Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 October 1899 — THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.

| fc . CHAPTER XIV. tj At the porch door Patience found a mMMKhing figure, closely muffled in a Hml>7 cloak and hood. “Lillian?” “Yes, Patience.” i' At applicant was admitted, and the |' Mving sno wshut out. As soon as the I.Emt had been closed and relocked, the IpMM'Comer grasped thes housekeeper’ Patience, I could not wait. My |. lasher was away, and Mary had permisI'Ataa to go out, so I put on her clothes &ssri name. Have you heard from Robchild, come in where it Is “Oh, Patience —you have heard? I OmV it!” t- z *Yes, Lillian—l have heard. Come into I the kitchen and I will tell you.” “He is—alive?” “Aye, child —alive and well.” I Thank God!” “Come.” And Patience placed her arm I around the grateful girl and led her into | Ebe kitchen, where a candle was burning. j flbe had thrown off her cloak and hood, tai had turned with outstretched arms if Patience, when from the shadows of I aa adjoining apartment emerged the fig- | mos a man. A cry of terror, as she KMhaaght of the officers of dragoons, was | Wpon her lips, but before it had found uttaraace the figure had advanced into the I Eght, and her own name, spoken as only aae voice in all the world bad ever spokE «a it, came to her ears. “Robert! My own!” I . “Uttian!” K We might as well drop the curtain for | a brief space. Clasped in each other’s F .Ml—. with no thought but of their great tore, and with hearts almost bursting With volcanic emotions, their words were ■SneSherent, and weak to express the won- | Arons depth of feeling. fc By and by they sat down before the H Are, Lillian clinging to the returned one t. aa though fearful that it might be all a EWeam, and that she might awake, as I she had done so many, many times, to | And herself alone with misery. “Speak to me again, darling! Oh, you t Eve, and have come back to me!” “Yes, sweet love.” ■ “But, Robert!”—and she wore a frightI' cned look as the thought flashed upon r her for the first time —“are you not in | danger here?” “Let us not think of danger to me, my IfTllMiti I have come to save you from I a. wg *.r When I knew that danger Ethreatened you, one spoke to me from p tire dead— your mother!—for we will call |; bar so.” E “Yes, yes—she was truly a mother to | me! O! if she had lived!” “But,” added Robert, reverently, “dyEh*, she placed the burden of watchful, I’bkeaaed care upon me. You know that, KAMuestr’ i “Yes, Robert—l know.” “And I have come. I have braved the E danger not more for your sake than for own. And now, Lillian, tell me the ffiadekedness they would do. Can you give | me to understand it?” IV girl, still holding her lover by one E hand, reached up the other to his shouli der wad tried to look brave and reliant. I “You have heard of the Earl of WenI JorkF* she said. I have heard through you and “fc that all? And have you not heard I- «f Mm in connection with the-British | army?’ I “I have heard of Gen. Allan Fitzger- | aM, Lord Fairford; and I remember of Ihaaring Lord Stirling say that, by the | Jrofh of his old father, Lord Fairford I bad become Earl of Wenlock. He has Bjatned the army, I think, since they K-gMm'd quarters in Philadelphia?” B “Yes— he came in the late autumn. It Loo chanced that a near and dear friend EOf bis was stopping with us. There was H'loom in the house, and my father gave I: Elm comfortable quarters. At first I Kganld not help liking the man. He was n very gentlemanly, and treated me with E;,d inspect bordering upon what seemed to bo almost reverence. At length a change k name Over his manner. It was after the Kirtters had arrived announcing the death Eof his father. He had become an earl. tSEtor a few days I did not see him. He HaMpt his own apartments, and saw only |Ha servants. When he next met me he | lightened me. He grasped my hands, HmM poured forth his love almost insane|'ly. I cannot tell you what he said, but E lds earnestness was terrible. I told him I that I had no heart to give him—that I I was pledged to another. Upon this his Eface grew black, and he swore that anmaHier should never possess me. My moths er would have reasoned with him, but Eihe was too weak. Very shortly thereESfter she died, and the first words my |&Vr spoke to me after the funeral were Inform me that I was to become Counk||ha of Wenlock. Tears, prayers and enMjipatfes were of no avail. His word had EAuim given, and he would keep it But, ray love! I stood out bravely until i’ word came that you were dead. Then— Mte~l wished to die with you. But |&mltl not wholly believe it—l could Ehwt If I had —if I had known that you ■Ke dead-my strength might have failv 'AI me. But you are not dead—thank “Dear Lillian” —holding her close to his “you have been brave and true. ■giean be brave still?” now that you are with me, I can Tfiens you, darling! We will brave the ■JBA' together. But tell me of this ■mL What manner of man is he?” **He is a handsome man, Robert, and ■m the name of being a brave man. 1 ' ■Kedhim until be showed to me that ter■lt pMsion. I had hoped he would be ,MBbtod friend to me, thinking his age ■HMI sorely be a barrier to a love I H not return. He is as old as my k ■ _

