ONLY TWO BEECHNUTS. A Revolutionary Love Story.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 84, 10 January 1885, Page 4

ONLY TWO BEECHNUTS. A Revolutionary Love Story.

Ax old brown farm-house has stood tor years on the highway between Bidgefield and South Salem in Connecticut. It was so near the New ii T ork and Connecticut boundary line that a stone could be thrown twenty yards or more from the doorsteps into either State. It had sheltered generation after generation of the same family for more than a hundred years. A few days ago it became necessary to tear down this old building, and in removing the discarded furniture that had grown shaky with years of solitude in the musty garret, a small chest was found. Nothing was in it but a package no larger than a spool. On opening the tattered, faded paper covering, two beechnuts were disclosed exactly alike, perfectly preserved, and whose shells were as I hard as glass. An examination of the crumbling inclosure revealed some writing that was scarcely legible. The almost vanished sentence was deciphered as follows : These are the beechnuts that Philip and Margaret exchanged October 19th, 1778. The little nuts that had lain for a hundred years untouched are now to be carefully preserved, especially as associated with them is a family tradition. The history which the discovery of these beechnuts has revived is as follows : A huge boulder frowns upon the old Salem turnpike, perhaps a mile from the New York State line. It conceals the highway toward the west by reason of the sharp turn that is made around it. Leaning against this boulder one mild afternoon in October, 1778, was a young man. His eyes were resting on the vista of buff, brown and scarlet foliage that stretched far away, and through which patches of blue water of the lake beyond could be seen. "Beautiful," he said. "Ah, if I only— if I had not this business in hand; and their outposts are just beyond." Even as he spoke he started, listened, and in an instant so changed his manner that he seemed a tired and listless soldier, with no care tor the landscape that had charmed him. As the footsteps that had caused the change of manner approached, and seemed about to round the boulder, he still kept his eyes half -closed with the expression of weariness, nor did he lift them until the steps stopped in front of him. Then looking up he saw a child, a girl of ten or twelve, maybe. The little one spoke. " Where is your musket?" she asked. " Are you then so used to seeing soldiers with guns, my maid, that you wonder I haven't any ?" " Not always, but now. Why, my father and my brother John have gone away with their muskets, and so has everyone." "Mayhap they have gone shooting the game." " Oh, no ; for they put on their threecornered hats, like yours, and I did hear my brother say surely there'd be a battle to-morrow." The young soldier no longer assumed the look of wearied indifference. His manner, however, did not suggest to the child that he burned within. " My little maid," he said, "I have Bornething better than a flint-lock. I will show it to you." From the inner folds of his homespun coat he drew forth a small portfolio, and then, sitting on a shelf of the rock, opened the case, placed it upon his knee, and then sharpened a crayon. " Your little face, my maid, is set so charmingly by the bright leaves on the bank, back of you, that if you will let me I will sketch it, and you may have the portrait." The child's eyes sparkled, but she said, "You were tired and almost asleep as I came." A slight, quick smile, though tempered with sadness, flitted over the young man's face, and he said, "Yes, but you have awakened me. Now stand still as you can." With quick vigorous strokes- the young man plied his crayon, now and then glancing up at the child's face. Both were silent some moments. At length he said, "And so your brother does predict a battle tomorrow?"

11 Yes. He did say so, and did ask Sister Martha to make cartridges for him." "And now he has gone— there, there, my maid," for he saw ncr chin quiver, He will come back. Mayhap there'll be no battle." They were silent a few minutes longer ; then he said : " Which way did your father and brother go, my child ?" " By the turnpike to the White Plains." " Oh, ho 1 oh, yes, of course, to the White Plains. There," holding up the portrait, "there, I" have foreshortened the nose a little too much. When I have fixed that it will be done." Then with a few rapid strokes he finished the sketch and gave it to the child. " It's my face ! it's my face !" cried the child. "Now, what is your name, that I may write it beneath the portrait ?" She told him, and he wrote :

