THE Rose of Chatham.

Fair Play, Volume I, Issue 21, 1 May 1894, Page 30

THE Rose of Chatham.

BY MAURICE THOMPSON.

I Continued.]

When the battle began Mr. Fenwicke was at one of his plantations some miles in the country. By the time he could have his carriage maide ready and be driven into town the British were there rushing up and down the streets and committing every outrage known to a mercenary and utterly conscienceless soldiery. Defenseless citizens were bayoneted, houses were pillaged, women outraged, negroes bfeaten with clubbed muskets, drdiiken Hessians reveled in all manner of debauchery.

1 Mr. Fenwjcke’s driver was an old negro man whose courage was as pale as his face was black, and when a crowd of brutal soldiers, half crazed with wine, stopped the carriage he tumbled off the seat and fell upon his knees in the sand at their feet. They spurned him with their heavy boots and proceeded to drag forth Mr. Fenwicke, whose age and lameness were no appeal to their feelings. His heavy gold watch and seal, his jeweled snuff box and his purse were quickly tom from his person, while with rude buffets they silenced his every effort to explain to them his loyalty to Great Britain and the services he had rendered to the king’s army. His nose was bleeding on account of a heavy blow from the elbow of one of the Hessians, and his throat bore long scratches from the nails of another. Still another had snatched the old gentleman’s hat. His clothes

were tom, his linen soiled, his hair disheveled. Piteously looking from one to another of the brutes he staggered as he stood.

• At this moment a single American soldier wearing the soiled uniform of a lieutenant darted out of an alley way, drawn sword in hand, and fell furiously upon the Hessians, smiting them right and left in such fashion that three of them lay outstretched in a moment, and the remaining two, badly cut, staggered off, bleeding and mightily bewildered. | IMP. Fenwicke was lifted bodily and placed in his carnage; the coachman felt W hand on the back of his neck, ! “Get into that seat and drive home or I’ll kill you,” growled a very determined voice. The officer leaped into the vehicle as Hie negro put whip to the horses. I “Thank you, oh, thank youl” cried the old man. “How shall I—ohl it’s you, Lieut. Presoott! Dear me! Pm so —so excited) The infernal brutes!”

He wiped his bleeding nose and tried to adjust bIH dipnrdftiWl hair.

From every direction came ominous Bounds. Shots, shouts, screams, the noise of crashing doors and breaking windows. Women and children, both white and black, ran wildly hither and thither. “What can all this mean?” the oldman exclaimed, fumbling for his departed snuff box. “What has happened?” Prescott gave no ear to these inquiries. He simply cried out to the driver: “Faster, you old scoundrel, or I’ll prick you with my sword!” The horses were gentle, well kept, slow beasts, whose pace not even the violent lashing that now fell about their flanks could very much quicken. It was not far they had to go, however, the Fenwicke mansion being already in sight, its small, odd looking windows peering over its little wall and gate. “Gwa’ on dah, 1 tole yo’!” stormed the old driver, redoubling his lashes and at the same time shrinking and shivering In his seat. “Gwa’ on dah, yo’ lazy ole racks o’ bones, 3*o’! Nebber see sich poke-easy ole hosses!’ They reached the gate at last. Lieut. Prescott hustled Mr. Fenwicke out of the carriage and through the gate. “Into the house, quick! and stay there,” he exclaimed, as he thrust him up the Bteps. The negro hastened to gist the carnage into the rear inclosure. Just then a broil began at a street corner near the house.

CHAPTER VI

Rose Fenwicke, as the first roll of musketry came pattering in from the eastward side of the town, sprang to her feet as if a bullet of the enemy had struck her. She had been thinking of Prescott and blaming herself, she scarcely knew how, for thebitter necessity that had caused her to send him away from the door on that ever memorable night when the Tories were having their secret meeting there.

(She clasped her heart and stood listening to this strangely thrilling sound which, like a desultory noise of thunder and hail, but indescribably more awe inspiring, throbbed and rattled, jarring the windows and sending the blood in almost painful surges through her veins. From some cause the thought of disaster to the American army flashed into her mind along with the first spiteful crash of the guns. Would Prescott be killed? Her heart gave a great leap, as if to go out in search of him. How terrible, how unbearable it would be if he were to die before she could see him and explain her treatment of him. It came upon her with irresistible power that she must go to him. She did not pause to imagine where he might be, nor to consider the apparent impossibility of finding him in the tumult and turmoil of battle; much less did any thought of danger to herself cross the field of her consciousness. For a long while she stood motionless, held so by the grip of her emotion, which was too powerful to evince itself by any active outward sign. Her mother passed rapidly through the room saying something in an excited voice, the servants were in noisy commotion; but she gave no heed to her immediate surroundings.

