A Soldier of Virginia | Page 8

join the army at Cumberland, whence the start is to be made."
"And what make of man is the general?" I asked.
A cloud settled on Washington's face.
"Why, Tom," he said at last, "I have seen so little of him that I may misjudge him. He is at least brave and honest, two great things in a commander. As for the rest, it is yet too soon to judge. But you have told me nothing about your affairs. How did you leave them all at Riverview?"
"I left them well enough," I answered shortly.
Washington glanced keenly at my downcast face, for indeed the memory of what had occurred at Riverview was not pleasant to me.
"Did you quarrel with your aunt before you came away?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," I said, and stopped. How could I say more?
"I feared it might come to that," he said gravely. "Your position there has been a false one from the start. And yet I see no way to amend it."
We walked on in silence for some time, each busy with his own thoughts, and mine at least were not pleasant ones.
"Tom," said Washington suddenly, "what was the quarrel about? Was it about the estate?"
"Oh, no," I answered. "We shall never quarrel about the estate. We have already settled all that. It was something quite different."
I could not tell him what it was; the secret was not my own.
He looked at me again for a moment, and then, stopping suddenly, wheeled me around to face him, and caught my hand.
"I think I can guess," he said warmly, "and I wish you every happiness, Tom."
My lips were trembling so I could not thank him, but I think he knew what was in my heart.
CHAPTER III
IN WHICH I INTRODUCE MYSELF
I doubt not that by this time the reader is beginning to wonder who this fellow is that has claimed his attention, and so, since there is no one else to introduce me, I must needs present myself.
It so happened that when that stern old lion, Oliver Cromwell, crushed the butterfly named Charles Stuart at Worcester in the dim dawn of the third day of September, 1651, and utterly routed the army of that unhappy prince, one Thomas Stewart fell into the hands of the Roundheads, as, indeed, did near seven thousand others of the Royalist army. Now this Thomas Stewart had very foolishly left a pretty estate in Kincardine, together with a wife and two sturdy boys, to march under the banner of the Princeling, as he conceived to be his duty, and after giving and taking many hard knocks, here he was in the enemy's hands, and Charles Stuart a fugitive. They had one and all been declared by Parliament rebels and traitors to the Commonwealth, so the most distinguished of the captives were chosen for examples to the rest, and three of them, the Earl of Derby among the number, were sent forthwith to the block, where they comported themselves as brave men should, and laid down their heads right cheerfully.
The others were sent to prison, since it was manifestly impossible to execute them all,--nor was Cromwell so bloodthirsty, now the rebellion was broken utterly,--and some sixteen hundred of them were sentenced to be transported to the colony of Virginia, which had long been a dumping ground for convicts and felons and political scapegoats. Hither, then, they came, in ships crowded to suffocation, and many dead upon the way and thrown to the sharks for burial, but for some reason only one of the ships stopped here, while the others went on to Barbados to discharge their living freight. I more than suspect that Cromwell's agents soon discovered the Commonwealth had few friends in Virginia, and feared the effect of letting loose here so many of the Royalist soldiers. At any rate, this one ship dropped anchor at Hampton, and its passengers, to the number of about three hundred, were sold very cheaply to the neighboring planters. I may as well say here that all of them were well treated by their Cavalier masters, and many of them afterwards became the founders of what are now the most prominent families in the colony.
Now one of those who had been sold in Virginia was the Thomas Stewart whom I have already mentioned, and whom neither stinking jail nor crowded transport had much affected. Doubtless, no matter what the surroundings, he had only to close his eyes to see again before him the green hills and plashing brooks of Kincardine, with his own home in the midst, and the bonny wife waiting at the door, a boy on either side. Alas, it was only thus he was ever to see them this side heaven. He was bought by a man named Nicholas Spenser, who owned a plantation on the Potomac in