On a pleasant June afternoon in the year 1782, the loungers about the Continental Tavern in the village of Brunswick were discussing the recent proclamations of the governor and commander-in-chief forbidding illicit trading with New York, both of which called forth general condemnation, well voiced by Bagby, when he remarked:—

“A man with half an eye can see what they are working for, and that their objections to our supplying the Yorkers is only a blind. What they really wants is that we patriots, who don’t spend our days idling about in camp all winter at Rocky-Hill and now at Middle-Brook, doing nothing except eat the people’s food, and spend the people’s money, but who earn a living by hard work, sha’ n’t have no market but the continental commissaries, and so will have to take whatever they allow to offer us for our crops.”

“’T aint the proclamations ez duz the rale injoory,” asserted Squire Hennion; “fer printed orders duz n’t hurt nobody, but when the gin’ral sends a hull brigade of sogers ter pervent us sellin’ our craps then I consarned ef it aint tyranny ez every freeman is baound ter resist, jest ez we did in ’65 an’ ’74.”

Bagby, with a sour look at Hennion, said: “That ’s one of the biggest grievances, but not the way some pretended friends of the people would have us think. What do your fellows say to officers having been fixed, so that pickets are only put where they’ll stop us from sending boats to New York, while there ’s one right here is allowed to send cargoes just when he likes?”

“Does yer mean that, Joe?” demanded a farmer.

“That I does,” asserted Bagby, looking meaningly at Hennion. “I was told as a chance was given to the army to catch the man deepest in the business—and in worse—red handed. But what ’s done? Instead of laying a trap, and catching him, they don’t stir a finger, but wait ten months and then sends the very officer who did n’t do nothing to put a stop to it. For weeks that high cock-a-lorum Brereton ’s been smelling about this town, and lining the river at night with his pickets, when all the time he could have come here any afternoon, and arrested the traitor.”

“Thet ’eres lucky fer yer,” snarled Hennion viciously. “yer ain’t the only one ez kin tell tales, I warns yer.”

“I have n’t done no bribing, and it was n’t me as the information was lodged against,” retorted Joe, rancourously.

“You can’t mean as General Brereton ’s winking at the trade, when scarce a boat ’s got out of the river since his brigade camped there,” demanded one of the loungers, indicating with his thumb Brunswick Green, whitened by rows of tents.

“I mean as Brereton could lay hands any time he pleased on one traitor, and why he has n’t done so is what I want to know. What ’s more, I’d like to know, why Washington does n’t take any notice of the charges that I’ve been told was preferred against Brereton nigh six months ago for this very matter. I tell you, fellows, that money ’s being used, and that some of those who hold themselves highest, is taking it.”

“Don’t seem like his Excellency ’ud do anythin’ ez sneaky ez that,” observed the publican, glancing upwards with pride at his signboard, now restored to its former position. “Folks says he’s a ’nation fine man.”

I’m just sick of all this getting on the knees to a man,” grumbled Joseph, “just because he went and captivated Cornwallis. Washington is n’t a bit better than some of us right here and it won’t be long before you’ll find it out.”

“How do you make that, Joe?”

“Is n’t he trying to bully Congress into paying the army, just as if he was king, as I suppose he hopes to be some day. You wait till he gets his way, and I guess the tax collectors will make the people sing a different tune about him. If I’m elected to the Assembly this spring, I calculate to make some ears buzz and tingle a bit, once the legislature meets. I’ll teach some of these swaggering military chaps—who were n’t nothing but bond-servants once yet who some of you fellows is fools enough now to talk of sending to Congress— that this is a nation of freemen, and that now that the British is licked, we don’t have no more use for them, and—”

“Waal, I declare, if thet don’t favour Squire Meredith, an’ his darter,” interjected a farmer, suddenly, pointing with his pipe to where an army waggon was approaching on the Princeton post-road.

“Swan, ef yer ain’t right,” cried Hennion. “I did hope we wuz quit of them fer good an’ all.”

“Wonder what the gal ’s in black fer?” observed a lounger.

“My nigger cook Sukey,” said the landlord, “told me that Gin’ral Brereton told her the ole lady wuz mortal sick o’ the small-pox an’ that when he went aboard the pest-ship, she wuz so weak it did n’t seem like she could be moved, but he an’ the doctor got her safe ashore, an’ when he last hearn, ‘bout the first o’ the year, she wuz gainin’.”

