Kate Aylesford: A Story of the Refugees

by Charles J. Peterson

“I love that dear old house! my mother lived there
Her first sweet marriage years. * * * *
The sunlight there seems to me brighter far
Than wheresoever else. I know the forms
Of every tree and mountain, hill and dell:
Its waters jingle like a tongue I know:
It is my home.” —Mrs. Frances K. Butler.

Kate Aylesford was an only child and an orphan. It had been her misfortune to lose her mother, at so early a period of life, that she retained no distinct remembrance of her, and could only recall a mild, sweet face, which, as in a dream, seemed to have looked down on her, far away in the past, like a Madonna in a picture.

Eighty years ago, when our story opens, the facilities for female education were small anywhere, for it was a generation when Hannah More was considered a prodigy and when to be able to write grammatically was regarded as all-sufficient, even for a gentlewoman. There were few good schools for girls in England, and none at all in America. Mr. Aylesford, the father of Kate, held a different, and as would be said in this day, a worthier estimate of woman, from that which was popular among his generation. He looked back with regret to the time when ladies studied Greek and read Virgil in the original. The story told of Lady Jane Grey, that she preferred to stay with her tutor, Ascham, and read Plato, rather than join the chase, was one of his favorites. He early resolved, accordingly, that his daughter should be educated in a better manner than was the fashion of the day. He declared she should be capable, as he phrased it, of being a companion for a husband, instead of a mere plaything: that is, he added, with the reverent piety which, without being Pharisaical, formed a main ingredient of his character, “if God willed she should be so blessed.” For, among his other old-fashioned notions, Mr. Aylesford held that a woman is never so fortunate as when a happy wife and mother.

Hence it was, that though he desired his daughter’s intellect to be cultivated, he took care that her moral qualities, using that word in its widest sense, should not run to waste. In order to have her properly educated, he had determined that she should go to England; but unwilling to trust her to a public school, he had sent out with her his sister, an elderly widow lady, the relict of an officer in the army. It was a hard trial for him to separate from his only child, and one so winning as Kate; for not only the fond father, but every one who knew her, declared her to be the life of the house. To the sweetness of her mother’s disposition, she added the gay heart which had distinguished her surviving parent when young. Fearless by nature, the life which she necessarily led, in a then comparatively wild district of the province of New Jersey, had given to her a courage and self-reliance above her sex and years: for not only at an age when girls generally are still in the nursery, had she learned to ride, so as to often accompany her father, but frequently, with no attendant but one or two stag-hounds, she galloped for half a morning through the woods. It was, perhaps, to her having spent her early years in this manner, that she owed her present blooming health and elastic step. Beauty is oftener the result of fresh air and exercise than of cosmetics.

Three years after her arrival in England, Mr. Aylesford died, leaving Kate one of the richest heiresses in the colonies. In part, her property consisted of houses and stores in the city of Philadelphia, and in part of vast tracts of land in the middle counties of West Jersey. The war between the colonies and mother country soon after broke out, and, for a while, it seemed as if the heiress was destined never to see her native land again. Her guardians were averse to her return to a country distracted by war, and her aunt, who, in spite of being an officer’s widow, was timorous to the last degree, seconded them. But Kate inherited the resolute spirit of her father, and had early resolved to return, as soon as she became mistress of herself. Her fixed determination at last influenced her guardians, so that, after she had left school and been presented at court, a favorable opportunity offering, they had consented to her wish. They were the more willing to concede the point, because, at that time, the royal arms seemed about to triumph; New York was in undisturbed possession of Sir Henry Clinton; and the portion of New Jersey, where her estates lay, was, according to the current reports in London, free from the presence of the enemy. We need not add that these guardians, as well as her aunt, were warm friends of the king. It was on this return voyage, after a successful run of thirty days, and when, as the captain calculated, forty-eight hours would bring them within sight of Neversink, that we have introduced Miss Aylesford to the reader.

A long time elapsed, even after she had retired to her berth, before Kate could sleep. A vague presentiment seemed to oppress her. In vain she closed her eyes. The gradually increasing wind, and the rush of the waters alongside, prevented slumber. Once or twice she forgot herself in a doze, but a louder shriek of the rising gale, or a sudden dash of some huge billow against the timbers at her head, roused her with a start. Still, as there was nothing of fear in her nature, these things did not agitate her. She never even thought that anything serious impended, for she had heard such sounds often before during the voyage. Finally, long after her aunt was lost in slumber, she fell asleep.

She was roused suddenly, some hours after, by the noise of her relative.

“Wake up, my child, wake, wake,” cried the good lady in accents of terror. “We are all going to the bottom. Oh! what shall we do?”

Kate sat up in bed and looked around. She and her aunt occupied the after cabin of the ship, which had been engaged exclusively for them; and this apartment was now lighted by a swinging lamp, which threw a faint yellowish hue on the surrounding objects. The floor of the cabin, rising almost perpendicularly, and then sinking again, showed that the ship pitched and rolled with unusual severity. Kate had never seen anything like it. Her aunt was dressing as rapidly as a person could, who had always to hold on to something with one hand, and often with two.

On deck, the hurrying of feet, the rattling of blocks, the creaking of yards, the sharp whistling of wind through the cordage, the quick, loud word of command, and other noisy and tumultuous sounds, betokened some important crisis. The roar of the sea had become almost deafening. It was, however, occasionally exceeded by the thunder of the gale, which now dying partially away, swelled again into a volume that overpowered everything else. At rare intervals, when other noises partially subsided, Kate fancied she could distinguish the rushing sound of rain.