Book: Richard Carvel, Volume 8

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"Why," exclaimed Dolly, "it is Ivie Rawlinson!"

Ivie it was, sure enough. And presently, when we drew a little closer,
he gave one big shout and whipped off the hat from his head; and off,
too, came the caps from the white heads of Scipio and Chess and Johnson
behind him. Our oars were tossed, Ivie caught our bows, and reached his
hand to Dorothy. It was fitting that she should be the first to land at
Carvel Hall.

"'Twas yere bonny face I seed first, Miss Dolly," he cried, the tears
coursing down the scars of his cheeks. "An' syne I kennt weel the young
master was here. Noo God be praised for this blythe day, that Mr.
Richard's cam to his ain at last!"

But Scipio and Chess could only blubber as they helped him to lift me
out, Dolly begging them to be careful. As they carried me up the
familiar path to the pillared porch, the first I asked Ivie was of Patty,
and next why he had left Gordon's. She was safe and well, despite the
Tories, and herself had sent him to take charge of Carvel Hall as soon as
ever Judge Bordley had brought her the news of its restoration to me. He
had supplied her with another overseer. Thanks to the good judge and to
Colonel Lloyd, who had looked to my interests since Grafton was fled,
Ivie had found the old place in good order, all the negroes quiet, and
impatient with joy against my arrival.

It is time, my children, to bring this story to a close. I would I might
write of those delicious spring days I spent with Dorothy at Carvel Hall,
waited on by the old servants of my grandfather. At our whim my chair
would be moved from one to another of the childhood haunts; on cool days
we sat in the sun by the dial, where the flowers mingled their odours
with the salt breezes off the Chesapeake; or anon, when it was warmer, in
the summer-house my mother loved, or under the shade of the great trees
on the lawn, looking out over the river. And once my lady went off very
mysteriously, her eyes brimful of mischief, to come back with the first
strawberries of the year staining her apron.

We were married on the fifteenth of June, already an anniversary for us
both, in the long drawing-room. General Clapsaddle was there from the
army to take Dorothy in his arms, even as he had embraced another bride
on the same spot in years gone by. She wore the wedding gown that was
her mother's, but when the hour was come to dress her Aunt Lucy and Aunt
Hester failed in their task, and it was Patty who performed the most of
that office, and hung the necklace of pearls about her neck.

Dear Patty! She hath often been with us since. You have heard your
mothers and fathers speak of Aunt Patty, my dears, and they will tell
you how she spoiled them when they went a-visiting to Gordon's Pride.

Ere I had regained my health, the war for Independence was won. I pray
God that time may soften the bitterness it caused, and heal the breach in
that noble race whose motto is Freedom. That the Stars and Stripes and
the Union Jack may one day float together to cleanse this world of
tyranny!




AFTERWORD

The author makes most humble apologies to any who have, or think they
have, an ancestor in this book. He has drawn the foregoing with a very
free hand, and in the Maryland scenes has made use of names rather than
of actual personages. His purpose, however poorly accomplished, was to
give some semblance of reality to this part of the story. Hence he has
introduced those names in the setting, choosing them entirely at random
from the many prominent families of the colony.

No one may read the annals of these men, who were at once brave and
courtly, and of these women, who were ladies by nature as well as by
birth, and not love them. The fascination of that free and hospitable
life has been so strong on the writer of this novel that he closes it
with a genuine regret and the hope that its perusal may lead others to
the pleasure he has derived from the history of Maryland.

As few liberties as possible have been taken with the lives of Charles
James Fox and of John Paul Jones. The latter hero actually made a voyage
in the brigantine 'John' about the time he picked up Richard Carvel from
the Black Moll, after the episode with Mungo Maxwell at Tobago. The
Scotch scene, of course, is purely imaginary. Accuracy has been aimed at
in the account of the fight between the 'Bonhomme Richard' and the
'Serapis', while a little different arrangement might have been better
for the medium of the narrative. To be sure, it was Mr. Mease, the
purser, instead of Richard Carvel, who so bravely fought the quarter-deck
guns; and in reality Midshipman Mayrant, Commodore Jones's aide, was
wounded by a pike in the thigh after the surrender. No injustice is done
to the second and third lieutenants, who were absent from the ship during
the action.

The author must acknowledge that the only good anecdote in the book and
the only verse worth printing are stolen. The story on page concerning
Mr. Garrick and the Archbishop of York may be found in Fitzgerald's life
of the actor, much better told. The verse (in Chapter X) is by an
unknown author in the Annapolis Gazette, and is republished in Mr. Elihu
Riley's excellent "History of Annapolis."

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