The publican rose and went forward as the van stopped in front of his door. “Glad tew see yer, squire,” he said, “an’ yer, too, Miss Janice. Seems most like ole times. Hope nuthin ’s wrong with Miss Meredith?”

The squire slowly and heavily got down from the box seat. “We have her body in the waggon,” he said wearily and sadly.

“I vum, but that ’s too bad!” exclaimed the landlord, and, for want of words of comfort, he hesitatingly held out his hand, but recollecting himself, he was drawing it back, when Mr. Meredith, forgetful of rank, caught and squeezed it.

“She never really rallied,” went on the squire, with tears in his eyes, “and though she lived on through the winter, she did n’t have the strength to mend. She died three weeks ago, and we have come back here to bury her.”

“Naow yer an’ Miss Janice come right intew my place, an I’ll fix yer both ez comfortable ez I kin,” invited the publican, warmly, once again forgetting himself so far as to pat Mr. Meredith on the back. Then as he helped Janice down, he shouted, “Abram, mix a noggin o’ sling, from the bestest, an’ tell Sukey that she’s wanted right off, no matter what she’s doin’.”

The last direction was needless, for the slave, in some way informed of the arrival, had Janice in her arms ere the landlord well completed his speech, and was carrying more than leading her into the hotel and up the stairs to the room reserved for people of quality only, where she lifted her on to the bed and with her arms still clasped about the girl wept over her, half in misery, and half in an almost savage joy, while repeating again and again, “Oh, my missy, my Missy Janice, my young missy, my pooty young missy, come back to ole Sukey.”

“Oh, Sukey,” sobbed Janice, “but mommy is dead.”

“Doan young missy pine,” begged the slave. “De Lord he know best, an’ he bring my chile, dat I dun take care ob from de day he dun gib her, back to ole black Sukey.”

Meantime, the squire, after a question as to where the coffin could be temporarily placed, and a direction to the driver of the wagon, asked the publican: “We had word in Virginia that Greenwood was sold by the state; is ’t so?”

“Yes, squire, it wuz auctioned last August an’ wuz bought by ole squire Hennion, an’ jes naow his Excellency ’s usin’ it fer headquarters, till the army moves north’ard.”

A sadder look came on Mr. Meredith’s face. “That ’s worse news yet,” he grieved, with a shake of his head; “but perhaps he’ll not carry his hatred into this.” He walked over to where the all-attentive loungers were sitting, and going up to Hennion, said humbly: “We were once friends, Hennion, and I trust that such ill feeling as ye bear for me will not lead ye to refuse a request I have to make.”

“An’ what ’ere is thet?” inquired Hennion, suspiciously.

“’T was Matilda’s—’t was my wife’s dying prayer that we should bring her back here, and lay her beside her four babies, and to let her die happy I gave her my word it should be done. Ye’ll not refuse me leave, I’m sure, man, to bury her in the private plot at Greenwood.”

“Yer need n’t expect ter fool me by no sich a story. I ain’t goin’ ter let yer weaken my title by no sich a trick!”

“For shame!” cried Joseph, and a number of others echoed his words.

“Yelp away,” snarled Hennion, rising; “If’t ’t wuz yer bull ez wuz ter be gored yer ’d whine t’ other side of yer teeth.” With which remark he shuffled away.

Not stopping to listen to the expressions of sympathy and disgust that the idlers began upon, Mr. Meredith entered the public of the tavern.

“Here yer be, squire, jus’ mixed from my very bestest liquor, an’ it’ll set yer right up,” declared the landlord, offering him a pewter pot.

The squire made a motion of dissent, but seeing the publican’s look of disappointment, he took the cup and drained it. “Ye’ve not lost your skill, Simon,” he remarked kindly, as he returned it. “Canst tell me if ’t is possible for me to get a letter into New York quickly?”

“’T aint ez easy ez it wuz afore the soldiers come here fer they pervent the secret trade, but if yer apply tew Gin’ral Brereton, ez lodges with the paason, I calkerlate he kin send it in with a flag if he hez a mind tew”

Mr. Meredith shook his head in discouragement. “It seems as if all I ask must be begged of enemies. However, ’t is small grief, after what has passed. Wilt give me pen and ink, man?”

