# Milady at Arms/Chapter 4

THERE was a long moment of silence, during which Mistress Todd clasped her child to her heart and uttered crooning mother words' with her face buried in little Mary's curls. Then bamuel Todd turned slowly to Jerry and, putting his hand upon the boy's shoulder, spoke sorrowfully: "It is my duty to arrest ye, Lawrence! Ye are my prisoner!"
Jerry raised exhausted eyes to meet the tired ones of his captor and merely nodded, but Sally started forward wildly with clasped hands. "Ah, no. Master Todd!" she choked. "'Tis not fair when he came back from freedom at my appeal to help search for Mary!"
Master Todd, however, only shook his head silently and turned away. It was Jerry who answered the girl. "Do ye not know, mistress, there be naught fair about war?" he said bitterly.
At that, then. Master Todd swung around and looked at the young Englishman. "I cannot do it!" he said heavily. "I cannot arrest ye an ye came ​back to search for my baby! There be freedom!" He pointed toward the open door. "Take it!"
Jerry and Sally looked at him almost unbelievingly for a second; then the boy sprang toward the entrance like a bird whose cage door has been opened unexpectedly by a friendly hand. But upon the threshold he was stayed by Uzal Ball's tall figure. Face to face, the two glared at each other until Uzal put out a restraining hand.
"The prisoner!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Here be thy prisoner, Squire!" Then, as only silence answered him, he peered in puzzled surprise over Jerry's shoulder. "An ye do not wish to take charge, neighbor," he said dryly, "I shall take pleasure i' reporting his capture and delivering him to headquarters."
Sally glanced quickly at Master Todd. "Nay, let him not take charge o' Master Lawrence!" she implored. "Surely 'twould be better, an he must be arrested, for ye to report his arrest. Master Todd!"
"I want naught to do wi' it," answered that worn-out man impatiently. "Come, Moll," he turned toward his wife, "let us put wee Mary to bed!"
But Sally placed her hand beseechingly upon his arm. "He found Mary!" she reminded the father softly.
Master Todd hesitated, looked toward Uzal Ball at last. "I will report his arrest, Uzal," he said ​decisively. Then, as the young man lingered doubtfully, he glanced at him from beneath drawn brows. "I will be responsible for Master Lawrence," he repeated in a tone not to be gainsaid, and Uzal was forced to release the hold he had kept all the while upon Jerry's wounded arm.
"Very well," said Uzal gruffly. "I will bid ye good-night, then. Squire," and, turning upon his heel, he stalked away.
"Why did ye wish me to be the one to arrest you lad?" asked Master Todd, turning curiously to Sally when Uzal had disappeared into the night. "Come in, Lawrence, and close the door. I must again put ye upon your honor not to escape, an ye will so promise," he added gravely. "Best do so, for ye be in no condition to ride far this night."
Jerry, his hand clamped upon his wounded arm, which Uzal had hurt afresh, looked at Master Todd thoughtfully, then nodded his head.
Sally glanced from one to the other. "I wished ye to be the one to arrest Master Lawrence," she said boldly, "because ye can secure more favors for him an he be sent to prison than Uzal Ball can, by reason o' your greater age and your better position on the Mountain and at the settlement, sir."
Master Todd stared at her and followed his stare by an admiring chuckle. "Ram's horn—ye do be a smart lass for fair!" he exclaimed. He turned to young Lawrence for confirmation. "Can ye beat ​that for shrewd thinking and planning, lad?" he demanded.
Jerry shook his head. He did not speak, however, and Master Todd now saw the clutching fingers upon his wounded arm and the lines of pain upon his face that showed white beneath the tan and dirt.
"Here be another patient, Moll!" called the farmer to his wife. Mistress Todd glanced up at her husband's approach. "Is the Mary-patient asleep?" he asked whimsically.
"Aye," the mother nodded. Rising, she carried the little girl up to her trundle bed and returned to set to work with kind fingers upon the young soldier's arm.
"Where found ye Mary?" she asked presently. Sally drew near for his answer.
"She was curled up inside a hollow tree-stump, so sound asleep she did not once hear us calling," answered Jerry. "That very same stump the saucy chipmunk sat upon and chattered at us, Sally," he glanced with an irrepressible grin at the girl. "The little maid must ha' found her hiding place before the storm, for she was dry as toast i' there!"