but I can see that it is in him to be a very volcano of rage, and that he" could pursue a cherished purpose even to a deadly conclusion.” “And your father ” “O! Robert, my father is-the demon of my fate! Lord Wenlock is manful and just in comparison with him. My father will have me wed with the earl though he' has to hold me at the altar. His anathemas upon me are fearful! Robert!” the girl cried, starting up, “I have come to hope that the story which that man tells of my mother may be true!” “Hush, Lillian! Be he your true father, or be he not, he has clearly absolved you from all filial allegiance. Do you feel bound to him by any tie under the sun ?” “No—-I cannot.” “Then, Lillian, you must not allow him to crush out your young life. Do you remember what you wrote to me just after your mother died?” “Yes, Robert—l remember.” “You said you might have to flee from your home. You thought I could not come to you, but you might come to me. The world would understand , and approve. Dear Lillian, it shall be easier than you had thought. Will you place yourself henceforth under my protection? Lady Washington, and Lady Stirling, and the wife of Gen. Knox are at Valley Forge. They will receive you kindly and lovingly, and I know that either of them will gladly give you a mother’s protecting care until the sole right can be vested in me. Will you flee with me?” “But—Robert, there will be danger to you?” “No, darling. I have two passes frpm Sir William Howe—regular passes, given under his own hand to his Tory scouts. By means of one of them I gained admission within the British lines. You shall assume male attire, and take the other pass. I came in by the first redoubt, on the Delaware side. We will leave by the Schuylkill line. What say you?” She threw her arms around his neck and said she would go to the ends of the earth with him. “And now—now is the time!” cried the eager man, starting to his feet, and lifting her with him. “We have garments in the house that will answer every purpose. We can set forth before midnight, and reach our camp long before daylight. The route upon the opposite shore of the Schuylkill is direct, and I can obtain horses on the way. Shall it be so?” Before Lillian could answer there was an Interruption, as startling as it was sudden and unexpected. Patience, who had been for a little time in a front room, came hurrying to the kitchen breathless and terror stricken.

