POLLY CALLENDAR: TORY[W]
By Margaret Fenderson
The tale of a Tory maid, a Patriot youth, and a kettle of scarlet dye.
IN 1774-5, previous to the outbreak of the Revolution, the Callendars were Royalists, and General Gage’s young British officers, one of whom was related to the Callendars, frequently rode out from Boston to call at the hospitable country-house. It was Polly Callendar whom they went to see; her beauty and vivacious wit were the theme of many toasts. And up to the evening of this story Polly was as disdainful of the “minute-men� as was her mother.
At about noon of that day Madam Callendar was summoned to the bedside of Elizabeth Ballard, a kinswoman living near Natick. She had left her brick oven full of the week’s baking, and had set a large brass kettle, filled with redwood dye, on the crane in the great fireplace. Madam Callendar’s parting directions to Polly had been not only to watch the oven, but to stir the boiling redwood.
Numerous skeins and hanks of woolen yarn, spun during the previous winter, were immersed in it, and the last warning from Polly’s mother was: “Redwood must never be hurried, Polly. Stir often, lass. Press the hanks down hard with your clothes-stick, and then drop in a little of this powdered alum to set the scarlet.�
So through the long, foggy afternoon it was Polly Callendar’s homely task to watch the oven and tend the “scarlet kettle.� But with evening came an unexpected diversion. A knock was heard at the outer door; and when old Rastus, the negro servant, had opened it, a tall young man, in provincial garb, inquired how far it was to Boston and what was the road. Learning that the distance was still considerable, he entreated hospitality, saying that having ridden since dawn, he was both tired and wet. Polly at first demurred, but in the end, moved by his plight and persuaded somewhat by his respectful manners and handsome face, she sent Rastus to stable the horse.
She spread a plentiful supper before the wayfarer; and then, because his appearance pleased her, she brewed for him some of her mother’s cherished tea, and poured it into one of the delicate china teacups that had come from England.
But the young man ate in silence, notwithstanding these attentions. Truth to say, he was ill at ease. He was on his way to join the minute-men, and he was bringing with him a hundred pounds that had been contributed by the “patriot committee� of his native town. He feared that in some way the redcoats had been given a hint of his mission. Mounted men had stared hard at him that day, and he had thought it wise to avoid a troop patrolling the roads. And now, despite the quality of his supper, he paused to listen anxiously whenever horses’ hoofs or voices were heard without. Polly, noticing his uneasiness and marking his blue colonial home-spun, drew her own inferences.
Of a sudden the young man took note of the kettle and its scarlet contents.