Both parents' eyes were very tender; but Mistress Todd said slowly: "We must watch the tiny lass after this 'til she be older, Samuel. They do say there be quicksand in the swamp. I know I've ever had a horror o' the place. And then, to think ​that Mary——" She stopped with a shudder, her hand trembling as she bound some soft linen around Jerry's bare arm.
"That be not so," returned Master Todd. "'Tis only old women's tales because the swamp be dark and gloomy."
"Then ye think Mary was in no real danger?" asked Sally, almost disappointed.
"Nay, I said not that!" answered Master Todd gravely. "There was very real danger for a little one her size i' the swamp. So we have ye to thank just the same, Lawrence." He turned in a friendly way to the young Englishman. "And now let us to bed," he ended, seeing that his wife had finished her task and that the boy was leaning back in his seat with closed eyes.
"Ease after pain—be there anything so wonderful!" murmured Jerry, following the others up to bed.
"Nothing—save freedom after imprisonment," murmured Sally resentfully, who was at his heels upon her way upstairs for her blankets.
Jerry faced her in the narrow hallway; and finding that the others had closed their chamber door, he looked soberly at Sally over the lighted candle he was carrying. "I will hold the candle for ye to get your blankets out o' you chest," he remarked in a loud voice for Mistress Todd's benefit. Then, in a lower tone, he hurried on: "There be no reason ye ​should harbor a grudge against Master Todd, Sally, for arresting me when Uzal Ball forced him to do so. These be war times, and I blame him not for what he did."
Sally, red-faced from stooping over the chest, straightened herself and looked at him scornfully. "Men be strange creatures!" she muttered, shaking her head, then. "Mayhap ye think 'tis fine to stay here and risk your life thus; but I wonder at ye, promising once more not to escape! Ye could ha' easily done so to-night and so reached Staten Island or New York Town once more."
Then Jerry said a strange thing, looking at her sidelong. "But New Jersey holds you, Sally!" he told her softly. Immediately, he blushed a bright scarlet in the candlelight and bolted into his room, leaving a bewildered Sally standing there, staring through the darkness toward his closed door.
The next day. Master Todd rode away with his prisoner, accompanied by Uzal Ball, who had appeared bright and early. Sally watched their departure with a heavy heart. In vain she kept reminding herself that not only was Gerald Lawrence almost a stranger to her, that five or six days ago she had not even known of his existence; but that he wore the enemy colors. He was her friend, despite all this! Almost the first real friend she had ever had in her lonely young life!
As a matter of fact, the English boy had en​deared himself to the whole family, so much so that Master Todd even now would have allowed him to take his freedom were it not for the watchful presence of Uzal Ball. He knew, however, that everyone had to think of himself during these dark days of the Resolution, and anyone who showed favoritism or partiality to the enemy was apt to become a marked man and eyed with suspicion later on. Already Master Todd could feel the hostility in Uzal's manner, his alert glance often upon both him and the prisoner.
There were many Tory families living in Orange at this time—although many left, after their homes had become confiscated, and emigrated to Nova Scotia—and these people were both feared and hated by their Whig neighbors. Samuel Todd had no desire to join their ranks, of course, so that he made an especial effort to be cordial to Uzal, showing by his manner and his words that more and more he was determined that Jerry should not escape!
But human plans are uncertain, at best, and it was not long after her husband's departure that Mistress Todd called faintly from within the kitchen to Sally, standing drearily at the door. Turning reluctantly away, the girl blinked at the sudden transition from bright sunshine to the gloom of the big room. When her vision steadied, though, she ran forward to kneel beside Mistress ​Todd, whom she was shocked to find outstretched upon the floor at the foot of the stairs.
"What is it?" gasped Sally in horrified amazement. "Surely ye did not fall down the stairs! Nay, I did not hear ye!"
"I slipped," groaned Mistress Todd. She pulled herself to a sitting posture with great difficulty, aided awkwardly by Sally; but when she moved her foot, she uttered a sharp cry and turned pale.
"What can I do!" implored Sally, pale also from sympathy.
"Is Samuel out o' sight?" moaned Mistress Todd.
"Just barely!" Sally brightened. "Shall I get old Dot and overtake him?" she asked eagerly.