“There are men in the front court,” she gasped. “Your officers have not returned?” “No —the court seems full of soldiers!” “Hush! Lillian—dear girl!—be not needlessly alarmed. Sit you here, and I will go and look.” He went to one of the windows overlooking the court and carefully moving aside the curtain he saw what Patience had announced—at least a dozen men, armed with muskets, and completely guarding the way. He hastened back to the kitchen, and addressed the housekeeper: "Has this thing ever happened before?” “Never, Robert.” “They may have come to ” His speech was cut short by a heavy thumping upon the front door. With a cry of alarm Lillian sprang forward and caught her lover by the arm. “Robert, if flight is possible, I will fly with you this moment. Can we not go out by way of the porch?” “I will go and see.” But Patience had been before him. There were men in the alley as there were in the court! She had seen them plainly. Another, and another, knocking upon the front door. “I must go and see what they want,” said Patience. “Hear them! they will break the door! —Robert, you must hide —up into the aittic! I will put them off if I dan.” i Then she went into the front hall and demanded of those outside what they sought. “Open the door at once,” was the reply, “or we will break it down. Open in the King’s name!” “Up! up!” cried the housekeeper to our hero. “They will not harm me,” added Lillian. “Oh, save yourself! For my sake, Robert!” He dared wait no longer. He hurried up the stairs; but upon the upper landing he stopped. These soldiers might only have come to see if Capt. Stanley had returned. He would wait and see. In a few moments more Patience opened the front door, and the hall was quickly filled with armed men. “Woman!” demanded an authoritative voice, “where is Captain Robert Seaton?” Our hero needed to hear no more. He recognized the voice as that of Col. Simcoe! He had been suspected, and had been tracked! What could he do? There was no place in the house where Simcoe’s men could not find him. He became desperate with the thought of capture. Capture, under such circumstances, . could mean only an ignominious death! He made his way to the chamber which had once been his, and which Patience had told him was now set apart for the English dragoons. The door was not locked, and he went in. He had pistols with him, and with these he determined to stand at bay. Capture meant for him the death of a spy! He would die the death of a soldier, beneath the roof where his father had died, ere he would surrender. As he backed against one of the walls, something clanked behind him. It was a dragoon’s sword, hanging by one of the clothes hooks, and he knew by its weight and balance, when he had drawn it from its scabbard, that it was a goodly weapon. He could fight now. If his pistols y ;< a .< _ _ • • • » - • « a < •' • -k- ' •

He had no fear that the men would harm Lillian. He must live for her sake. Down in the hall Simcoe had seized Patience’s arm, and demanded a second time, where was Robert Seaton. And she had declared that she did not know. The female in the kitchen had been discovered by those who had broken their way in by'toC porch, and the colonel, hearing the challenge, hastened to the spot. At first he thought of a man in female disguise, but this shrinking figure was too slight for the false scout; and, when he saw her face, he knew her. He had met her in her father’s house. “Miss Eastcourt! Why are you here?” “I came to see my dear friend, sir,” she answered, promptly, though with a feeling of deathly faintness. The colonel was too gallant to press the matter in the presence of the rough soldiery, though his look seemed to. indicate that he more than half suspected the truth. He had assured himself that his scout had entered this house, and had not since departed. Candles were procured and lighted, and lanterns brought into use, and then, in obedience to Simcoe’s orders, the search was commenced. It could not last long. There were a score of men in the house, well used to the work, and no nook or cranny was likely to escape notice. Ere long a sergeant, at the head of six men, came to a door which was fastened upon the inside. A single planting of a heavy jack boot against the door broke the simple fastening, and the light of the sergeant’s lantern flashed upon a man, who stood in the middle of the chamber, with a sword‘under his arm and a pistol in either hand. “Back!” thundered the man at bay. “The first man who places a foot over the threshold dies!” For a brief space the Britons hesitated. The man before them looked dangerous. If they advanced, the foremost would be sure to fall. But there was no alternative. There was no means of Ingress for a flank attack. “Forward!” shouted the sergeant; and at he pushed ahead, his comrades quickly followed. They had left their muskets below, and would not turn back from a single man. The one chance in a hundred upon which the sergeant had counted luckily turned up. Both the pistols missed fire, their primings having probably become dampened in the storm. And then, with a pistol clubbed in his left hand, as a sort of shield, Seaton grasped the sword and fought desperately. Blood was shed — much of it—but it could not avail. The chamber was soon filled with soldiers, and by and by a strong man slipped up from behind, and held the swordsman’s arms fast, and in a moment more he was borne to the floor, and his elbows pinioned at his back; and thus they bore him down into the hall.

