CHAPTER XII

He had scarcely gone when the two girls made haste to leave the cave

and return to the house.

"'T is most unfortunate for us, Dot, that he found the cave, or that

all this should befall," said Mary, as they went down the rocks. "You

know what we have to do to-night; and it may make our work dangerous,

now that he has been here."

A soft whistle interrupted Dorothy's reply; and looking up, they saw

the lean visage of Johnnie Strings, who was perched upon the rocks

above the cave they had just left.

Having attracted their attention, the pedler made haste to join them.

"Well, I snum!" he exclaimed. "Mistress Mary, whatever was the

Britisher seekin' about here, an' talkin' about? What ailed his head,

all tied up, like 't was hurt?"

"He said he heard us talking, and came to see who it was," small 'Bitha

took it upon herself to explain, "and Mary Broughton pushed him down

the rocks."

Johnnie began to laugh, but Dorothy turned to the child and said,

"'Bitha, you know that it is not true, for he stepped backward himself,

and fell over."

"Yes; but 't was Mary made him," 'Bitha insisted. "And, 'though I was

sorry to have him hurt, I was glad Mary made him go away."

"Were you there all the time, Johnnie Strings, and never came nigh to

help us?" demanded Mary, indignantly. They were now walking along

together, for Johnnie seemed inclined to accompany them to the house.

"Nay, nay, mistress," he declared emphatically, but still grinning, as

though vastly pleased. "But I should say ye needed no help from me to

frighten away redcoats. I only came up as I heard Mistress Dorothy say

you'd made him fall into the water. Then I sat an' watched her tie up

his head,--more 's the pity; for belike he'll only use it to hatch more

deviltry for his soldiers to carry out hereabouts."

"Do you know who he is?" inquired Dorothy, her face taking on a little

more color.

"Yes, mistress,--he is a dragoon. I saw him over at Salem t' other

day. They call him Cornet Southorn; an' I only hope he don't get to

know my face too well." Johnnie winked as he said this, and his voice

had a note of mystery.

"I don't believe he would ever harm us," said Dorothy, paying no

attention to the pedler's anxiety concerning himself.

Johnnie's eyes fastened upon her glowing face with a look of surprise

as he remarked grimly, "He's a Britisher, an' our sworn enemy."

On the porch of the house they found Joseph Devereux, who listened with

frowning brows while the girls told him of their adventure.

"Go within, child, to the grandame," he bade 'Bitha, when they had

finished; and as soon as she was gone he said to the pedler, "Now,

Strings, you may, or may not, know aught o' the work in hand for the

night."

The pedler nodded understandingly. "Me an' Lavinia Amelia jogged a bit

o' the mornin' down road with the party from here, an' I was reckonin'

to offer my help, should it be needed. I was on my way this very

mornin' to tell ye that Master Broughton an' the rest thought I'd

better have some of our own men 'round hereabouts, handy for the powder

party to-night."

"'T is best that you do so, as matters have turned out. And 't is

wiser that you be trusted to give the signals to the 'Pearl,' for a

safe landing o' the stuff, and that Mary and Dorothy be left out o' the

matter altogether. 'T is no work for women to risk, with the British

soldiery skulking about the place."

The day passed without event, save that a number of men--mostly brawny,

weather-beaten sailors--came to the house, to go away again after a

private converse with Joseph Devereux.

Johnnie Strings was about the place all day,--now wandering down to the

beach to look out over the wide expanse of ocean, as he whittled

unceasingly at a bit of stick and whistled softly to himself, or else

sitting on the steps of the porch, telling wonderful stories to 'Bitha.

But wherever he was, or what doing, his keen little eyes were always

roving here and there, as though on the lookout for something

unexpected.

It was evident that he was nervous and ill at ease; and this, for

Johnnie Strings, was a new thing.

Toward sunset he arose from the porch steps and gave a great sigh, as

of relief that the day was ended. Then, without a word to any one, he

tramped off in the direction of the Neck.

"'T is as well," he muttered to himself, "to see what the devils be

doin', an' if they be like to suspect what is goin' on about 'em."

The sunset was of marvellous beauty. It was as if all the golds,

purples, and scarlets of the hour had been pounded to a fine dust, and

this was rolling in from over the ocean in one great opaline mist.