The sound of battle rolled nearer and nearer, the musketry playing now here, now there, in fitful flashes, like the showers of a wild storm, the cannon booming at intervals followed by the distant and startling crash of the shot. Presently she moved, looked around her, threw on a light hooded wrap and ran out into the street and away in the direction of the fight. Men and women and children were running mostly in a way counter to her course, but they heeded her not, nor she them. With the hood of the wrap pulled well over her head and the folds clasped with one hand at her throat she went on and on as fast as she could, until she began to meet flying soldiers from jG-en. Howe's army.

“Back! back!” one cried to her. “Go back, the British are coming.” His face was grimed with dirt and powder and his voice was husky and strained.

She paused and flung a hurried glance around her, while a strange weakness stole into her limbs. A mighty shouting had taken the place of musketry, and it was coming very near. It was more awful than the firing had been. “Lady, lady, save yourself!” gasped

an old man, who, bareheaded and with his thin white hair streaming back, was hurrying along. “Come this way.” He grasped her arm and almost dragged her with him for some distance. Then she broke away from him, with a sudden desire to return to her mother, and ran back along the familiar way toward her home. She was tired now and weak; the sand was deep and heavy in places where there was no sidewalk,

wmcn mace ner progress siow anu tuusome. Once, twice she was stopped by erowds of people, black and white, wildly mingled together. To get away from these she had to make long detours. Finally she became bewildered and was lost, although but a little distance from the house. What evil luck was it that in this focus of her distress she came face to face with Maynard? He wore citizen’s dress, but was armed with a sword. Recognizing her at once, he halted and gave her a quick, inquiring glance before he spoke. She tried to avoid him. “You must go home, Miss Fenwicke,” he said with a gentle and respectful firmness. “The street is no place for you now.” He grasped her arm. As she shrank away from him with an exclamation of loathing he simply drew her closer, and added: “1 owe it to you and your parents to protect you and take you home. Come right along, there is not a moment to lose, not a moment.” He led her beside him as if she were a little child, despite her resistance and protest. They had almost reached the Fenwicke mansion "When they were met by three or four Hessians, intent upon evil, who called out at Maynard to surrender. Eut instead of complying he foil upon them so furiously and with such address that they scattered, but not until after one had been wounded and two others disarmed. All this time he had held Rose somewhat behind him, shielding her with both his body and his sword and encouraging her with gentle but firm assurance. The extremity of her fright could not prevent her from noticing the vigor of his blows and the soft kindliness of his voice as he addressed her.

“Be cool, Miss Fenwicke; never fear. I’ll lay them out. You shall not be hurt; there’s no danger.” he was saying, when Prescott came running from the gate of the mansion with his drawn sword in his hand. The men recognized each other on the instant that their eyes met. Not a word spoke cither. Their weapons clashed together with a sound that went through Rose’s ears like music. Not that* she felt any pleasure in such a struggle; but as the swords leaped and rang and flashed she looked into her lover’s eyes and thanked God that he was living. In the next moment she tore away from Maynard’s grasp and flung herself between the combatants. At the sound of horses' feet beating rapidly in the sand of the street Maynard looked and saw half a dozen or more American officers approaching at a gallop. Instantly he darted through an alley and disappeared. One of the officers was Gen. Howe himself. They were immediately followed by a troop of mounted men. The quick eye of the general fixed itself upon Prescott with a pleased look of recognition. He waved

his hand and called to him. “Mount, mount behind Frazer here, lieutenant, quick!” he ordered with peremptory directness. “Up with you or those dogs will ho upon us.” There was nothing to do but to obey. “Good-by, dear, dear Rose, he murmured, unconsciously repeating the words spoken by Rose on the night of their still unexplained partiug. “Goodby, good-by,” ho said again and again, as he hurried her to the gate and opened it for her.

He took her in liis arms and kissed kor, then ran to tho horsemen and mounted behind Maj. Frazer. Rose stood aghast and bewildered, gazing after them as they galloped away as fast as then* horses could carry them. Nor did they go a moment too soon, for a body of Highlanders appeared, marching rapidly in good order from tho cast, and passed before tho houso ero Roso had thought of going in out of danger.

There was wild work for awhile; scenes of barbarity and outrage, which have been kept out of history, made the little town appear more like a camp of savages than like a place occupied by enlightened human beings. The afternoon was waning when tho advance of tho British reached the streets of Savannah and began tho horriblo work of plunder and assassination. Many of the best citizens attempted to escapo Some were captured, others were bayoneted, a few made thdir way to tlic interior and joined the indomitable little army of scouts and free fighters that from this on sorely harassed the invaders, whose foothold in tho south was now securely fixed. The irony of fate fell upon poor old Mr. Fenwicke, whose loyalty to England was paid for in his assassination. Ho owned a large store of valuable products, and his great desire to savo it caused him to venture into tho streets with a view of seeking the protection of the British commander. Not 200 foet from his own door he was impaled on tho bayonet of a drunken Highlander and died without a groan. Ho lay on the soft sand all night, to be brought in the next morning a rigid corpse, whose placid face app.-ded to Mrs. Fenwiclco and Rose with a force that mado them one in their hatred <d‘ the British.

