Mistress Madcap Surrenders/Chapter 12
THERE was a man's cry from the next room. Back came the tramping feet, with the added sound of a heavy body being dragged along the floor. Opening the door, Mehitable peered out, and in the moonlight recognized the half-clad figure of her host being hustled and harried down the stairs. With a thrill of horror, she hurried after the red-coats and their victim.
Then there was enacted in that little hallway a scene of wildest confusion. The Heddens' youngest child was crying forlornly in a corner. Their daughter knelt beside them as the father and mother clasped each other in farewell. The next moment, Mistress Hedden was forced away from her husband.
"Back, fool—your husband be under arrest!" the British officer in charge told her roughly.
"Joseph!" Breaking away from the two soldiers who held her, poor Mistress Hedden ran toward her husband. Mehitable, staring in awful terror, saw her reel back from the point of the bayonet that one of the guard brutally lowered at that instant. She sprang to catch her; but Mistress Hedden jerked away from the pitying arms and desperately pursued the invaders down the front steps out into the bitter cold.
"Let him dress!" she screamed. "At least, in the name o' humanity, let him dress an ye must take him! See"—her sobbing voice came back to the two horror-stricken young girls—"he has no shoes on! His feet will be frozen this bitter night! Ah—Joseph!"
Again Mehitable sprang to the poor wife's rescue, for again the brute of a soldier lowered his bayonet point. For the second time Mistress Hedden reeled back, this time with wounded cheek. She sank through Mehitable's arms on to the snow, sobbing hysterically.
Mehitable turned to the other girl, who seemed turned to stone. "Take your mother into the house!" she bade her roughly, shaking her. "I will go and see what they intend to do wi' your father!"
A lurid glare now broke across the night. "The red-coats be firing the town!" thought Mehitable, with the calmness of utter despair. "Newark is doomed!"
She felt as though she were in the midst of a nightmare as she ran after the invaders, who were hustling their victim down Broad Street. The British soldiers were joined by another group, with another prisoner, as Mehitable pursued them, using every tree and fence corner to protect herself as she flew along.
Someone ran past her in the opposite direction. "Academy's burning!" shrieked an unknown voice.
Mehitable never forgot that night. She fell more than once upon the sharp ice, and more than once she rose with her teeth gritted and useless tears in her eyes. Always, however, she managed to keep the tragic, marching group in sight. Once, one of Master Hedden's guards, glancing back, thought he saw an avenger after them, and raising his musket, he fired. Mehitable, dropping behind a fence, prayed that he would not return. Later, peeping, she saw that the rash guard was being heartily kicked by his superior officer in reprimand and she again commenced her Indian tactics of dodging and running, crouching and creeping.
Nearing the house of Eleazer Bruen, a staunch admirer of Master Hedden who lived on Market Street, about halfway to the river, the brutal party was halted momentarily. Staring through her tears, Mehitable saw Bruen dash out of the house and, at the risk of incurring the anger of the red-coats, throw a blanket about his poor friend's shoulders. Just then, the western sky behind them flared and the girl was near enough to hear the leader of the cruel band exclaim:
"Gad! 'Tis good we are on our way. I told Lumm the countryside would be swarming to the rescue! These farmers are fighters when they arm! Forward!"
It was at this point that Mehitable, spent, cold, turned back. She was sure, now, from the direction they were taking, that the enemy intended to march Master Hedden, with his fellow prisoner, straight across the frozen rivers and Newark meadows—which were in reality swamps—to New York.
Master Bruen caught sight of her as she stepped out into the moonlight from behind a tree. He hailed her, inviting her into his house.
"Nay, I must get back to the injured wife!" she said, and at his shocked question, she related what had happened.
Master Bruen's face worked. "Poor, poor Joseph!" The tears ran down Bruen's face. "His feet will be frozen—this be one o' the worst nights I have ever known! An he be thrown into the sugar-house prison, I fear he will lose his feet!"
Mehitable cried out at that. Then, as though she could bear no more, she turned and went swiftly away, leaving Master Bruen to go alone into his house, stunned and saddened by the misfortune which had overtaken his friend.
Nearing the center of the village once more, Mehitable began to meet hurrying groups of townsmen. The doors or houses, as news of the British retreat began to be circulated, were commencing to be flung open, windows were being unbarred and unshuttered. Here and there, scattered red-coats and patriots fired at each other, and once Mehitable, running through the snowy streets, felt her foot kick some object. She picked it up mechanically and, discovering it to be a pistol, put it under her arm and went on.
She was caught in an eddy of people milling helplessly before the burning structure of the Academy which, built in 1774, had been Newark's pride. Fascinated, she paused for an instant to watch window panes cracking outward from the intense heat, and as she stood there, she was accosted by a panting, frightened little figure.
"Hitty!" A hoarse, babyish voice spoke her name, two grimy hands jerked at her cape. Looking down, Mehitable recognized the trembling, weeping youngster as Master Hedden's small son.
Drawing him to the edge of the crowd, she knelt down and put her arms around his shuddering little body.