While he was writing, Bagby came into the public, and interrupted him.

“I did n’t offer to shake hands, squire,” he said, “seeing as you were in trouble, and took up with other things, but I’m glad to see you and Miss Janice back, and there ’s my hand to prove it.”

Mr. Meredith laid down his pen, and took the proffered handshake. “Thank ye, Mr. Bagby,” he said, meekly.

“I would n’t stop what you’re at now,” went on Joseph, sitting down at the table, “if I had n’t something in my mind as I think ’ll interest you big, and may make some things easier that you want.”

“What’s that?”

“If I put you on to this, I guess you’ll be so grateful that I don’t need to make no terms beforehand. You ’d give me about what I asked, would n’t you, if I can get you Greenwood back again?”

“How could ye e’er do that?”

“It ’s this way. That general act was n’t drawn very careful, and when old Hennion bid the place in, I looked it over sharp, and I concluded there was a fighting chance to break the sale. You see, the act declares certain persons traitors, and that their property is forfeited to the state. Now what we must do is to make out that Greenwood was Mrs. Meredith’s and that as she was n’t named in the act, of course the sale was n’t valid and is void.”

The squire wagged his head despondingly. “By the colony law it became mine the moment she inherited it.”

“You see if I can’t make a case of it,” urged Bagby. “I’ve come out a great hand at tieing the facts up in such a snarl as no judge or jury can get them straight again, and this time the jury will be with us before we begin. You see old Hennion’s been putting the screws on his tenants tight as he can twist them, and glad enough they ’d be if they could only have you again, ’stead of him. The whole country’s so down on him that I’ve been planning to prevent his being re-elected to Assembly this spring. Now, you know, as well as I, what I would like, and I guess you won’t be so set against it now, for I’ve got nigh to twenty thousand pounds specie, laid out in all sorts of ventures, so even if we don’t get Greenwood, I’ll be all the better match, but we won’t say nothing about all that till we’ve seen what comes.”

“Nay, Mr. Bagby, I’ll not gain your aid by a deceitful silence. I owe ye an apology for the way I treated your overture before, but I must tell you that both my own, and my girl’s word is given to Major Hennion, and so—”

“But he’s been attainted, an’ ’ll never be able to come back here.

“Aye, and we too expect to accept exile with him. When we left Williamsburg, we planned once we had buried our dead, to go to New York, where the two will marry, and then I shall follow them to wherever his regiment is ordered.”

“But you don’t need to go, now that General Brereton ’s persuaded the governor to pardon you,” protested Joseph, “and you—”

“Was it Brereton did that?” demanded Mr. Meredith.

“Between you and me, squire, I’d been at Livingston ever since you was sent away, and had about won him over, when Brereton got back from Virginia and went to see him.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s willing to do me a kindness, for not once at Yorktown did he come nigh us, and so I feared me he would refuse a favour I must shortly ask of him.”

“What ’s that?”

“I’m writing to Phil Hennion, begging him to intercede with his father and get me permission to bury my wife at Greenwood.”

“You would n’t need to do no asking if you ’d only let me get the property back.”

“You ’re right, man, and if it does nothing more, we’ll perhaps frighten him into yielding us that much.”

“’T will take time, you understand, squire, and it can’t be done if you go to York or out of the country.”

“We’ll stay here as long as there ’s nothing better to do.”

“That’s the talk. And don’t you wherrit about your lodgings, if you ’re short of cash. I’ll fix it with Si, and chance my getting paid somehow. I’ll see him right off, and fix it so you and Miss Janice has the best there is.” He started to go; then asked, “I hope—there is n’t any danger—I suppose—she’ll keep, eh, squire?”

The husband winced. “Yes,” he replied huskily. “The Marquis de Lafayette, quite unasked, ordered the commissaries to give us all we needed of a pipe of rum.”

“That was mighty generous,” said Bagby, “for I suppose he had to pay for it. Even a major-general, I take it, can’t draw no such a quantity gratis.”