Maynard, who enjoyed the confidence of the British authorities, used his influence to prevent confiscation of the Fenwicke (‘.state, and to establish kindly relations between the bereaved household and the officer i :i command of the city; but nothing be did could remove the deep distaste, amounting almost to hatred, with which Rose regarded him. To her every act of his appeared to he based on some sinister motive adroitly concealed behind an imperturbable exterior of kindness and unselfishness. He 4i4pot obtrude himself; Ms occasional

vSals to the housetooE tTio ?6rm of mero 'J friendly, calls upon Mrs. Fenwicke to ‘ ask if there woe anything ho could do for them.

Bose was aware that sho owed her life to him, a,thought of itself full of hitter* ness, for what is more humiliating than to be hopelessly and holplessly indebted to one’s enemy? She could not drive him away so long as.ho treated her 'with such scrupulous politeness and respect; moreover the shock of bereavement had rondorod her mother incapable of taking care of the estato, and Maynard was at once ready and efficient. So the winter passed and the dolicious tido of a somi-tropio spring washod over the ill fated town, bringing with it wisps of mocking birds, whoso delicate silken wing rustlings wero soon followed by a merry discord of fluting in all the orchards and vine embowered gardens round about. The winds from tko Atlantic brought a fragrant sea smell, tho plants leapod into luxuriant loaf and bloom, and tho sky, cloudless for days together, took on tho licbness aud splendor of a gorgeous dream. By night and by day long linos and angles of fowls stirred tlio highor currents of air and shimmered and winnowod and drifted from horizon to horizon, lilco slowly shifting sketches on sorno intensely blue Japanese miracle of a background. Tho days wore golden, with a sunshino which was the very wine of life, and the nights were cool, sweet, many perfumed and melodious with the songs of birds that could not sleep for happiness. Tho American army, for all that could bo hoard of it in Savannah, scorned to luivo dissolved, and overy ltopo of relief for tho south was dead in tho hearts of tho patriots.

CHAPTER VII. As tho days, weeks and months dragged slowly by it becatno apparent to both Mrs. Fenwiclco and Roso that their safety, as well as their comfort, depended almost wholly upon tho unflagging and inexplicable interest taken in thorn by Maynard. Apaco with tlio lapse of time his exertions in their behalf increased, although it was plain that ho used every precaution to try to keep them from knowing it. Ho mover mentioned his connection with any of their affairs, savo to make somo inquiry when it became necessary for him to reach facts that it was of importance for him to uso in their behalf, and then only iu a way that precluded embarrassment.

Neither Roso nor hor mother could he cruel enough to openly question his honesty of purpose so long as not evou the slightest appearance of questionable 4 intent was shown in his conduct, and certainly their condition would have become unbearable had be chosen to lot it & ho so. Still (was it the wound fuaouLM *• " ' ' ; 0§

his cheek, or'was it some half hidden expression of his eyes) they suspected and feared him; indeed, they found themselves all the time expecting him to disclose the secret evil he was planning for them.

Naturally enough they often talked the matter over, frequently resolving that they would make an end of it by telling him kindly and firmly that they would prefer to be left entirely to themselves, but, as often when he came, in his dignified and calmly courteous way, to inquire about their health or to report some necessary details touching the affairs of their estate, it was quite impossible not to treat his kindness with a certain degree, of gentle consideration. Never once did he in the slightest deport himself as if he were entitled to be treated as a friend or even a familiar acquaintance. So the time passed on from spring to summer and from summer to autumn. Early in September the fleet of Count d’Estaing appeared off Tybee island, and forthwith the British commander at Savannah made ready for a desperate defense. Maj. Gen. Prevost had not been expecting the movement to begin so early in the season and had not pushed to completion the defenses that he had planned. Now, however, he displayed great energy in finishing those works which would cover Savannah to the eastward and southward. He ran his little fleet, consisting of four brigs and ships, up the river so as to have them assist him in defending the town, sent dispatches to Port Royal island, ordering his forces there to march forthwith to join him, and drawing in all his outpost detachments concentrated every available man within the lines of defense. While this was going on the American general, Lincoln, was massing his little army with a view to co-operating with d’Estaing in the attack.

