” I “But, father " “Aye, my boy, lam coming to it. Listen. You have thought me an American by birth. It is not so. I am English; but when I was yet a young man I left England of my own free will. I went to Prussia, and offered my sword to Frederick. I had been an officer of some note in the British army, and the king of Prussia gladly accepted my services. In Berlin I became acquainted with Christinef Verden, the daughter of a Prussian officer who fell at the opening of the war in Saxony, and she became my wife. While there was a lull in the clash of arms, myself and wife came to America. That was a little more than two-and-twenty years ago. After our landing here you were born. Two years later Frederick of Prussia sent for me, offering me a division; and I went to him; and there, as you know, I remained ten years, and more. You know, too, how within one short month after my final return, your noble ! mother died. God bless her sweet memory! God bless the home of my adoption —our dear America! Ah!” Robert sprang up as he saw the mark ! of pain upon his father’s face, and j brought the cordial; but the old soldier I could not drink. The convulsion ' had : come, and a fierce spasm was at his heart. I The physician was summoned, but he could only shake his head. ! Just then the door was softly opened, j and Patience looked in and whispered to , the physician that Dr. Witherspoon was J without, with others. “Let any one and all who are friends • come in. They can do no harm now.” ) “Father! Father!” cried our hero, bend- j ing over the convulsed form, “can you 1 not speak one more word? You have not j told me ” “Aye, my boy!” the dying soldier interrupted, “it was of Stephen Wilson—it was of my sword. O! grand old sword. : It is a talisman, my son. Keep it sacred- 1 ly! It is—in your hands —it is—a —a — , Patriot’s talisman! O! America! God have mercy!—My boy—Robert—keep the j sword!” ! “Hush!” whispered the physician. “He will speak no more.” At that moment a grand and noble host, having filed noiselessly into the j room, gathered around the bed. At the 1 head stood Dr. John Witherspoon of New j Jersey, who had been Robert’s preceptor I at Princeton. By his side loomed up the ■ commanding form of John Hancock. John * Adams stood next; then Richard Henry Lee; and then Thomas Jefferson. They blessed the dying patriot; and they assured him that his memory should be held ever sacred by all true-hearted Americans. The brave old soldier could not speak, but he could see, and hear and understand. He saw the galaxy of giant men assembled around him, and he heard their words of blessing. A light supernal illumined his face; his hands were clasped, with a last effort, and raised heavenward —and so the spirit left the worn and shattered tenement of earth. (To be continued.) Copyright.