“I writ him, asking that I might know the cost, but he answered that ’t was nothing. ’T is impossible to say what we owe to him. ’T was he, so Doctor Craik told me, who asked him to bring Mrs. Meredith off the pest-ship, and ’t was he who furnished us with the army-van in which we’ve journeyed from Virginia. Had we been kinsmen, he could not have been kinder.”

“Now that only shows how a man tries to take credit for what he has n’t had a finger in. Brereton, who, since he was made a general and got so thick with the governor, has put on airs enough to kill a cat, told your Sukey, as now is cook here, that ’t was he went aboard the pest-ship with the doctor, and brought her off.”

“’T is the first I’ve heard of it,” averred Mr. Meredith, incredulously yet thoughtfully.

“I tell you that Brereton is a sly, sneaky fellow, as needs watching in more than one matter. Nigh ten months ago I showed him how he could nab old Hennion, so that like as not he’d have gone to the gallows, but he did n’t stir a finger, durn him! Oh, here ’s Si, now. Say, I want you to treat Mr. Meredith and Miss Janice real handsome, and don’t trouble them with no bills, but leave me to square it,” he said to the landlord, who had come bustling in.

“Lor, Joe, yer duz n’t think I wuz goin’ tew make no charge fer this? Why, the squire lent me the money ez started me, an’ I calkerlate he kin stay on here jus’ about ez long ez he elects tew.” Then the publican laughed. “Like ez not there won’t be no supper tew-night, squire. That ’ere Sukey hez got yer gal tucked in my best tester bed, an’ is croonin’ her tew sleep jes’ like she wuz a baby ag’in. She most bit my head off when I went in tew tell her supper-time wuz comin’. ’Stonishin’ haow like white folks niggers kin feel sometimes, ain’t it?”

“I bought her when our first baby was coming, and she saw four born and buried, and nigh broke her heart over each one in turn,” said the squire, huskily; “so when Janice came, ’t was as if she was her own child.” He rose, his letter completed, and with a word to explain his movements, walked across the green to the parsonage, where his knock brought Peg to the door, and resulted in a series of wild greetings and exclamations. At last, however, the old-time master was permitted to make known the object of his call, and was ushered into a room where Brereton was sitting writing.

“Mr. Meredith!” exclaimed Jack, starting to his feet. “How are you all—that—how is Miss Meredith?”

“She’s stood the grief and—I know not if ye have heard of Mrs. Meredith’s death?”

“Yes; a friend in Virginia wrote me.”

“She’s borne up under that and under the hard journey wonderfully, and has been braver and more cheerful, I fear, than I myself. I’ve come to ye, General Brereton, to ask if ye could send a letter for me, under flag, to New York?”

“Certainly, if ’t is of a character that makes it allowable.”

“I’ve not sealed it, that you might read it,” answered the squire, holding out his letter.

Brereton read it slowly, as if he was thinking between the words. “It shall be sent in at once,” he promised, his lips set as if to conceal some emotion. Then he asked, “You write to Colonel Hennion as if—are he and—you intend to give Miss Meredith to him?”

“Yes.”

Jack wheeled and looked out of a window for an instant; without turning he said, “Is she—does she—she is willing?”

“Ay, the lass has at last found she loves him, and is as ready now as I ever was.”

Again Brereton was silent for a breathing space. “When will they wed?” he questioned finally.

“Once we can get to York.”

“And that will be?”

“The burial of Mrs. Meredith and other matters will keep us in Brunswick for an uncertain length of time.”

“And you will lodge where?”

“At the tavern.”

“’T is no place for Miss Meredith.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers, sir.”

For a moment Brereton said nothing; then remarked as he faced about, “If I can serve you in any other way, Mr. Meredith, hesitate to ask nothing of me.”

“My thanks to ye, general,” answered Mr. Meredith, gratefully. “I fear me I little merit courtesy at your hands.”

“’T is a peace-making time,” replied Jack, “and we’ll put the ill feeling away, as ’t is to be hoped Great Britain and our country will do, once the treaty is negotiated and ratified.”

“’T is no country I have,” rejoined the squire, sadly. “One word, sir, and I will be gone. I was but just told that ’t was ye who got Mrs. Meredith off the pest-ship; and if—”

Brereton held up his hand. “’T was the Marquis who gave the order, Mr. Meredith, and the Surgeon-General who superintended the removal.”