"Hitty," began the child again, "I saw"
"You saw what, dear?" she encouraged him. "Why, however did you get here?"
"I climbed out o' a back window at home. I was scared!" said the little fellow. He sobbed aloud, all at once. "I saw—you know—that man who supped wi' us to-night"
"Yes—Captain Freeman?" Mehitable's heart jumped. Her arms tightened instinctively around the child. "What about him, dear?" she asked steadily.
"Nay, how can I tell ye and you hold me so tightly!" protested the little boy, then, as Mehitable dropped her hands to her sides, he leaned over and whispered importantly in her ear: "I saw two men take him into an old house—an old, old house all broken and—and—with no one in it, Hitty! They had him tied—he could not walk very well—and I followed 'cause I liked him, he told me such nice stories this even afore supper." Here the little fellow paused, choked. "Oh, Hitty, what have they done wi' my father?" he suddenly whimpered, remembrance rushing upon him.
"The British are taking him to New York Town, dear; but don't you fret—we will get him back again!" Mehitable comforted him, every inch of her protesting at losing precious time. "And now," she said quietly, "go on about Captain Freeman. Mayhap you and I can go and help him!"
"Truly!" The child squared delighted little shoulders. "Come, Hitty—I will show you the way!" And he darted away.
But Mehitable called him back. "Tell me more, first, dear—Hitty does not want the bad men to tie her, too!" she commanded. Then, as the little boy returned obediently to her, she patted his arm. "Tell Hitty all about it!" she coaxed.
"I went up the broken stairs after him—Hitty, why does no one live in that funny old house?—and—and—the two men tied Captain Freeman to a bed," answered the child. "And then—I ran away, because they were going to light their tinder boxes, they said, and—and—burn the poor captain all up, and—and—I did-dunt want to be burned!"
Mehitable sprang to her feet. "Come, let us go! Show Hitty the way!" she cried, and with the little fellow running on before her, she flew down Broad Street and around corners until he stopped and pointed triumphantly.
It was, as the child had said, a deserted old house. But in an upper window the girl caught sight of a light. Swiftly she turned to her little companion. "Dear, can you act like a big, big man?" she asked, kneeling down once more before him.
"Aye, Hitty!" He nodded his curly head. "Aye, I can!"
"Then run for help! Stop the first men ye come to—so they be not red-coats—and ask them to come and get poor Captain Freeman out o' danger!" She placed her hands, folded together as though in prayer, against the childish breast. "That is what a real man would do!" she told him smilingly.
"I will, Hitty!" And, with a smothered shout, the little fellow turned and scampered away.
Creeping forward, then, Mehitable softly pushed open the crazy front door which hung ajar upon its hinges. She had often passed the old place in happier days and even then, in the bright sunshine, it had seemed to stare back at her haggardly, ghost-ridden, a storehouse of sad memories.
She entered the musty hall noiselessly, catching her breath as a rustling and a scamper near by proclaimed some live thing. "'Tis a rat!" she reassured herself, and grasping the pistol, which she had retained all this time, more firmly in her hand she tiptoed across the hall to the foot of the stairs.
Again she paused. Vacant rooms opening from the hall seemed peopled with dim figures. A moving shadow that crept across the floor toward her made her heart thump until she discovered it to be caused by a shutter, flapping and banging in the wind outside.
She looked up the rickety stairs. From above she now heard voices, a man's harsh laugh. And at that laugh, she flung up her head. One step and stop! Two steps and stop! The third step creaked and, crushing the back of one hand against her mouth to keep from screaming, she crouched in terror. Listened.
"What's that?" she heard someone say.
A laugh barked out again. "What, Simpson—hast gotten woman's nerve? Why, 'tis the wind, fool!"
"I tell ye, Hawtree," Simpson's voice came back at the other angrily, "I will not have ye call me fool even in jest!"
The other laughed loudly. "In jest! Ho, that be good! A jest, indeed!"
There was a sullen silence—then, evidently cowed by the older man, Simpson could be heard smashing wood, muttering savagely.
"For firewood!" thought Mehitable sickly. "I wonder an it be!"
Spurred on by the awful thought, she went up the rest of the stairs at a bound and came abruptly into a room. Her circular glance took in the whole scene, even as her shaking hand slowly steadied and aimed her pistol at the two men on the farther side of the room.
"Gentlemen, ye are my prisoners!" she said. And almost laughed in their astonished faces.
It was Simpson who tried to reach the guns, thrown carelessly into a corner. Mehitable threatened him angrily with her pistol and he crouched back upon his heels. To the right of the door, facing her upon a ragged pallet, bound and gagged, lay Anthony Freeman. His horrified eyes begged her to flee. Mehitable looked at the Tories in the flickering light of a single candle.
"Ye are in direct line with one another!" she told them grimly. "A ball has been known to go through two people at once! Better remain where ye be!"
There must have been something deadly in her strained, desperate young voice, for the two rogues licked their lips furtively and stayed as she had ordered. Only Hawtree spoke.
"We will not hurt ye, mistress!"