It was exhilarating news to Rose when she heard of the approaching struggle. She felt sure that Prescott would be with Lincoln’s army, and somehow the thought was full of cheer. It was her turn now to hear, as if in her heart, the parting words, “Good-by, dear, dear Rose.” She was impatient for the battle to begin. Maynard came to tell them that the city was practically invested and that the siege might be a long one. He did not think, however, that they would be in any danger so long as they remained at the mansion. The enemy’s shells could scarcely reach there, he hoped. He was ready and would be, he said, at all times to do for them anything within his power. The guns began to bellow soon enough, and the dreadful sounds brought with them concussions that shook the town. The air grew murky so that the light of day had a jaundiced .cast, and by night

the flash of the mortars and the long blaze of rockets made a strange glare peculiarly horrible. The fascination of the sight grew upon Rose as she watched the high curving flight of the mortar bombs and listened to the loud jarring swish of the missiles, followed by the heavy pounding of their fall or by the explosion of the shells. It pleased her excited fancy to regard each shot as a token of her lover's efforts to reach her. Nearer, nearer, as they fell, and more and move startling as their concussions became, the heart of the girl throbbed with increasing pleasure scarcely mixed with the terror of the occasion. “They never can take the town; wo are far too well pi-epared for them,” said Maynard one day when a truce had been

agreed upon to bury the dead. “We shall drive them back badly beaten.” His words, uttered so confidently and gently, were as blows dealt with brutal violence upon Rose’s heart. He had been in the thickest of the fight and showed the tremendous draught it had made on even his powerful frame, but he bore himself with just that air of imperturbable, almost pathetic, patient reserve and refinement which lie had assumed after Rose’s decisive refusal of his passionate love proposal. “God forbid that you succeed!” she exclaimed so vehemently that it lent a dramatic charm to her beauty. “May heaven strike with every American and ('very French arm!”

“God strike for merry England,” lie responded with a grave smile, to which the scar of Prescott's sword cut added a touch of evil. “They never can cross our works.”

Rose stood up before him, tall, stately, inspired with the spirit of patriotism, her face burning and her lips compressed. Somehow his words were ns prophecy in her ears, and she felt a strange sinking of her hope; but she resolutely sustained herself. Then into her inner consciousness once more rang Prescott’s parting words, “Good-by, dear, dear Rose.” “I wish I could say something more cheering to you,” Maynard said, preparing to go, “but I cannot. We are going to hold the town.”

He now wore the uniform of a captain in the English army. It made his commanding figure still more notable as he slowly walked away. Before he had gone far he turned about and came back.

“Miss Femvicke,” he said, and now there was a decided huskiness in his otherwise rich and well controlled voice; “Miss Fenwicke, nothing that you may ask of me shall be refused—nothing, nothing.” When he was gone Rose stood as one in a dream. Slowly she was realizing what to her was most agonizing. This man whom she hated had a heart and was suffering. The thought thrilled

through her with unspeakable effect, like some vague but pervading sense of sorrow, pity and regret. Again the battle was resumed, the cannonading increasing to a great throbbing roar, as all the ships in the river and all the batteries on land opened in chorus and were answered by every gun on the works around the town. The French had thrown a strong force on land to co-operate with the army of Gen. Lincoln, so that now the allied troops practically surrounded Savannah and every point was threatened. Days went by. On the 9th of October at daybreak there was a sudden roar of artillery, a wild shouting and a prolonged burst of musketry as the whole forces of the besiegers stormed at once. Count d’Estaing led Ms men, and he was gallantly supported by Gen. Lincoln. The assault, though furiously impetuous and stubbornly persistent, utterly failed. With heavy loss, d’Estaing wounded, their columns broken and in disorder, the allied armies fell back, and in a few days asked for a truce to exchange pris-

oners, after which they withdrew, the ” French fleet sailing away, the American army retreating up the country, burning the bridges behind them. In the meantime Rose had gone through a most trying ordeal for the sake of love and patriotism. From the moment that she had realized that Maynard really meant to sacrifice himself in any and every way for her, she had determined at all hazards to escape from Savannah. Her will once fixed on the adventure nothing could change her resolution. When she found that Maynard, influenced by his love for her, had assumed the character of a sincere and truthful man, she felt that what he said to her must be true, and then the terrible conviction fastened itself in her mind that Savannah could never be reduced by the allied forces, and therefore Prescott could never come to her. This was enough. All her nature arose in aid of her determination to make her way through the lines to her lover, if indeed he were still alive; if he were dead she would at least be among those who loved their country, to suffer, and, if need be, die with them. Would not this be well? With every moment the secret consideration that this was her duty fixed itself more firmly in her heart; and so she set about preparing for the undertalcing, which to us must appear strangely out of keeping with her nature and scarcely justifiable.

[To be cont.mnccl.']