A BRAVE LITTLE REBEL.
Reading edition
BY MARY DENSEL.
If our heroine, Cynthia Smith, walked the earth to-day, she would be a great-great-grandmother. But at the time of this story, 1780, she was only a small girl, who lived on a plantation near the Santee River, in South Carolina. She was twelve years old, four feet and two inches high, and, for so young and so small a person, she was as stanch a rebel as you could have found in all America; for the War of Independence had been raging in the United States ever since Cynthia could remember.
When she was only five years old, her little heart had beaten hard at the story of the famous "Boston Tea Party," at which a whole ship-load of tea had been emptied into the harbor because stupid George III. insisted on "a threepenny tax."
"And New York and Philadelphia would 'a done the same, but for the ships turning tail, and going where they came from. They've burned the stuff in Annapolis, and it's spoiling in the Charleston cellars, bless the Lord!" said Mr. Smith, striking his heavy hand on his knee.
"Hurray!" shouted John and Jack and William and Ebenezer, Cynthia's brothers. "Hurray!" echoed Cynthia, as if she understood all about it.
The following year, when England shut up Boston Harbor with her "Stamp Act," never a bit of rice did Cynthia get to eat, for her father sent his whole harvest North, as did many another Southerner.
After that, John went to Massachusetts to visit Uncle Hezekiah, and the next June they heard that he had been shot dead at the battle of Bunker Hill.
Cynthia wept hot tears on her coarse homespun apron; but she dried them in a sort of strange delight when Jack, all on fire to take John's place, insisted on joining the Virginia Riflemen, and following a certain George Washington to the war.
"It's 'Liberty or Death' we have marked on our shirts, and it's 'Liberty or Death' we have burned into our hearts," Jack wrote home; at which his mother wrung her hands, and his father smiled grimly.
"Just wait, you two other boys," said the latter; "we'll have it hot and heavy at our own doors before we're through."
That was because Will and Ebenezer wished to follow in Jack's footsteps. Cynthia longed to be a boy, that she might indulge in a private skirmish with the "Britishers" on her own account.
But she had little time for even patriotic dreamings and yearnings. There was a deal of work to be done in those days.
Cynthia helped to weave cloth for the family gowns and trousers, and to spin and knit yarn for the paternal and fraternal stockings. This kept her very busy until 1776, when two great events took place.
One was the signing of the Declaration of Independence; the other was the birth of a red and white calf in Mr. Smith's barn. Which was of the most importance to Cynthia it is hard to say.
To be sure, she tingled from head to foot at her father's ringing tones, as he read from a sheet of paper some one had given him, "All men are born free and equal"; but she also went wild with joy when her father said, "You may keep that bossy for your own, if you'll agree to raise her, Cynthy."
Cynthia took the calf into her inmost heart, and she named her "Free-'n'-equal." That was the way the words sounded to her.
If ever an animal deserved such a name, this was the beastie. She scorned all authority, kicked up her hind-legs, and went careering round the plantation at her own sweet will, only coming to the barn when Cynthia's call was heard.
Free-'n'-equal was Cynthia's only playmate, for no children lived within six miles. As the calf grew into a cow, the more intimate and loving were the two. To Free-'n'-equal did Cynthia confide all her secrets, and chiefly did she inform her of her sentiments in regard to the war. She even consulted her as to the number of stitches to be put on a pair of wristlets for Jack, who in this winter of 1777-78 had gone with General Washington to Pennsylvania. Alas! Jack never wore those wristlets. He was one of the many who lay down to die of cold and hunger in that awful Valley Forge. Cynthia believed that Free-'n'-equal understood all the sorrow of her heart when she told her the pitiful news.
Quite as much did she share her joy when Cynthia came flying to the barn with the joyful tidings that British Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga.
Again the joy vanished, and Cynthia sobbed her woe into Free-'n'-equal's sympathizing ear when Sir Henry Clinton captured Charleston, only twenty miles away.
But she sobbed even more a few months later.
"For General Gates has come down to South Carolina, Free-'n'-equal, and father and Will and Ebenezer have gone to fight in his army."
Free-'n'-equal shook her head solemnly at that, and her long low "Moo-o" said, plainly enough, "What's to become of the rest of us, my poor little mistress?"
Cynthia brushed away her tears in a twinkling.
"We'll take care of ourselves, that's what we'll do. Mother and I'll hoe the rice. And, Free-'n'-equal, you've got to toe the mark, and give more milk than ever to keep us strong and well."
"Trust me for that," said Free-'n'-equal's eyes.
And she kept her promise. Rich yellow milk did she give, pailful after pailful. Cynthia and her mother worked like men, and fed on the cream.