Mehitable stared at him scornfully. "Say ye so!" she ejaculated in pretended surprise. Then her voice changed abruptly. "See that ye do not move! I will decide what to do from now on!"
At last Hawtree broke the silence with a sniff. "Decide quickly, mistress!" he begged. "The house be fired!"
As he spoke, a tongue of flame shot out from the corner where Simpson had been piling wood and the girl saw, with growing horror, that fire had been smouldering there.
"Very well—cross to the door!" Like the snap of a whip her voice gave the order. The two Tories got to their feet and marched across the room to the door. "Halt!"
As they came to a full stop, Mehitable moved backward toward the window. "I am at the window, Master Hawtree!" she said then and his quick glance told him it was so. "I sent for help before I entered here and now I see the men coming. They are running! Heaven help ye an they catch ye to-night, for their tempers be not of the best! An ye desire to live, therefore, sirs, you had better make for the rear o' the house and so escape that way. Ye'd better not return! Now—go!"
The two men, like arrows shot from the same bow, burst out of the room together, and Mehitable could hear them clattering down the rickety stairs. With a bound, she was at the door, peering over the ancient banisters. She saw them disappear beneath the stair balcony, toward the rear, as she had ordered. But she was wise in their ways, and it was not until she had run to a window at the back and had seen them fleeing madly across back lots that she was satisfied.
Rushing back, then, Mehitable threw her pistol upon the floor and tried to beat out the flames which, during her short absence, had gained considerable headway. But as fast as she caught and destroyed one tongue of fire, another would reach up tendrils of desire, and she soon saw that it was hopeless.
She bent over the pallet. "I cannot put the fire out!" she half sobbed. "Oh, Anthony—'tis beyond me!"
She ran swift fingers over his recumbent form. "Feet tied! Arms tied behind ye! And gagged!" She checked them off and looked around her despairingly. Smoke was now billowing and swirling up from the pile of wood in ever-increasing spirals. "I have no knife!" Then, as a gurgle came from Freeman's lips, she raised his head and tugged at the kerchief which thrust open his mouth. To her joy, the knots gave way—Hawtree having tied them more carelessly, figuring that, with hands and feet tied, Captain Freeman would have no means to reach the gag.
"Take a stick and burn the knots on my hands!" directed the young officer as soon as the gag was out of his mouth.
Mehitable shrank back. "Nay, I dare not! I might burn ye!"
"Do as I bid you!" He spoke so sternly that, from sheer surprise, Mehitable picked up a burning stick of wood and carried it over to the pallet. But it was too tedious a job. The hemp refused to burn at once. And already the thick smoke had them choking and gasping.
"The pistol—fire it and the ball will cut the knot on my wrist an ye hold it steady!" panted the man.
Mehitable wrung her hands. "It is empty!" she cried. "The pistol be not loaded!"
"And ye dared to come up here unarmed!" His eyes gave her homage. "Gad, ye be brave, little Mistress Madcap!"
There was a short silence, Mehitable's mind grasping, refusing, seeking schemes for escape. Suddenly, Anthony Freeman spoke again.
"The others—ye said others were coming to our rescue!" Hopefully, he seemed to be listening.
"'Twas but a ruse!" groaned the girl. She turned upon him. "I must drag you, or we shall both be burned! I can pull you along the floor—I am strong! Roll yourself off from the cot, and I will take you beneath the arms! Thus!" And bending her lithe young back, as he obediently rolled on to the floor, she placed her arms around his chest and commenced to drag him backward.
How could she ever have thought him slender and tall, thought Mehitable despairingly! Why, he weighed pounds and pounds more than she had thought. He tried to help her by hitching himself; but she soon begged him to stop, saying that she could manage better if he made himself perfectly limp. Halfway to the door, three quarters of the way, inch by stubborn inch she conquered that long expanse of floor space. If only the smoke did not make her eyes smart so! Tears were now running down her cheeks. Freeman, hearing a pathetic sniff, spoke desperately:
"I wish ye would not try! Ah, I fear 'twill hurt ye!"
But Mehitable shook her head, gritted her teeth as she had earlier in the evening, after falling time and again on the ice. She had no breath with which to argue the question. She simply kept on pulling—and pulling—and at last they reached the open doorway.
There a draught of fresh air heartened them. With a great lungful of it Mehitable made short work of getting him to the head of the crazy stairs. And then the accident happened! She took one step too many! A moan, a struggle for balance and her own weight tore her arms away from her burden, so that she plunged backward down the stairs.
Anthony Freeman, his back still turned to the stairs, sat petrified for a few seconds; but the fire in that near-by room did not allow him time to despair. He swung himself around as though on a pivot, so that his bound feet were upon the steps, then, like a child at play, he bumped himself rapidly to the foot where Mehitable, curled up in a heap, lay silent.
He looked up at the fire which, encouraged by the draught from the rear door Hawtree had left open, was now grinning at him through the banisters on the second floor. It must have devoured the pallet in the prison room and had burst out the door, running along a strip of old carpet left by some former tenant. How long, wondered the young man dully, would it take to come down the stairs?