Читать книгу The Mac's of '37 A Story of The Canadian Rebellion - John Price-Brown - Страница 10
ОглавлениеMAD MADGE'S SONGS.
MacKenzie's brow was clouded when he parted with his confreres that afternoon. He had toiled hard. Night and day had he labored. He had devoted his efforts and exhausted his means in a cause that, with all the faith of his Scottish nature, he believed to be in every sense just; yet he knew in his soul that the support he received from these men was only half-hearted. Once let his own back weaken, the cause would be gone. He was one of those men for whom two and two could only make four. From a given hundred, subtract a hundred, and nothing could be left. Grant a people representatives, but deny them the right of decision upon their deliberations—the gift could only be a mockery and a farce—high treason of the crown against the subject. There could be no half-way course. The little leaven could not leaven the lump. Justice must be full and immediate. There could be no here a little and there a little; no gradual concession of rights and privileges; no slow development of freedom; but justice must come at once. A Briton's rights were God-given and divine; and if not granted when persistently and loyally asked for, they must be taken by force, no matter what the cost. If an unjust tax upon tea was sufficient to secure one young nation's freedom, the seizure of the entire taxes of another one would amply warrant the dawn of a new era—the floating of the flag of liberty. So at least MacKenzie reasoned.
Being an enthusiast himself, he could not understand why every other man should not be an enthusiast likewise. To him the wrongs were so plain, the injustices so palpable, that he could not believe that his opinions were not fully endorsed by the people. His speeches had been scattered widely among them, and hearing of approval in both town and country, he felt certain that support to the cause was assured, notwithstanding the seeming lukewarmness of his immediate councillors. If he could only ride out among them, inspiring them by his presence and energy and words, how quickly the deed could be done! How enthusiastically would the people rally round his standard!
"But this terrible opposition among the men who should be my bodyguard!" he muttered to himself, gloomily. "Morrison's stubbornness, Rolph's timidity, Anderson's caution, are enough to wreck our efforts. But by heaven they shall not! God knows that our cause is a just one. We may have to wait; but we are in for a fight to the finish; and in the end we shall win."
His house stood a little back from the street, and as he walked up the pathway, the savory odor of broiled fowl greeted his nostrils. This was unusual, for tea with him was a light meal, following a heavier noon dinner.
His wife met him at the door. While not so enthusiastic as her husband, and always apprehensive of the possibility of renewed attacks upon his property or life, she was loyally faithful to his views of right and wrong; and, from a sense of duty, did her best to aid and abet his efforts. To-day her face was brighter than usual. There was an appreciative warmth in her look.
"What is it, wife?" he asked.
"Are you particularly hungry?" was her answer.
"I should think I might be, after talking steadily for three hours."
"All the good it'll do you, I fear, won't be much. But that's no matter, there are people in this town who worship the very ground you stand on."
"When the right time comes, I hope they'll show it."
"That's what they are doing—showing it now."
MacKenzie's look was a question.
"You remember the Kenny's, who had smallpox two years ago, when you were Mayor?"
"Yes."
"The mother was here this afternoon, and she says that she and her son owe their lives to you."
"Rather a strong statement."
"She declares that it is true; and as a little token of gratitude she brought over some choice chickens, that she has raised specially for you. And yet, dear heart, you never told me a word about it."
"Why should I? I took good care not to carry the infection; and it would have been foolish to make you timid."
"And that coat of yours that disappeared was kept in the bushes back of the house, just to visit them in?"
"Yes, and after two got well and the other two died, the coat was put in their stove and burned."
"That wasn't all," said Mrs. MacKenzie, shaking her head. "Their cases were so bad that people wouldn't go near the house. So you engaged a woman to act as nurse, and set the example, by going twice a day yourself to see that your orders were carried out. Why did you run such a risk?"
"What was I Mayor for?"
"Not to do the people's work."
"No, but a Mayor of a city is father to the folk in it. It's his duty to see that the sick are cared for. The well can take care of themselves."
"It was the Doctors' duty, not yours."
"Yes and no. Theirs to prescribe—mine to see that their directions were carried out. If I hadn't, many more people would have died."
"And suppose you had died yourself?"
"It might have been as well," he muttered, reflectively; "the present troublous times would have been postponed—only postponed, mark you, until some other dare-devil soul arose to fill my shoes—the coming rebellion would not even be thought of; and the oligarchy that curses our land with its tyranny might go on indefinitely preying upon the vitals of our people—it's a moot question which would have been best."
"And what will be the result as it is?"
"War to the knife, if need be—the people against the tyrants. But we must keep our own counsel until we're ready."
"Rest assured I shall not mention it. But the thought is a terrible one. Let us forget it for to-day, at least. Come to supper. Those broiled chickens must be done enough."
And very delicious they were to the hungry man and his patient wife.
Their children were picnicking that afternoon, and their grandmother had gone with them.
"Someone else coming? Who can it be?" exclaimed MacKenzie, as they finished the meal.
Through the little hall and open door he could see the tall figure of a woman standing on the steps and fumbling with the door-handle.
"She's another of your proteges," returned his wife; "one of the crazy women you found in the court-house dungeon when you became Mayor."