“So I was told at the time, but I feared that I might have been misinformed. None the less, general, I am your present debtor;” with which words the squire bowed himself out.

Left alone, Brereton stood like a stone for some minutes ere he resumed his seat. He glanced down at the sheet, on which was written:—

Brunswick, June 13th, 1782.

“SIR,—After three months’ test, I can assure your Excellency that it is possible to very materially if not entirely check the illicit trade with New York, but only by the constant employment of a considerable force of men in a service at once fatiguing to them and irritating to the neighbourhood. I would therefore suggest, in place of these purely repressive measures, that others which will at once bring to justice those most deeply concerned in the trade, and terrify by example those who are only occasionally guilty, be employed, and therefore beg to submit for your consideration the following plan of action.

Shoving the paper to one side, Brereton took a fresh sheet, and wrote a hurried letter, which, when sealed, he addressed to “Lady Washington, Headquarters at Greenwood Manor.” This done, he finished his official letter, and going to the rows of tents on the green, he delivered the two into the hands of an officer, with an order to ride with them at once.

On the following day a coach drew up in front of the Continental Tavern, and with much dignity a negro in livery alighted from the seat beside the driver.

“You will deliber Lady Washington’s an’ my deferential complimen’s to Miss Janice Meredith; likewise dis letter from his Excellency,” he said grandly to the tavern-keeper.

“Waal, of all airs fer a nigger!” snorted mine host. “Duz his Excellency run yer jobs fer yer ter hum? Guess yer ain’t so fat, be yer, that yer keant carry that inter the settin’-room yerself.”

With a glance of outraged dignity that should have annihilated the publican, the man went across the hall, and after a knock, entered.

“Why, Billy!” exclaimed Janice, starting up from her chair, her arm outstretched.

The intense dignity melted away in a breath, and the darky chuckled and slapped himself with delight as he took the hand. “Der, now!” he cried, “I dun assure her Ladyship dat Missy would remember Billy. Here am a letter from his Excellency, Miss.”

Opening it, Janice read it out to her father:—

Headquarters, 14 June, 1782.

Dear Miss Janice,—In writing this I but act as Mrs. Washington’s scribe, she having an invincible dislike to the use of a pen. She hopes and begs that you will favour us with the honour of your company for a time at Headquarters, and to this I would add my own persuasions were I not sure that hers will count above mine. However, let me say that it will be a personal gratification to me if you give us now the pleasure I have several times counted upon in the past. Thinking to make more certain of your granting this request, and that you may make the journey without discomfort, Mrs. Washington sends her coach.
    I most sincerely regretted not seeing you at Yorktown, the more that Lord Cornwallis assured me when he dined with me on the evening after the surrender, that he would secure your presence at the banquet he tendered to the French and American officers; but I was still more grieved when told the reason for your refusal to grace the occasion by your presence. The sudden sickness of poor Mr. Custis, which compelled me to hasten away from York, and the affecting circumstance of his untimely death threw Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Bassett, who were both present, into such deep distress that I could not find it in my heart to leave Eltham, once the funeral rites were performed. The Marquis has since assured me that nothing was neglected which could be of comfort or service to your mother, and I trust that he speaks informedly. I have just learned of your loss, and hasten to tender you both Mrs. Washington’s and my own sympathy on this melancholy occasion.
    Be assured that your company will truly gratify both me and the partner of all my Domestic enjoyments, and that I am, my dear young lady, with every sentiment of respect and esteem,

Yr most obedt hble servt
Go Washington.

“’T is the very thing I’d have for ye, Jan,” exclaimed the squire.

“Oh, dadda, I’ll not leave you.”

“That ye shall, for I’ll be busy with this scheme of Bagby’s, and the tavern is no place for ye, child, let alone what ye’ll be forever dwelling on if ye have no distraction.”

“An’ his Excellency,” said the messenger, “done tell me to say dat he done holds you’ parole ob honour, an’ dat, if you doan’ come back with me in de coach, he done send de provost gyard to fotch youse under arrest. What ’s mo, Miss, dat big villin, Blueskin, will be powerful joyed to see youse again.”