May Agnes Fleming

Edith Percival

A Novel

Warsaw 2019

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER XXXII

CHAPTER XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIV

CHAPTER I

THE TWO FRIENDS

And its hame, hame, hame,
I fain wad be–
Hame, hame, hame,
In my ain countrie.”

–Allan Cunningham.

Morning on the ocean! Grandly rose the sun in the red east, sailing slowly and majestically toward the meridian–a burning jewel of fire set in the deep-blue sky. Light, fleecy clouds dotted the azure firmament here and there, looking as pure and as stainless as snowflakes or the white wings of angels. The balmy south breeze scarcely rippled the surface of the deep, or filled the canvas of the good ship Mermaid, as she glided gracefully onward, bound for the bright shores of America.

The day was intensely hot. The crew lay in groups, idly, about the deck. The captain–a stately-looking man of forty or thereabouts–paced up and down the quarter-deck–now letting his eyes wander over his men, or giving them some order; nowlooking aloft with a sailor’s pride in his handsome craft; and now raising his glass to sweep the horizon, on which no living thing was to be seen save themselves.

Leaning over the taffrail, stood two young men. The eldest appeared to be about twenty-five years of age–tall and finely proportioned, with an eye like an eagle, and hair that

–”To shame might bring
The plumage of the raven’s wing.”

He stood leaning over the side, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the spray flashing in the sunlight, as the ship cut her way through the rippling waves. His hat was off, and the cool breeze lifted lightly the jetty locks off his high, white brow.

His companion was a youth some three or four years his junior, with a frank, handsome face, and laughing hazel eyes. His look of careless ease was very different from the proud reserve of his companion, but some secret bond of sympathy bound those two together.

“Well, Fred,” said the younger of the two, continuing their conversation, “since, as you say, you neither have a lady-love in America nor expect a legacy there, I confess it puzzles me to know what inducement could have been strong enough to make you quit Paris.”

“Very easily told, my dear fellow: I have started for America at the express command of my worthy father.”

“Whew! what a dutiful son you are, Fred. And, pray, what has brought Sir William to that rebellious land?"

“To assist in subduing the rebellious Yankees, of course!” replied the young man, with a slight sneer on his well-cut lip.

“And he wishes his son and heir to aid him in that laudable design, instead of spending his time making love in Paris?”

“Yes; he has obtained for me the post of lieutenant in the British army, he says.”

“Which you will, of course, accept?” said the younger of the two, with a peculiar smile, as he lit a cigar, and blew a whiff of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Which I most decidedly will not!” replied Fred, coolly.

“And why, may I ask?”

“Why? What a question for you to ask, Gus! Am I not an American by birth–an American in heart and soul–a thousand times prouder of the glorious land in which I was born than of my father’s broad acres in merrie England? Why? I tell you, Gus Elliott, I will join the ranks of my countrymen, and fight and conquer or die with them in defence of their cause!”

He stood erect, while his eagle eye flashed, and his dark cheek glowed with the enthusiasm with which he spoke.

Gus stood regarding him with something like admiration struggling through his usual look of careless indifference.

“Well,” he said, after a pause, “I call that pretty strong language for the son of such a staunch royalist as Sir William Stanley. What do you suppose your honored father will say when he sees his son turn rebel?”

“Doubtless,” said Fred, quietly, “he will be in atowering passion, and rather amazed that any one should presume to disobey his commands. I have long known it must, sooner or later, come to this. When this war first commenced, how often has my blood boiled with impotent rage, listening to the insults and sneers of him and his tory friends on the ‘rebel Yankees,’ as they contemptuously called them! How I did long, then, to leave England and fly to my native land, to aid her sons in their brave struggles for independence! I would have done so, but I shrank from the storm of passion which I knew must follow it. When my father left England to join his Britannic Majesty’s army in America, I left for Paris, lest he should desire me to follow him, and thus hasten a disclosure of our opposite sentiments. Three weeks ago, I received his command to join him instantly. It seems some rumor of my true sentiments had reached him; and, indignant that anyone should presume to question the loyalty of a son of his, he desires me to vindicate my allegiance to his gracious Majesty, and wipe off such a stain on his name by immediately accepting the post he has obtained for me in the army. Any further concealment is, of course, out of the question: and I thank Heaven it is so; for it seems to me a craven act in anyone to remain an idle spectator while his native land, in her struggles for freedom, calls all her sons to her aid.”

He leaned his head on his hand, and gazed thoughtfully on the bright waves below.

“For myself,” said Gus, who had been deeply impressed by Fred’s earnestness, “I always sympathized with the Colonies; but it was merely the natural feeling which all must experience when they see a band of brave men struggling for freedom.Like yourself, America is the land of my birth, but, up to the present, I have been absent from it so long, that I had almost ceased to regard if as such. Now, however, my feelings are changed. Together, Fred, we will fight the battles of our native land; every arm that will lift itself in her defence is needed now.”

“Your sentiments do you honor, my dear Gus; but, as you asked me before, what will your friends say?”

“Oh, I have no friends worth mentioning,” replied Gus, resuming his former indifferent tone. “I am an orphan, you know, with a bank-stock sufficient for all my wants, with no relations that I know of except an uncle in America, whom I have not seen these ten years. And I tell you what,” he added, with sudden animation, “he has two confoundedly pretty daughters–especially the youngest. I used to be desperately in love with Nell, as a boy.”

“Indeed!” said Fred, smiling, “and who is this uncle of yours?–a tory, no doubt.”

“You had better believe it!” said Gus. “Major Percival hates the rebels as he hates Old Harry. Of course, I’ll be disowned when he hears what I’ve done. Everyone has his own peculiar hobby; and pride of birth is Major Percival’s. If you were only to hear him, Fred! He dates his descent back to the days of Noah, and a good deal further; for some of his ancestors, I believe, were drowned in the flood. His lady, too, Mrs. Percival, is the granddaughter of a lord; so you see the major has some foundation for his family pride. He’s as rich as Cr[oe]sus, too.”

“And Miss Nell, I suppose, is heiress to all his wealth?"

“Not she, faith! Major Percival has a son and daughter besides; Nell’s the youngest. You ought to know Nugent Percival; he’s a glorious fellow, and no mistake–about your age, too, I should think.”

“I may see them all yet–who knows?” said Fred. “I wish this voyage were over. I long to see my father and tell him all, and join the patriot army of Washington.”

“You told me you were born in America,” said Gus, after a pause. “I thought Lady Stanley was an Englishwoman, and had never crossed the Atlantic Ocean in her life.”

“The Lady Stanley you knew was not my mother,” said Fred, coldly.

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