Col. Simcoe, when he knew that Robert Seaton had been secured, rejoined Lillian in the kitchen, where he found her fainting in the arms of Patience. It needed no seer to tell him the story. He understood it very well. He summoned a lieutenant and four men. “Lieutenant, you know the dwelling of Jacob Eastcourt, on Spruce street?” “Yes, sir.” “Bear this lady thither. You will treat her in every respect as though she were a daughter of your king. Your men will carry her tenderly, but resolutely.” Lillian was beyond the power of resistance, and when she had been borne out through the porch, Simcoe left two men to keep guard over the housekeeper, while he went into the hall to see his prisoner, with whom he soon stood face to face. He might have doubted whether this fair-faced, handsome man could be the same who had, earlier in the evening, so boldly fronted him at his quarters, had it not been for the green coat and the bright, gray eyes. “Well, sir,” the colonel said, “I. fear your bold visit within our lines has not prospered as you anticipated.” The prisoner looked straight into Simcoe’s eyes, but made no reply. “You will not profess now to be a friend to the king?” The prisoner bowed his bead and reflected, and at length he spoke calmly and with dignity: “Col. Simeoe, I suppose I am to consider myself your prisoner?” “Certainly.” “Then this is not the time nor the place for further questioning. You will do with me as you please.” At this juncture, Patience Angell, who had broken from her guard, rushed into the hall and threw herself at the colonel’s feet. “Colonel!” she cried, raising her clasped hands, “if you have a human heart you will spare this man. He came to do ypu no harm. He braved danger only to keep his pledge with a dying woman. Spare him! In heaven’s name, spare him!” Simcoe made no reply to the woman. He simply motioned for two of his soldiers to take her away, and when she was gone he turned again to his prisoner. “So we now know you for the former master of this house, Captain Seaton; it gives me infinite satisfaction to make your acquaintance in so unexpected a manner.”

Seaton’s only reply was a slight inclination of the head, and shortly afterwards he was led out from the house under a strong guard. The British provost was the old Walnut street prison, near Sixth, and the distance not great. In the office of the prison “Captain Robert Seaton, of the Revolutionary army at Valley Forge," was delivered over to the provost marshal for safe keeping. This provost marshal was Capt. Cunningham, a burly, ill-natured, human brute, grown old and gray in infamous cruelty, who, both in Philadelphia and New York, left a name and a memory behind him to be execrated and detested in all coming time. When our hero saw this man, remembering all that he had heard of his cruelty to the Patriot prisoners taken at Brandywine and Germantown, his heart sank within' him. His fate was surely before him! •••* - * • • Not quite within the hour, but near enough for all practical purposes, Col. Simcoe appeared at the headquarters of the commander-in-chief with his promised report This time be not only suffered the orderly to announce him, but he awaited permission to enter; and when his report had been made, he was prevailed upon to discuss the matter oyer a bottle of wine. Sitting near was a man who had been in conversation with Sir William before the colonel entered. He was of medium sine, of light complexion, a well-built.

handsome man, not far from fifty years of age, wearing the uniform of a major general, with the noble order of the Garter pendant upon his breast. His light brown, curling hair had slight touches of silver in its sinuous masses, but he did not look old. “Colonel,” he said, arising from his seat and standing by the table, “I have a favor to ask of you. You know it was Miss Eastcourt whom you saw?” “Yes, my lord.” “Will you hold her name, henceforth, religiously sacred from any and aH connection with this night’s business?” “I give you my word.” “And you, Sir William?” “I will hold my tongue, be assured.” “Thank you.” And with this the man left the apartment. He had heard the whole story, as related by Simcoe, and evidently wished to hear no more. “Upon my life,” said Simcoe, after the door had closed upon the retiring guest, “the earl is sensitive on that matter.” “Yes, Colonel,” “And he is really smitten?” “Aye—but he is honorable. He offers the girl his coronet!” (To be continued.) • - Copyright.