Ruth Phillips by Philip. " There," he said, "my first name is the same as your last one. That is nice, isn't it?" As she stood gazing at the portrait the young soldier quickly took a small map from his portfolio and traced with his finger a highway until it stopped at a point marked Wnite Plains. Then he studied it a moment, and was about to turn away when the clatter of horse's hoofs startled him. The rider, by tho sound, was pressing his steed to his best mettle. Almost abruptly the young soldier seized the child and led her to the seat on the rock. Then, with such fluency as caused her to raise her eyes in some surprise, he spoke of the picture, and was thus engaged, as he intended to be, when the horseman dashed by. The horse was checked as suddenly as though shot dead, and the young man thereupon lifted his tall figure that had been bending over tho child, turned slowly, and when he looked up the weary, careworn expression was again on his face. It was changed, however, to a look of surprise that was not counterfeited as his eyes fell on a young woman. Though the soldier stedfastly received the look that the girl gave him from eyes that were rounded with astonishment as they were luminous and searching, yet he did not fail to note the exquisite picture that she made. The high and jauntily -poised riding hat that the ourning leaves of a maple almost touched as with a fiery plume ; the thick coil of hair, the complexion that was brighter than that of a leaf that almost rested on the cheek ; the figure, seated as though horse and rider were moulded together ; the coal-black animal gently pawing the earth, all backed by the brilliancy of the forest— this picture gladdened his artistic eye. Yet his active mind was busy with queries as to her identity. But the little girl solved the question. She said : "Oh, Patty, see the picture of me the man did draw." The older sister put out her unoccupied hand and received the portrait, not yet taking her eyes from the soldier. At last she glanced at the portrait, then scrutinised it more closely, till it seemed to the young man that many minutes had passed. At length she turned to him and said. " You did this !" The soldier bowed, and the young woman made a mental note of the grace with which this common soldier made courtesy. " What for ?" she asked, though her tones were not so abrupt as the words. " The little maid pleased me." " It is almost perfect." " I am as well aware as you that it is not so." "Who are you?" He smiled slightly, for he could not help it, at the imperious manner of the girl, but he said, quietly, " a Continental soldier." " You were ill, mayhap, and fell behind." The soldier bowed. "Don't you know you are on dangerous ground ? You are within the British lines/ "I hope soon to be safe." The young woman gathered up her reins, saying as she did po : " Ruth, you should not stray so far from home. Come with me. " Then she seemed to hesitate, and at length said to the young soldier, who had not stirred : "How long time needed you to draw this ?" " But a few minutes." "They are precious, Dare you draw mine ?" " It would be a pleasure."' "Will you?" "Remain, then, as you are." Again drawing forth his portfolio, and fixing one long, searching glance on the girl, he began his work. As he went on she had both desire and opportunity to observe him. She saw that he was tall, sinewy, young, and, as he looked up with the inquiring glance of the artist, it was impressed upon her that he was handsome and strong beyond all men she had ever &een. She saw the quick, sometimes strong, sometimes delicate strokes of the crayon, and saw grace in both. He ventured not a word. At length the girl said: "Who is your commander?" He seemed not to hear, and she asked again. Without pausing in his work he said : " Col. Tyler, of the Seventh Connecticut." " You are from below ?" "I was." "That is what I mean. You were a portrait sketcher ?" " Yes, in New York, before the war." Suddenly she said : "Do you know you may be killed to-morrow ?" "Perhaps." "I meant that a great battle is expected." The young man made a most vigorous stroke but without looking up said quietly : " You are better informed than I. I shall reach my command to-night." "I have been doing my part, too," she said. " I myself rode to Danbury this morning bearing the commission to the commanding officer that the British troops were gathering at the White Plains, and that he and his command must march at once and concentrate at Bedford before daylight. I tell you," she added, " because by taking the short cut you might fall in the sooner with the army." Here the young man snapped a crayon, and, while sharpening it, said: "Thank you for the suggestion, it must be ten miles to Danbury ?" "Yes." " You must have pushed your horse?" "Indeed I did." When next he looked up the portrait was done. He gave it to her with a graceful bow, and the manner of indifference, but she saw that his face was as white as the paper itself. For some moments she studied the picture. Then she said : "It is a marvel. It must be my very truthful portrait. I thank you, sir," and she extended her hand. As he took it, she added : " I wish I had something that I might give you in return for this. I fear now that I was far too presumptuous to ask you to do this." "You honoured me, and have repaid me." "We may meet again, sir, when lean "better repay you." He said: "We may; who knows?" Then as his eyes fell on the ground he espied a number of beechnnts that had fallen from the tree overhead, He picked up two of them.

"Yes."