"Aye, an ye can!" Mistress Todd nodded. "No, sweetheart, Mother cannot get up—see, her poor foot be hurt!" she added tenderly to little Mary, who had crept over to pat her mother.
Sally, flying toward the barn to saddle old Dot, was ashamed of herself for her joy. But any unplanned happening which broke the monotony of farm life could not help but be welcome, and her lips were parted in a smile as she rode forth from the Todd gate and turned her horse's head northward upon the Second Road.
She caught up with the men and their prisoner at Master Tompkins's inn. They all turned sur​prised eyes upon her as, breathless and with radiant cheeks, she galloped up to them.
"Mistress Todd!" gasped Sally, enjoying the dramatic side of this incident immensely, I regret to say.
"Aye—what be the matter now?" Master Todd's voice was startled.
"She hath fallen down the stairs, sir—is still upon the kitchen floor, for I could not move her!" answered Sally, excitedly waving her hands, her eyes stealing involuntarily to Jerry's grave young face.
"Hurt badly, Sally? Is she unconscious?" exclaimed Master Todd.
"Nay, not unconscious. I think it is her ankle," Sally told him. "Mayhap 'tis but a strain!" she added comfortingly.
"Whatever it be, I must return, Uzal," Master Todd announced at once. "Wilt bring this list o' tools from Beach and Hews' shop? I need some o' the articles to mend my plow wi'—I cannot get my planting done until I get them."
"Nay, Squire Todd," Uzal shook his head. "I may not return for two or three days. I must stay on business for my mother."
"What! Ye do not return this night!" Master Todd's face fell.
Sally leaned forward in her saddle, feeling that ​now was her chance. "I be dressed and ready, sir. Why not allow me to purchase the articles ye need and return wi' them this afternoon?" she suggested respectfully, her heart beating with hope.
Master Todd hesitated. Then, to the girl's joy, he nodded. "Ye be as good as a boy, Sally," he said approvingly. "'Twill help me, indeed, an ye bring home the things. Uzal, there, hath the list—I gave it him wi' my money to put i' his saddlebag. He will gi' it ye when ye reach the Town by the River, wi' the necessary shillings. He was to ha' purchased the articles while I lodged Master Lawrence, here, wi' the authorities." Master Todd held out his hand to Jerry. "No hard feelings, sir," he said wistfully. "We must each do our duty, ye mind."
Sally, glancing at the young red-coat, thought him more sober than she had ever seen him. But later, trotting along the quiet lanes, he seemed to recover his spirits and chatted away gayly with the girl until they began to pass the ruins Cornwallis had left behind him upon the outskirts of Newark—burned farmhouses and barns and devastated farms—a few months before, during the fateful year of 1776. As he rode silently along behind them, Uzal Ball's face grew a little more grim and set when they came upon the places which had once been happy homes; and gradually Jerry, feeling the burning glances Uzal cast upon him, fell silent ​again. At last the boy turned in his saddle and stared at Uzal self-consciously.
"I gather ye blame the enemy for all this, sir!" he burst out.
"British or Hessian or Tory—the rascality be the same, sir!" retorted Uzal sourly. "Ye see what doth confront Newark farmers—aye, and us at the Mountain, too—after a raid carried out by ye and your ilk!"
Sally, acutely uncomfortable, stared from one angry face to another. Much as she hated the red-coats, she constantly forgot the color of Jerry's uniform until reminded, as now, by some blunt words or happening. But she liked Uzal accordingly!
All fell silent as their horses climbed the last ridge before Newark, leaving behind them the fields and the scattered ruins of farmhouses. This ridge, now known as High Street, formed the western boundary of the Town by the River, as Newark was then called. Only one or two homes had been built along this ridge—its main attraction was a pretty woodland path known as "Lovers' Lane," where sweethearts, at that time, were wont to stroll and admire the little hamlet below them. They had only to raise their eyes to obtain a fine view of the surrounding country—Staten Island, lying to the south, Newark Bay, and the two ribbons which were the Passaic and the Hackensack ​rivers—or, as they were then called, the Pesayak and the Second rivers. The heights of Bergen hid the mighty Hudson River; only from the vantage point of the First Mountain above what is now Orange and Montclair could be discerned New York Town, and then only on clear days. Newark itself was only a small village of one hundred and forty houses during the American Revolution, with less than a thousand inhabitants. Most of the houses were built along a broad lane, magnificently called Broad Street, with a few other lanes running parallel upon each side and a few more crossing it at right angles—leading from the Mountain or the river. All of the public buildings—the court house, the churches (two of them), the jail, the taverns, and the few shops were located upon Broad Street. There, too, was the space of ground devoted to military training, now known as Military Park. And there, placed, for some obscure reason, ten or twelve feet below the road's level, in the center of the village at the junction of Broad Street and Market Street, was the town pump. This was a rendezvous for stout matrons and buxom maidservants, though the steps leading down to it were apt to be coated with ice in winter and wet and muddy in summer.
