“Here,” he said, “is one which concerns you, Wynne. You need have no scruple as to the reading of it. It has much entertained the mess of the headquarters guard.”
He sat down with Jack and a pipe to keep off the Tory mosquitos, while I fell to reading the letter. The same buzzing Tories were busy about me also with bugle and beak, but when, as I glanced at the letter, I caught Darthea’s name on the second page, I forgot them and hesitated. “Still,” thought I, “others have read it, and it may be well that I should do so.” It was no longer private. I went on to learn what it said. It was from Miss Franks in New York to some young woman of her set in my own city, but to whom was not clear, as an outer cover seemed to have been lost or cast away.
“MY DEAR PUSSY,” it began: “I hope you will get this despite the rebels, else you will lose much that is useful in the warfare with our dear enemy, the unfair sex.” After this was an amusing record of the latest modes and much about gowns, pincushion hoops, and face-patches. “Also the gentlemen of New York wear two watches, which with you is not considered genteel, and the admiral has introduced the fashion of dining by candle-light at four. It is very becoming, I do assure you.
“How is the pretty boy-captain? Does he still blush?” This was clearly Jack, but who was Pussy? “And Mr. Wynne—not Darthea’s Mr. Wynne, but the perverted Quaker with the blue eyes?” It was plain who this was.
“Darthea’s captain—but I must not tell tales out of school;—indeed he needs to be dealt with. Tell the witch if she will stay among the R. R.‘s—which is what we call them—Ragged Rebels it is—she must look to suffer. I am not as sure she does. Oh, these men! Between us, there is a certain Olivia L—who is great friends with Mr. Wynne. She hath a winning air of artless youth. I am pleased to hear from my colonel, whom you must soon know, that we shall soon be with you in our dear Philadelphia, and Mr. G. W. hoeing tobacco, or worse, poor man. Dear me! I have quite lost my way, and must look back.
“I can fancy Darthea weeping. She hath small need. It is my way to love to tease whom I love, and the more I do love the more I do love to tease. I cannot believe any would be false to Darthea? nor is he, I am sure; but thou dost know (as Mistress Wynne’s Captain Blushes would word it. ‘Thou’ and ‘thee’ are sweet. I would I had a Quaker lover)—thou dost know that the she who is here is always more dangerous than the she who is there. That is Darthea, dear.
“I forgot to say stays is wore looser, which is a mercy; also the garters must be one red and one blue.”
When, amused, I read a bit to Jack, he declared we ought to read no more, and if he had been of the mess which did read it, he would have had reason out of some one. Indeed, he was angry-red, and beginning to twitch in his queer way, so that I feared he would bring about a quarrel with Mr. Hamilton, who knew neither woman and was still shaking with laughter.
I liked it no better than Jack did, but he had said enough, and I shook my head at Hamilton as I lay on the floor of the hut behind Jack. Mr. Hamilton, who was a very model of good breeding, and despite his vivacity never forgot what was due to others, said at once: “I ask pardon, Mr. Warder. I did not know either of the ladies was known to you. Had I been aware, no one should have read the letter.”
Then Jack said he had been hasty, and hoped Mr. Hamilton would excuse him.