Part 14 (2/2)

He limped across the hut and drew from some secret receptacle above the fireplace a flask, from which he poured a crimson liquid into an earthen cup; then hobbled back to Landless, sitting with closed eyes and head bowed upon the table.

”Drink, lad,” he said with grave tenderness. ”'Tis a cordial of mine own invention, and in the strength it gave me I fled from Cropredy Bridge though woefully hacked and spent. Drink!”

He held the cup to the young man's lips. Landless drained it and felt the blood gush back to his heart and the ringing in his ears to cease.

Presently he raised his head. ”Thank you,” he said. ”I am a man again.”

”How is it that you are here?”

Landless smiled grimly. ”I imagine it's because Woodson thinks me effectually laid by the heels. When he goes the rounds at supper time he will be surprised to find my pallet empty.”

”You must be in quarters before then. You must not get into further trouble.”

”Very well,” was the indifferent reply.

They were silent for a few moments, and then Landless spoke.

”I am come to tell you, Master G.o.dwyn, that I will join in any plan, however desperate, that may bring me release from an intolerable and degrading slavery. You may use me as you please. I will work for you with hands and head, ay, and with my heart also, for you have been kind to me, and I am grateful.”

The mender of nets touched him softly upon the hand. ”Lad,” he said, ”I once had a son who was my pride and my hope. In his young manhood he fell at the storming of Tredah. But the other night when I talked with you, I seemed to see him again, and my heart yearned over him.”

Landless held out his hand. ”I have no father,” he said simply.

”Now,” at length said G.o.dwyn, ”to business! I must not keep you now, but come to me to-morrow night if you can manage it. You may speak to Win-Grace Porringer, and he will help you. I will then tell you all my arrangements, give you figures and names, possess you, in short, with all that I, and I alone, know of this matter. And my heart is glad within me, for though my broken body is tied to my bench here, I shall now have a lieutenant indeed. I have conceived; you shall execute. The son of Warham Landless, if he have a t.i.the of his father's powers, will do much, very much. For more than a year I have longed for such an one.”

”Tell me but one thing,” said Landless, ”and I am content. You have so planned this business that there shall be no wanton bloodshed? You intend no harm, for instance, to the family yonder?” with a motion of his head towards the great house.

”G.o.d forbid!” said the other quickly. ”I tell you that not one woman or innocent soul shall suffer. Nor do I wish harm to the master of this plantation, who is, after the lights of a Malignant, a true and kindly man, and a gentleman. This is what will happen. Upon an appointed day the servants, Oliverian, indented and convict, upon all the plantations seated upon the bay, the creeks, the three rivers, and over in Accomac, will rise. They will overpower their overseers and those of their fellows who may remain faithful to the masters, will call upon the slaves to follow them, and will march (the force of each plantation under a captain or captains appointed by me), to an appointed place in this county. All going well, there should be mustered at that place within the s.p.a.ce of a day and a night a force of some two thousand men--such an army as this colony hath never seen, an army composed in large measure of honest folk, and officered by four hundred men who, bold and experienced, and strong in righteous wrath, should in themselves be sufficient to utterly deject the adversary. We will make of that force, motley as it is, a second New Model, as well disciplined and as irresistible as the first; and who should be its general but the son of that Warham Landless whom Cromwell loved, and whose old regiment is well represented here? Then will we fight in honest daylight with those who come against us--and conquer. And we will not stain our victory. Your nightmare vision of midnight butchery is naught. There will be no such thing.”

Through the quiet of the evening came to them the clear, sweet, and distant winding of a horn.

”'Tis the call to quarters,” said G.o.dwyn. ”You must go, lad.”

Landless rose. ”I will come to-morrow night if I can. Till then, farewell,--father.” He ended with a smile on his dark, stern face that turned it into a boy's again.

”May the Lord bless thee, my son,” said the other in his gravely tender voice. ”May he cause His face to s.h.i.+ne upon thee, and bring thee out of all thy troubles.”

As Landless turned to leave the hut the mender of nets had a sudden thought. ”Come hither,” he said, ”and let me show you my treasure house.

Should aught happen to me, it were well that you should know of it.”

He took up the precious flask from the table, and followed by Landless, limped across the hut to the fireplace. The logs above it appeared as solid, gnarled and stained by time as any of the others const.i.tuting the walls of the hut, but upon the pressure of G.o.dwyn's finger upon some secret spring, a section of the wood fell outwards like the lid of a box, disclosing a hollow within.

From this hollow came the dull gleam of gold, and by the side of the little heap of coin lay several folded papers and a pair of handsomely mounted pistols.

G.o.dwyn touched the papers. ”The names or the signs of the Oliverians are here,” he said, ”together with those of the leaders of the indented servants concerned with us. It is our solemn League and Covenant--and our death warrant if discovered. The gold I had with me, hidden upon my person, when I was brought to Virginia. The pistols were the gift of a friend. Both may be useful some day.”

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