Sally, however, desperately thirsty after her long, hot ride, eyed it longingly as they trotted up Market Street toward it. Uzal turned so decidedly ​south on Broad Street that she dared not ask permission to dismount and obtain her drink and delay the party by five or ten minutes. Being feminine, though, she achieved her end.
"Good-bye, Jerry," she said soberly, pulling upon old Dot's reins until she had fallen behind. Jerry, glancing around, also dropped behind.
"Fare ye well, Sally," he answered as soberly. Then, without another word, he suddenly wheeled his horse and shot off in the opposite direction. Uzal, at that, glanced around, gave a shout that brought people running in every direction.
"Stop him! Stop the red-coat!" yelled Uzal.
There were one or two futile attempts to do so; but Jerry, by that time, was riding too hard to be stopped—it would have been almost certain death beneath his horse's feet to try to do so. Therefore, everyone was perfectly willing that Uzal, alone, should strike his heels into his horse's sides and start after the escaped prisoner. This he did, to disappear in a cloud of dust. One or two men, having procured horses, followed hastily, disappeared in their turn. But Jerry, riding low in his saddle, was no longer in sight even when the dust had slowly settled and the others were mere specks upon the horizon.
Sally, all this time, had been sitting with her mouth open. She had not forseen Jerry's attempt at escape in the least—indeed, she was as honestly ​surprised as anyone, although, she thought dismally, she would have a hard time to convince Uzal that she and Jerry had not somehow managed to plan this together, on their way to Newark. But all she had really dropped behind the others for was a drink of water. Now, slipping from her horse and pushing through the crowd who would have questioned her, she went down the steps to the pump place. Seeing, then, her quiet determination not to be questioned, the crowd melted away. Soon Broad Street was as sleepily still as it had been before the three newcomers had disturbed its peace.
Sally reflectively pumped herself a delicious gourdful of clear water. Seeing old Dot's head peering wistfully over the rail down at her, she held up her gourd laughingly. "Here's to ye, old horse!" she toasted gayly; and as though to aid in furnishing festivity, the sound of fife and drum came to her wondering ears.
Sally listened. Then, dropping the gourd, she ran up the steps and stared in the direction of the music; and as she gazed came once more the hated, flaunting sight of red uniforms. The British!
As though by magic, the lanes were now absolutely deserted. Not an inhabitant was to be seen! Sally, pale-cheeked from fright, gazed around her. Should she run across the lane to the corner house where the Allings lived? She decided not, for the distance of a few hundred feet looked endless to her. ​Descending to the depths of the pump-stand once more, she stood there, wondering if she were out of the range of bullets; then, remembering old Dot, she anxiously reascended the steps. The red-coats were nearer now. Sally's calm was not increased by seeing John Alling creep forth from his house and secrete himself in a position, musket in hand, grim of face, visible to her but not visible to the approaching British infantry. So there was death to be dealt that day!
Sally watched Major Alling with fascinated eyes. She almost forgot the enemy behind her as she stared at him. How white was his face, how steady the sunburned hands as he raised his musket slowly to his shoulder. But now there was a flash, a bang, a cry! Sally whirled around in time to see one of the red-coats down the street throw up his hands, stagger, and fall.
Instantly, then, the air seemed to be full of whistling bullets. Sally, standing rooted to her place upon the steps above the pump, saw John Alling leave his position and boldly escape to the orchard behind the house.
Suddenly a voice shouted above the tumult of cries and shots: "Run, John!"
It was an aged man seated in an upper window of the Alling house. Sally recognized John Alling's grandfather. Now the enemy had reached the town center and a red-coat, looking inquiringly ​toward his superior officer, raised his musket to direct it at the sturdy old gentleman.