The waves, curling in to break upon the sands of Riverhead Beach,

seemed to be pouring out flames and sparks; while the quieter waters of

Great Bay, on the other side of the causeway, looked as though shot

through with long, luminous rays of light, that slanted athwart the

mists of prismatic coloring, to withdraw swiftly now and again, like

search-lights seeking to probe the clear water to its uttermost depths.

But the far-off eastern horizon held aloof from all this glory. It

stood out like a wall of pearl and cold gray, with no sail showing

against it to Johnnie Strings' sharp eyes, as he took his way across

the narrow strip of causeway that left the Devereux estate behind, and

led to the Neck and the enemy's camp.

The pedler knew nothing of the passion called love, else he would never

have been so lacking in shrewdness as to formulate the scheme now

working in his mind. And this, notwithstanding the suspicion that had

shot through his wide-awake brain at the way he had seen Cornet

Southorn looking into the downcast face of Dorothy Devereux, and had

noted later her words in his defence.

His present idea--and one that had been gathering force all day--was to

see the young officer, and while pretending to have come solely to

inquire as to his injury, to so lead the talk as to impress upon his

mind the needlessness of watching the Devereux place or household,

which he should be made to understand consisted only of the women-folk

and one enfeebled old gentleman,--the son being away in Boston.

And now, as he neared the enemy's quarters, he chuckled to himself at

the cleverness of his scheme.

The British troops had taken possession of the entire Neck, occupying

several large warehouses standing near the end, and appropriating even

the buildings used by the lighthouse-keeper and his wife, who, with her

two children and as many of her most precious possessions as she could

carry, had gone across the bay to abide with friends in the town.

Johnnie Strings knew this, and gritted his teeth in silent rage as he

saw a group of redcoats standing around a fire where they were cooking

some of the good woman's chickens for their evening meal.

They hailed him good-naturedly, and invited him to join them, several

of the soldiers recognizing him as one from whom they had purchased

certain things necessary for their comfort.

But he declined their offer, and pulling his hat well over his

forehead, the better to conceal his features, went on beyond to another

group, and demanded to be taken to the presence of Cornet Southorn,

speaking in a way to imply that he had an important message for that

officer.

He was ushered at once into the front room of the lighthouse-keeper's

abode, where, upon a settle drawn near the window overlooking Great

Bay, sat the personage he desired to see.

The young man's head was still bandaged, and the table before him with

food and dishes upon it was evidence of his having supped alone; this

confirming what Johnnie Strings had suspected,--that the soldiers upon

the Neck were at present under the charge of Cornet Southorn.

Captain Shandon, who should have been there,--an elegant fop, high in

favor with the Governor,--was sure to avoid any rough service, such as

this, preferring to remain until the last moment in Salem, where better

fare, both as to food and wines, to say naught of the gentler sex, was

to be had.

Johnnie Strings stood in the shadow, without removing his hat, as

Cornet Southorn demanded pleasantly enough to know his business.

"I came to see how your head was doin' at this hour o' the day, young

sir," the pedler answered in an obsequious tone.

As the last two words came from his lips, the officer scowled. He was

only five-and-twenty, and looked still younger; and he was boyish

enough to resent any familiarity grounded upon his seeming youth.

"Have a care, old man, as to how you address His Majesty's officers,"

he said with some severity, accompanied by a pompousness illy in

keeping with his frank, boyish face.

"I meant no harm, Cornet Southorn," the pedler replied in an apologetic

way. "I saw ye over at Salem t' other day, when I was peddlin' my

wares there; an' I've been all day at the house o' Mistress Dorothy

Devereux, the young lady who tied up your hurt head this mornin'. And

so"--here Johnnie smiled knowingly--"I came to see if ye were any the

worse for your fall, which might have been a bit o' bad luck, had not

the ledge caught ye an' held ye from slippin' into the sea."

The young man's manner changed at once.

"Did Mistress Dorothy Devereux send you to inquire?" he asked eagerly.

"She send me?" said the pedler cautiously, and lowering his voice.