"What brings her here? We arranged a place for her, and it was said she was comfortably off again," said MacKenzie.
"So you did; but she thinks she's got a mission to look after your interest; this is the second time she has been here to-day. She claims to have a very important secret to tell you."
"Poor soul! I used to think she was more imbecile than crazy, and yet what a memory she had. Why not give her some of Mrs. Kenny's chicken while I make a note or two? Possibly she may have something really important to communicate. Mad people are not always fools."
"She certainly has been very sly in her visits—afraid of being either seen or heard; and yet very insistent upon seeing you."
"I'll go into the library, then, and in a few minutes you might show her in."
"Well, Madge, what can I do for you?"
Madge looked round to see that no one followed her, and then cautiously closed the door.
"I want to help you," she answered, mysteriously, "but he's spying on me, and I've got to be careful."
"Who is he, Madge?"
"The man who put me in gaol because I was crazy. He'd put me in again if he knew I told you."
"You mean Tom Cronch, your uncle. Has he a grudge against me?"
She approached MacKenzie's desk, put her hands upon it, and in a sepulchral tone announced: "He's a spy, and has been watching you for weeks. This afternoon he went to hide in the house where you met your men; and there he heard you tell your secrets."
"Who told you all this, Madge?"
"No one, I just heard them. They thought I was too daft to pay any attention. Ah, ah, what fools people are!"
"You are a wise woman, Madge, and I am glad you told me, but you need not mention this to anyone else."
"No fear of that. You saved my life. I should have died in that vile hole if you hadn't taken me out—and Tom Cronch knows it. He got my money, the rascal—and he'd be glad if I was dead."
"So he's taking his revenge by spying on me, is he?"
"And then he tells the news to your enemies."
"Have I got any enemies, Madge?"
"Yes, lots of them. Some say you are a fool—we are all fools—every one of us. Still you were good to me when other folks were bad—and they shan't touch you if Madge can help it:
But the villain that spies
And tells nothing but lies
And robs you whenever he can,
Is as wicked a hound
As ever was found
Since the earth was cursed by a man.
"And beware, Mr. MacKenzie, beware—for my uncle's a villain if ever there was one."
Then she made a sweeping curtsy, glanced again suspiciously round the room and, cautiously opening the door, ran down the path to the street.
Instead of returning by the way she came, Madge slipped along a narrow lane; then crossed a couple of blocks and, in a roundabout way, finally reached her home.
"Hello, Madge, what pranks are you up to now?" queried a sharp-featured, grizzle-headed man, as she entered the gate from the opposite direction to that of MacKenzie's house.
"Nary a prank, except to watch the sojers," she answered with a smirk. "Be'n't they fine?"
Cronch looked at her keenly, but Madge never flinched.
"Yes, they're fine enough," he drawled; "but looking at soldiers is not the thing for daft folks like you. Home's the best place."
"By St. Andrew, when they fight for the King and keep down the rebels, a daft body might look at 'em," she returned, in seeming indignation.
"Get inside, girl, the wife says your work is waiting for you."
'Twas a soldier lad
That drove her mad
When Maggie was a beauty;
But now she's well
She still will tell
The lads to do their duty,
sang out the woman in piping tones, with a toss of her head, as she entered the kitchen.
"Madge hasn't improved much!" exclaimed the loyalist friend who had joined Cronch to ascertain the latest news.
"She's harmless though," was his answer. "She used to be both cunning and crazy—now she's got the jerks, but that won't matter so long as she does what she's told."
"Well, what about the business? Did you manage it all right, and hear things?"
"Yes, and I saw every one of em. They intend to keep together, but they are not unanimous. MacKenzie tries to lead 'em all by the nose, but he can't."
"Why not swoop down on the whole batch and have done with it?"
"It'll be better to let 'em fry in their own fat. They arranged to meet regularly once a week in the same place, to mature their plans. Let 'em do it, I say, till they think they have 'em perfect; I'll watch 'em with a cat's eye. Then we'll do the eagle business; and if we calkilate right, the Governor can nab every man of 'em, put 'em in the stocks, and give us the glory."
Madge came out again to gather an armful of wood, still crooning:
'Twas a soldier lad
That drove her mad
When Maggie was a ninnie.
"Shut up, Madge!" exclaimed Cronch, testily. "You needn't be a greater fool than you have to be."
"So I'm a fool too," she replied, with gaping eyes. "One's bad enough without t'other:
A fool's an imp without any brains,
A madman's got too many;
Don't lose your share, or you will be
As big a fool, as any."
"Stop, I say!"
"I'm stoppin', but I've got to take in another armful yet." And she hastened in and out again.
"Will you report to the Colonel at once?" the man asked.
"No, it would be better to wait further developments."
"As long as you can keep your ear at the knot-hole."
"That's where the trick comes in. I had to lie still and dare not move. It will be easier next time, though, for the meeting will be after dark. Luckily I know the place well and going in by the back stair there'll be less danger."
The soldier's the man for me,
His red coat and goatee;
With powder and shot
He'll give it 'em hot
And send the rebels to——
"Madge!" shouted Cronch again, savagely.
But Madge had secured her last armful, and as she entered the kitchen, she closed the door behind her and peeped through the crack.
