For Love of Country | Page 8

despatched
Colonel Wilton, from their number, back to America to make a report
of the progress of their negotiations to Congress. This had been done,
and General Washington had been informed of the situation.
The little ship, one of the gallant vessels of the nascent American navy,
in which Colonel Wilton had returned from France, had attacked and

captured a British brig of war during the return passage, and young
Seymour, who was the first lieutenant of the ship, was severely
wounded. The wound had been received through his efforts to protect
Colonel Wilton, who had incautiously joined the boarding-party which
had captured the brig. After the interview with Congress, Colonel
Wilton was requested to await further instructions before returning to
France, and, pending the result of the deliberations of Congress, after a
brief visit to the headquarters of his old friend and neighbor General
Washington, he had retired to his estate. As a special favor, he was
permitted to bring with him the wounded lieutenant, in order that he
might recuperate and recover from his wound in the pleasant valleys of
Virginia. That Seymour was willing to leave his own friends in
Philadelphia, with all their care and attention, was due entirely to his
desire to meet Miss Katharine Wilton, of whose beauty he had heard,
and whose portrait indeed, in her father's possession, which he had seen
before on the voyage, had borne out her reputation. Seymour had been
informed since his stay at the Wiltons' that he had been detached from
the brig Argus, and notified that he was to receive orders shortly to
report to the ship Ranger, commanded by a certain Captain John Paul
Jones; and he knew that he might expect his sailing orders at any
moment. He had improved, as has been seen, the days of his brief stay
to recover from one wound and receive another, and, as might have
been expected, he had fallen violently in love with Katharine Wilton.
There were also staying at the house, besides the servants and slaves,
young Philip Wilton, Katharine's brother, a lad of sixteen, who had just
received a midshipman's warrant, and was to accompany Seymour
when he joined the Ranger, then outfitting at Philadelphia; and Bentley,
an old and veteran sailor, a boatswain's mate, who had accompanied
Seymour from ship to ship ever since the lieutenant was a
midshipman,--a man who had but one home, the sea; one hate, the
English; one love, his country; and one attachment, Seymour.
Colonel Wilton was a widower. As Katharine came down the stairway,
clad in all the finery her father had brought back for her from Paris, her
hair rolled high and powdered, the old family diamonds with their
quaint setting of silver sparkling upon her snowy neck, her fan

languidly waving in her hand, she looked strikingly like a pictured
woman smiling down at them from over the mantel; but to the
sweetness and archness of her mother's laughing face were added some
of the colonel's pride, determination, and courage. He stepped to meet
her, and then bent and kissed the hand she extended toward him, with
all the grace of the old régime; and Seymour coming upon them was
entranced with the picture.
He too had changed his attire, and now was clad in the becoming dress
of a naval lieutenant of the period. He wore a sword, of course, and a
dark blue uniform coat relieved with red facings, with a single epaulet
on his shoulder which denoted his official rank; his blond hair was
lightly touched with powder, and tied, after the fashion of active service,
in a queue with a black ribbon.
"Now, Seymour, since you two truants have come at last, will you do
me the honor to hand Miss Wilton to the dining-room?" remarked the
colonel, straightening up.
With a low bow, Seymour approached the object of his adoration, who,
after a sweeping courtesy, gave him her hand. With much state and
ceremony, preceded by one of the servants, who had been waiting in
attention in the hall, and followed by the colonel, and lastly by the
colonel's man, a stiff old campaigner who had been with him many
years, they entered the dining-room, which opened from the rear of the
hall.
The table was a mass of splendid plate, which sparkled under the soft
light of the wax candles in candelabra about the room or on the table,
and the simple meal was served with all the elegance and precision
which were habitual with the gentleman of as fine a school as Colonel
Wilton.
At the table, instead of the light and airy talk which might have been
expected in the situation, the conversation assumed that grave and
serious tone which denoted the imminence of the emergency.
The American troops