"I'll warrant you, Arthur is a man for the pen as well as for the spur and broadsword, my pretty lady," was one of the landlady's comments, as she handed to Mildred the eighth or ninth epistle that had fallen into her hands since Butler's departure; "there scarcely comes trotting by a soiled traveller with his head set northwards, but it is—'Good woman, is this Mistress Dimock's?' and when I say, 'aye,' then 'here's a letter, madam, for you, that comes from the army:' and so, there's Arthur's own hand-writing to a great pacquet, 'for Mistress Dimock of the Rockfish inn, of Amherst,' and not even, after all, one poor line for me, but just a cover, and the inside for Miss Mildred Lindsay of the Dove Cote. Ha, ha! we old bodies are only stalking-horses in this world. But God bless him!—he is a fine and noble gentleman." And Mildred would take the pacquet and impatiently break the seal; and as she perused the close-written contents the color waxed and waned upon her cheek, and her eye would one instant sparkle with mirth, and in the next grow dim with a tear. And when she had finished reading, she would secretly press the paper to her lips, and then bestow it away in her bosom, evincing the earnest fondness of a devoted and enthusiastic nature.
Mildred and Henry were inseparable; and, in proportion as his sister's zeal and attachment to the cause of independence became more active, did Henry's inclination to become a partisan grow apace. Hers was a character to kindle the spirit of brave adventure. There was in it a quiet and unostentatious but unvarying current of resolution, that shrank before no perils. Her feelings, acute and earnest, had given all their warmth to her principles; and what she once believed her duty commanded, was pursued with the devout self-dedication of a religious obligation. To this temper, which, by some secret of its constitution, has a spell to sway the minds of mankind, there was added the grace of an exquisitely feminine address. The union of these two attributes rendered Mildred Lindsay an object of conspicuous interest in such a time as that of the revolutionary struggle. Her youth, her ready genius, her knowledge and her habits of reflection, much in advance of her years, enhanced the impression her character was adapted to produce, and brought upon her, even in her secluded position, a considerable share of public observation. It was not wonderful that a mind so organized and accomplished should have acquired an unlimited dominion over the frank, open-hearted, and brave temper of her brother, now just stepping beyond the confines of mere boyhood. Her influence over Henry was paramount and unbounded: her affections were his, her faith was his, her enthusiasm stole into and spread over his whole temper.
With these means of influence she had sedulously applied herself to infuse into Henry's mind her own sentiment in regard to the war; and this purpose had led her to interest herself in subjects and pursuits, which, in general, are very foreign from her sex. Her desire to enlist his feelings in aid of Butler, and her conviction that a time was at hand when Henry might be useful, gave rise to an eager solicitude to see him well prepared for the emergencies of the day, by that necessary mode of education which, during the period of the revolution, was common amongst the young gentlemen of the country. He was a most willing and ready pupil; and she delighted to encourage him in his inclination for military studies, however fanciful some of his conceptions in regard to them might be. She, therefore, saw, with great satisfaction, the assiduous though boyish devotion with which he set himself to gain a knowledge of matters relating to the duties of a soldier. However little this may fall within the scope of female perception in ordinary times, it will not appear so much removed from the capabilities or even the habits of the sex, when we reflect that in the convulsions of this great national struggle, when every resource of the country was drained for service, the events of the day were contemplated with no less interest by the women than by the men. The fervor with which the American women participated in the cares and sacrifices of the revolutionary war, has challenged the frequent notice and warmest praises of its chroniclers. Mildred but reflected, in this instance, the hues of the society around the Dove Cote, which consisted of many families, scattered along the country side, composed of persons of elevated character, easy circumstances, and of the staunchest Whig politics, with whom she held an uninterrupted and familiar intercourse.
Another consideration may serve to explain the somewhat masculine character of Mildred's pursuits. Her most intimate companion, at all times, and frequently for weeks together her only one, was her brother. These two had grown up together in all the confidence of childhood; and this confidence continued still unabated. Their pursuits, sports, exercises, thoughts, and habits were alike, with less of the discrimination usual between the sexes, than is to be found between individuals in larger associations. They approximated each other in temper and disposition; and Henry might, in this regard, be said to be, without disparagement to his manly qualities, a girlish boy; and Mildred, on the other hand, with as little derogation, to be a boyish girl. This home-bred freedom of nurture produced, in its development, some grotesque results, which my reader has, doubtless, heretofore observed with a smile; and it will, likewise, serve to explain some of the peculiar forms of intercourse which may hereafter be noticed between the brother and sister.
The news of the battle of Camden had not yet reached the neighborhood of the Dove Cote; but the time drew nigh when all the country stood on tiptoe, anxious to receive tidings of that interesting event. A week had elapsed without bringing letters from Butler; and Mildred was growing uneasy at this interval of silence. There was a struggle in her mind; an unpleasant foreboding that she was almost ashamed to acknowledge, and yet which she could not subdue. The country was full of reports of the hostile operations, and a thousand surmises were entertained, which varied according to the more sanguine or desponding tempers of the persons who made them. Mildred was taught by Butler to expect defeat, yet still she hoped for victory; but the personal fate of her lover stole upon her conjectures, and she could not keep down the misgiving which affection generally exaggerates, and always renders painful. In this state of doubt, it was observable that her manners occasionally rose to a higher tone of playfulness than was natural to her; and by turns they sank to a moody silence, showing that the equipoise of the mind was disturbed, and that the scales did not hang true: it was the struggle of mental resolution with a coward heart—a heart intimidated by its affections.
Such was the state of things when, in the latter fortnight of August, the morning ushered in a day of unsurpassed beauty. The air was elastic; the cool breeze played upon the shrubbery, and stole the perfume of a thousand flowers. The birds sang with unwonted vivacity from the neighboring trees; and the sun lighted up the mountains with a golden splendor, the fast drifting clouds flinging their shadows upon the forest that clothed the hills around, and the eagle and the buzzard sailing in the highest heavens, or eddying around the beetling cliffs with a glad flight, as if rejoicing in the luxuries of the cool summer morning. Breakfast was scarcely over before Henry was seen upon the terrace, arrayed in his hunting dress. His bugle was daintily suspended by a green cord across his shoulders; it was a neat and glittering instrument, whose garniture was bedizened with the coxcombry of silken tassels, and was displayed as ostentatiously as if worn by the hero of a melodrame.
Like St. Swithin in the ballad, he had "footed thrice the wold," when he put the bugle to his mouth and "blew a recheate both loud and long."
"How now, good master Puff," said Mildred, coming up playfully to her brother, "what means this uproar? Pray you, have mercy on one's ears."
Henry turned towards his sister, without taking the bugle from his lips, and continued the blast for a full minute; then, ceasing only from want of breath, he said, with a comic earnestness—
"I'm practising my signals, sister; I can give you 'to Horse,' and 'Reveillee,' and 'Roast Beef,' like a trained trumpeter."