Those were dangerous days all along the Santee River, for Lord Cornwallis's troops were roaming over the land, and laying waste the country. But Cynthia was not afraid—no, not even when Lord Cornwallis came within three miles of the plantation. She said her prayers every day, and believed firmly in the guardian angels, and a certain rusty gun behind the kitchen door.
"Just let those soldiers touch anything of ours, and see what they'll get!" said she, with ponderous dignity.
Free-'n'-equal was perfectly sure Cynthia could manage the whole British army, if need were, and munched her cud in blissful serenity.
Oh no, Cynthia had no fear, even when a red-coat did sometimes rise above the horizon like a morning cloud. She regarded him no more than she would a scarlet-breasted bird which sung above her head when she went into the forest hard by to gather sticks.
So no wonder that she was taken mightily aback when, one afternoon as she came home with her bundle of sticks, her mother met her with wide-open eyes and a pale face.
"Cynthy, they've been here and carried off Free-n'-equal."
"'They!'" gasped Cynthia. "Who?"
"The British soldiers. They tied a rope round her horns. She kicked well, but they jerked her along. Cynthy, Cynthy, what shall we do?"
Cynthia uttered a sound between a groan and a war-whoop, and darted out of the door. Along the dusty road she ran, on and on. Her yellow sun-bonnet fell back on her shoulders, and her brown curls were covered with dust. One mile, two miles, three miles—on and on. At last she reached a small house, which was Lord Cornwallis's head-quarters. Never a moment did Cynthia pause. The sentinels challenged her in vain. She marched majestically past them. Into the house—into the parlor—walked she.
There sat Lord Cornwallis and some six of his officers, eating and drinking at a big table.
Cynthia stopped at the threshold and dropped a courtesy.
Lord Cornwallis glanced up and saw her.
Miss Cynthia dropped another courtesy, opened her lips, and spake.
"I am Cynthia Smith," said she, gravely, "and your men have taken my cow, Free-'n'-equal Smith, and I've come to fetch her home, if you please."
"Your cow?" questioned Lord Cornwallis, pausing, with a wine-glass in his hand.
"They carried her off by a rope," said Cynthia.
"Where do you live?" asked the British General.
"Three miles away, along with my mother."
"Have you no father?"
"One, and four brothers."
"Where is your father?"
"In General Gates's army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis."
"Oh, he's a rebel, is he?"
"Yes, sir," said Miss Cynthia, proudly erect.
"And where are your brothers?"
Cynthia paused. "John he went to heaven along with General Warren, from the top of Bunker Hill," said she, with a trembling lip.
One of the younger officers smiled, but he stopped in a hurry as Lord Cornwallis's eyes flashed at him.
"And Jack went to heaven," proceeded Cynthia, softly, "out of Valley Forge, where he was helping General Washington."
"Where are the other two?"
"In the army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis." Cynthia's head was erect again.
"Rank rebels."
"Yes, they are."
"Hum! And you're a bit of a rebel too, I'm thinking, if the truth were told."
Miss Cynthia nodded with emphasis.
"And yet you come here for your cow," said Lord Cornwallis. "I'll be bound she's rebel beef herself."
Cynthia meditated. "I think she would be if she had two less legs, and not quite so much horn. That is, she'd be rebel, but maybe they wouldn't call her beef then."
Lord Cornwallis threw back his head and laughed a good-natured, hearty laugh that made the room ring. All his officers laughed too, including the miserable red-coat who had smiled over John's fate.
Miss Cynthia wondered what the fun might be; but in no wise abashed, she stood firm on her two little feet, and waited until, the merriment over, they might see fit to return to the cow in hand, which was certainly worth any two in the camp.
At last her face began to flush a little. What if these fine gentlemen were making game of her, after all.
Lord Cornwallis saw the red blood mount in her cheeks, and just because he was a real gentleman, he became sober instantly. "Come here, my little maid," said he. "I myself will see to it that your cow—"
"Free-'n'-equal," suggested Cynthia.
"That Free-'n'-equal," repeated Lord Cornwallis, courteously, "is safe in your barn to-morrow morning. And perhaps," he added, unfastening a pair of silver knee-buckles which he wore, "you will accept these as a gift from one who certainly wishes no harm to these rebels. And that his Majesty himself knows."
Then he rose and held his wine-glass above his head; so did every officer in the room.
"Here's to the health of as fair a little rebel as we shall meet, and God bless her!" said he.
She dropped her final courtesy, clasped the shining buckles, and out of the room she vanished, sure in her mind that Free-'n'-equal was all her own once more.
As for those buckles, children dear, they are this very day in the hands of one of Cynthia's descendants. For there was a real cow and a real Miss Cynthia, as well as a real Lord Cornwallis.