The Tory Maid | Page 5

"both in this country and the old; tell a Gordon of a danger and
he will rush right into it, and then expect to come out safe and sound."
We laughed, for the expression on the old Scotchman's face was so
droll.
"But now for your room, gentlemen;" and he led the way to a small
room under the gable roof. "It is the only room I have left," he said,
"but you are welcome to it."
It was now somewhat late in the afternoon, but having made ourselves
presentable and partaken of a lunch, we went to report ourselves to
Captain Ramsay of the 1st Regiment of the Maryland Line.
He received us at his tent door with a warm grasp of the hand. "You are
the very lads I have been waiting for," he said. "I have two
Lieutenancies to fill, and you are the men to fill them."
"But, Captain," said Dick Ringgold, "we have not been tried yet. Let us
go into the ranks and fight our way up, as so many better men than we
are doing."
I could not help admiring Dick for his modesty, and though I, too, said
the same thing, I confess I hoped the Captain would not hear of it, and
so it proved.
"No, no," he said, and patted Dick on the shoulder. "I must have you; I
know the blood that runs in your veins, lads, and that I will have no
better fighting stock in the army." And thus it was settled, and we
became officers in that Maryland Line, and--I say it with all due
modesty--the most famous of all the fighting regiments in the struggle
for the Great Cause.

CHAPTER III
A FLASH OF STEEL
That night we sat at the long table in the dining-room of the inn. All up
and down its great length sat the officers of the Line--country
gentlemen from Cecil, Kent, and as far south as Queen Anne, who had
ridden thus far to see the mustering and to give it their countenance and
their favour. Grave and sedate gentlemen many of them, men of affairs,
the leaders of their counties, and delegates to the Convention and to
Congress--men of the oldest and bluest blood in the province, of wide
estates and famous names, whose families wielded a mighty influence
in the cause of the patriots and gave it stability and great strength.
Then there was the parson, a merry old gentleman, stout of form, with a
round face and twinkling eyes, who in his youth was a mighty
fox-hunter in spite of his cloth; even then, stout as he had grown, when
he heard the music of the hounds, it was with difficulty he restrained
the inclination to follow, which now, alas! was made impossible by his
great weight. We who loved hard riding, hard fighting, and a strong
will, admired him, and no man was more popular throughout the three
counties than the fox-hunting parson. He knew the people and their
ways, and was one of them.
"I hear you are fire-eaters here," he said to a vestryman upon being
installed.
"Then we are well matched," came the reply, "for they say you are a
pepperbox."
So no gathering throughout the county was a success without the
parson, and by the unanimous voice of the Line he was called to be
their chaplain.
We sat there in the long dining-room amid the hum of many voices, the
glare of many lights, and the click of the glasses, as the wine was going
around, when a young man who sat across the table from me rose with
his glass poised between his fingers.

He was a handsome man, of twenty-one or twenty-two, of dark and
swarthy features, thick lips and nose, and hair as black as night, telling
of the Indian blood in his veins.
His name was Rodolph, and he was the son of a man more noted for his
wealth than for his principles, but who was then at the city of
Annapolis, a delegate from the county of Cecil.
"I propose a toast," he cried, "that all true patriots should drink. A toast
to the delegates of this county, who at the convention of the province in
the city of Annapolis are standing as the bulwarks of liberty against the
tyranny of the Crown."
We were all on our feet in an instant to drink the toast, with a right
goodwill, all except Charles Gordon, who sat at my right hand. He kept
his seat and watched us with a cool, sarcastic smile upon his lips.
"Is not the toast good enough for you?" cried Rodolph, with an ugly
sneer upon his face.
All eyes now turned to where Charles Gordon sat, and he slowly rose.
"Drink to