"Lawks! 't is well her old father don't hear ye; 'though sure he be

that feeble he's good for little but tongue fight, an' the only son be

away to Boston for this many a day. An' that," he went on to say

quickly, seeing that the young man was about to speak, "is one reason

why 't is well for me to be about the place till the brother cares to

come home, with all those women-folk there, an' no man but the old

father, who is feeble, as I've said. An' 't is not very safe for them,

who be easily frighted by strange men comin' 'round, 'specially

soldiers."

This was a long speech for Johnnie to make, and he watched narrowly its

effect upon the young officer. This was soon apparent, for he said at

once, "You have done well to tell me of this, and I'll see to it that

none of my men cause any annoyance to the ladies."

He fell so neatly into the trap that Johnnie Strings could scarcely

keep from laughing outright; but all he said was--and very meekly: "Ye

be most kind, sir, an' I'll tell Mistress Dorothy what ye say. An'

I'll tell her as well that your head be none the worse for its thumpin'

on the rocks." With this he backed toward the door.

"No, no," said Southorn, "my head is all right. But come back, won't

you,--come and have something to drink before you go?" And he pounded

vigorously on the table.

But Johnnie declined, with many thanks, asserting that he never drank

anything,--a statement fully in accord with his fictitious story

concerning the Devereux household. But he reckoned upon having

accomplished his purpose, and so bowed himself out, just as a red-faced

orderly appeared in response to his officer's summons.

"Never mind, Kief," said the latter, as the soldier stood stiffly in

the doorway awaiting his orders. "I don't need you now." Then, as the

man saluted and turned to go, he asked, "Who is that fellow who just

left? Do you know?"

"Johnnie Strings, sir, the pedler; 'most everybody knows 'im 'twixt

Boston town and Gloucester."

"Ah, yes, I've heard of him before. That is all, Kief; you may go."

As soon as he was alone, Kyrle Southorn, Cornet in His Majesty's

Dragoons, bethought himself of how strangely lacking he had been in

proper dignity during his brief interview with this humble pedler; and

a feeling of sharp anger beset him for a moment as he took himself to

task for his unofficerlike demeanor and manner of speech.

Then came a mental picture of the distracting face he had seen that

same morning; he seemed to be looking once more into the girl's eyes,

and feeling the soft touch of her little hands about his head.

He recalled all this, and gave utterance to a queer, short laugh, as

though in the effort to excuse his folly.

"Either that girl has bewitched me," he muttered, lying back in his

chair, "or else the cut in my head has been making me addlepated all

day." And he let his gaze wander out through the window, where the

dusk was coming fast, blotting out the fort and town like a dark veil,

pierced here and there by the dimly twinkling lights showing from the

houses.

"I wonder if she sent the fellow?" his thoughts ran on. "She told me

she was sorry for my being hurt, and she looked it. But the other--the

fair one--she was a tartar." And he laughed again at the recollection

of Mary Broughton's angry blue eyes and dauntless bearing.

"From what I've seen of these folk," he said, now half aloud, "it will

be no easy matter to suppress their meetings and make them obey His

Majesty's laws. They seem not to know what fear or submission may

mean." Then, after pondering a few minutes, "I wonder if it would not

be a wise thing for me to call upon this man Devereux, as he is so old

and feeble, and assure him and his women-folk that I will see to it

they be not molested--annoyed in any way? I might see her again,--I

might come to know her; and this would be very pleasant." And now his

thoughts trailed away into rosy musings.

If Johnnie Strings had not added fresh fuel to the fire already kindled

in the breast of the impetuous young Englishman by Dorothy's sweet face

and pitying eyes,--had he not made it burn more fiercely by giving him

reason to believe that she had sent to inquire for his welfare,--he

might not have thought to carry out his present impulse.

He was seized by a strong desire to see for himself the place where she

dwelt,--to look upon her surroundings,--to make more perfect the

picture already in his mind, by adding to it the scenes amid which her

daily life was passed.

Such was the young man's desire; and his was a nature whose longing was

likely to manifest itself by acts, and more especially now, in the very

first heart affair of his life.

As soon as the guards were posted and the countersign given out, he

discarded his uniform for a fisherman's rough coat, and put on a large

slouch hat, which covered his head, bandage and all. And thus attired,

he set forth alone to visit the scene of his morning's adventure, and

to investigate its surroundings.