"Shall I shoot the old fool?" he asked.
With more humanity than others had shown during these Newark raids, the British officer shook his head. "He's too old to do us any harm," he replied.
All at once his eyes fell upon Sally's horrified face, peering out at him from beneath the railing, and he gave a violent start. "By the grace o' Peter!" he ejaculated. "What be ye doing here, mistress?"
Sally, however, instead of answering him, ran up the rest of the steps to the street level and around the railing to where old Dot lay rolling upon the ground. The poor beast had been mortally wounded by a stray bullet!
"Oh, Dot! Oh, Dot!" moaned the girl, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to clasp the old horse's head. "Art indeed hurt so badly?"
The British officer, having recalled his men from their futile chase of Alling, turned back to Sally. Old Dot now lay motionless in the lane, and the girl was staring down at her sadly.
"This thy horse?" he asked abruptly.
Before Sally could answer, a new voice spoke sardonically. "Nay, 'tis her master's horse. But I advise ye to arrest this bond servant for loitering ​here under suspicious circumstances and for persuading a British soldier to desert his officer and his duty," drawled Captain Stockton.
As Sally stared at him, the other officer hesitated. "Mayhap ye be right, sir," he said slowly. "Still, I do dislike to take the maid back wi' us to New York Town. Marshal Cunningham be not noted for his gentleness."
"The charge be a serious one," answered Stockton ironically. "I do advise ye to heed me, sir! I am the officer who prefers the charge."
The other, at that, snapped his fingers without more ado at two soldiers who, running up to him and saluting, stood at attention. "Escort this maid when we return to New York," he ordered, and turned upon his heel.
Poor Sally! Now she understood the real malevolence that was in that gesture with which Stockton had shaken his fist at Jerry and her the night before!
It was a long, silent trip across the swamps, across the ferries, up over Bergen Heights, and down to Paulus Hook, that Sally took that night. Her captors were not unkind to her, save once when they had halted and Sally would have slipped down from in back of the stolid red-coat she was riding with and flitted away into the shadows. The flutter of her light dress, however, caught Stockton's eye, ​and he dragged her back, jerking her upon her horse again with a sharp reprimand to the soldier who had allowed her to escape.
At Paulus Hook, Sally glanced with a gasp of dismay at the periauger, a two-masted vessel with narrow beam and lee-boards. But, almost before she knew it, they had crossed the dark, choppy stretch of water that was the Hudson River and were in New York. There she was hurried along between the soldiers and placed in the New Gaol for the night; and the next morning she was taken before Marshal Cunningham, that tyrant who had sentenced Nathan Hale to a miserable death and had deliberately torn up Hale's last letter to his sweetheart before the doomed man's face.
"Well, this the lass?" asked Cunningham, his face expressionless as he gazed over a table, behind which he sat, at Sally. The girl, glancing around, perceived that she was alone, save for Stockton, standing beside the marshal's table.
"Aye, sir!" Stockton nodded.
"The one whose master did arrest Lieutenant Lawrence?" pursued Cunningham, his little eyes glancing at Sally and then away.
"Aye, sir!"
"The lass who persuaded the young fool to forsake his duty?"
"Aye, sir!"
"Well, Captain Stockton, what punishment do ​ye suggest?" demanded Marshal Cunningham.
The other cleared his throat. "I would suggest that the lass be held pending the release o' Lawrence by the rebels. And should they not release him, that the maid be punished for their misdeeds—and her own—and the rebels told o't," answered Stockton smoothly. "Mayhap a few months i' the Long Room might teach her not to interfere wi' a British soldier and officer i' the pursuit o' his duty. There be other means also."
"But——" said Sally.
"Silence!" thundered Stockton.
"But Lieutenant Lawrence——" began Sally again. She shrank back at the threatening gesture Stockton made toward her.
All this time Cunningham was staring out of the window at the stretch of green before the New Gaol, where the Sons of Liberty had erected their liberty poles as fast as he had torn them down. He scowled, suddenly remembering the wound he had suffered there, when he had vowed to make every rebel pay for it.
"And your punishment for the maid, Captain Stockton?" he asked coldly.
"That the girl be branded on the arm!"