"See," he said, these nuts are exactly alike. You said we might meet again. 1 will give you this one and keep the other. If we meet again we will put them side "by side as they are now. You can repay me by doing this. It is only a whim of mine." She looked at him curiously for a moment and then said. "Why, that is a playful thing to do ; but if you wish it I will," and sho thrust the beachnut under her glove. When she looked, back after she had gone down the road a piece, he still stood there with head uncovered as when she quitted him. Had she looked later Bhe would have j seen the young soldier rushing with mighty strides in the direction opposite to what he had all day been talking, and if she had read his thoughts she "would have known that he was thanking God he had met her. One evening in midwinter, more than a year later, there were gathered about the open fireplace in the living room of the Phillips mansion, the young woman, Martha, her little sister Ruth and an elderly woman, who was plainly the mother. A tap at the door did not fail to cause all three to start a little. Troublous times again had come on this part of the country. Rumours of an advance prevailed. Father and brother had again set out with the contingent troops to repel a threatened invasion. However, Mistress Martha did not hesitate to open the door. So far, at least their home had been respected by both armies. There stood on the steps a tall man, 'whose great coat was slightly sprinkled with the snow that was beginning to fall. He did not offer to enter until bidden ; but, he said with gieat courtesy that he was a belated traveller, compelled to ask shelter and food, if so be the inmates felt safe in extending such hospitalities." "Bid the gentleman in, Martha," said the mother, and when he had with exquisite grace, bowed and thanked her, he asserted that nothing but the direst necessity would have compelled him to intrude himself. " These are, indeed, sad times, sir," said the mother. "Twice before my husband and son have been called away to defond the country. I know not where they may be to-night, but the good Lord will protect them and us." "Is there, then, disturbance in these parts ?" asked the stranger. "Have you not heard and seen, sir, and you a traveller." "I had supposed the operations were to the west, else I might not have ventured on my journey." The old lady glanced quickly at him for a moment, as though wishing to scan so strange a person as this, who did not know what was going on about him, but neither by hint or word or action did she betray any surprise. The stranger was young and neatly dressed in a heavy, close-fitting surtout that reached to his top boots. His hair, which fell in curly locks almost to his shoulder, and it was of a yellow tinge, almost approaching whiteness. "The old lady at cnce perceived that whoever her guest was he was a gentleman, and as he addressed himself entirely to her she soon found herself interested in him. Though she frequently referred to the topic that was uppermost in her mind, he seemed to care little about the war. The old lady decided that he must be a merchant from below, who had ventured thus far toward the British outposts— which then included the Phillips homestead — for purposes of business. Meanwhfle Martha had herself prepared a repast, of which she at length invited the stranger to partake. Then for the first time he took note of the girl. " We have simple fare now," she said. " The simplest fare has always been my choice and habit," he said, and then added : " This must be a lonely life for you, though perhaps an exciting one." " Not lonely when father and brother are here and when there is no war. " "Your father and brother are in the field ?" "Yes, sir." " It 18 a pitiable lot for you indeed !" "No, sir ! no, indeed ! We are glad to have a father and brother to fight for our country." The stranger looked at her for a moment with such admiration as could give no offence. Then he said: "That is indeed true patriotism." She was silent for so long a time that he stopped for a moment as he ate and said : " Is there, then to be fighting near by?" "Father did say to us as he went away : ' There will be no general battle, but we are going with the contingent and regulars to cut off the approach of the British.' They do expect by night of to-morrow to have thrown up such forts or defences as will head off the British, and as it is but twelve miles away where they do so at the Carmel Cross Roads, maybe father and brother will be home on Saturday." Here the stranger soemed much occupied with his meal, nor did he pause in the eating of it until, seemingly conscious that some one was gazing fixedly at him, he looked up and encountered the steady eye of little Ruth. He smiled pleasantly and said : "How, then, little maid, do you, too, miss your father ?" "You do make me think of my pictureman," the child said. " Have you a picture-man ?" " The man who drew my picture. Shall I show it to you?" "Yes. indeed." The child brought not only her own, but tho crayon of her sister. " They are well done ; well done, little maid, but you have grown older since this was made." " Yes, more than a year." "A year, indeed," said he, half meditatively. " My sister Patty looks every day at hers, and sometimes Ido hear her say, • I wonder if I shall ever see him again.' " " Hush, Ruth, the gentleman cares for nothing of that sort," said Martha. " But I am interested." As they sat by the fire later, chatting, and while Martha was meditating upon which of the two spare rooms to put the stranger into for the night, there was heard without a sound that rose above the moaning of the wind. "What is that?" asked Martha. The stranger hastened to the window, and even as he did so the sound grew louder and more significant. It was the yell of madened men, and now, as the curtains were tossed aside, they saw a yellow light through and beyond the thick-falling snow-flakes. The light grew brighter and brighter. "It is the army," said Martha. *• Which one?" asked the mother. " The British, I think. Look, they "are burning neighbour Keeler's house. They will come here. They have threatened before. They will burn the house and they may kill us. See there, over the hill ; they are coming. There, they have set fire to the hay-rick. Mother be calm. They shall not hurt you. I will not let them, " and the girl turned with flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, and seemed to be going to seek for a weapon. But she was staied. The stranger, whom they had forgotten, had gently restrained her. She looked at him inquiringly, and he said : " They will do you no harm." The madmen rushed on down the hill, and there were two big fellows in the front. They wore the uniform of the British army. They were, indeed, on a tour of devastation

I and ruin. Just as they reached the stone fence that enclosed the yard before the house, and were about to surmount it, the stranger went out, and stood with the! snow whitehing his bare head. He lifted his arm, and the two big men stopped, as did those behind them, and after the stranger had said a word or two to them they turned and went their way. When he returned to the house his manner was as calm as it had been an hour before. To their thanks he simply replied : " You deserved protection. You have earned it." Then he bade, them farewell, though [ they expressed much astonishment thereat, and pleaded with him to stay. I must j on my journey," he said. " Before Igo how- i ever, I would ask if Mistress Martha can ! produce the counterpart of this !" and, thrusting his hand into his bosom, he drew forth a beechnut. " I knew it. I did know it," said the little Ruth ; but Martha made no response, only turned for a moment so that her face and bosom were turned from him, and when she again faced him she too held in her hand a beechnut. "I am very glad," he said. "When we meet again you may not know me except by this same token." He said this somewhat sadly, and before another word was said, departed. A mo- j ment later he mounted a horse that had been held in waiting for him in the highway, and galloped forth into the snow and j darkness. | When the buds were bursting into blossom some five months later, and when Martha was reaching her dimpled arms up among the lilac flowers one day, she turned suddenly, and there behind her stood a tall young man, in the uniform of an American officer. His hair was black, his face pale and unshaven, and he wayS plainly labouring with excitement or trouble. He said nothing until she had first spoken. "You have ceme again," she said, with tone half- tremulous, half -cold. " This time a suppliant. I see yeu know me now ; I am my n.tuval self but for these clothes. Protect me, mistress, I beseech you !" " Protect you !" "Yes, for unless you do in an hour I shall be captured. I can escape no further." "Why should I? You saved us that night; you— you— no. I will not. You betrayed my girlish, foolish confidence twice, and may thereby have cost us our country's causa. From my words the day you drew my picture you learned enough to enable your army to defeat us at White Plains. From my foolish speech the night you rescued us you gathered enough to foil the plans of our people, and caused thereby my brother to be brought home dead. I trusted you then for what you assumed to bo. They have told me whom I did then harbour," "Then you know my name ?" "Yes." " Well, tell me." She leaned forward, and hor face was white as her neck as she whispered. " Yes," he said, "I am he." " Then you must go your way." " You forget. I only did my duty, and I never asked you for the words you spoke." i " And I must do my duty now." "My pursuers will be after me in a moment." "Do not ask me to do this. I cannot." He turned and saw the cavalry coming over the hill, and then he turned again and looked at her with unspeakable sadness. She saw the horsemen too, and kuew that he had given up hope. He tore open his vest and drew some papers therefrom that ihe rapidly destroyed. Reserving one, he held it to her and said in the saddest tones I she had ever heard : " To-morrow will you read this?" She would neither take it nor speak, but the paper was taken from his hand by little Ruth, who had come there unobssrved. " I will, Mr Picture Man." "Thank you, and God bless you, my child ! You keep it, and give it to your sister by noon of to-morrow." The cavalry had now spied him, and were putting the horses to their best. Ho held his hand out to Martha. In it was the beechnut. Without taking her eyes from his, she thrust her hand into her bosom, and when she withdrew it there was within it the other beechnut. When the soldiers a moment later seized him he bade Martha farewell and kissed little Ruth. Then he took Martha's limp hand and placed therein the beechnut. Then they led him away. At evening two soldiers delivered to Martha a crayon likeness of herself that they said their commander had instructed them to bring. They said it.had been taken from the man who was captured there that morning. It had been drawn from memory, according to the note at the bottom. " Where is he now ?" sho asked. The soldiers seemed confused. At last one pointed to the ground, and then they both rode rapidly away. | " Dead," she said. "I did not think it meant that. I let them kill him," and an hour later they found her there under the lilac trees. When, a year later, just after they returned from the old burying-ground where they had laid Martha's body, they found among her other treasures the two beechnuts wrapped together. The} put them away in the old chest.