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Title: The Little Red Foot

Author: Robert W. Chambers

Release date: September 7, 2011 [eBook #37333]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE RED FOOT ***




Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









                        THE LITTLE RED FOOT

                       BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

AUTHOR OF "THE SLAYER OF SOULS," "THE COMMON LAW," "IN SECRET,"
"LORRAINE," ETC.


    NEW YORK
    GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

    COPYRIGHT, 1921,
    BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

    COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921. BY THE INTERNATIONAL
    MAGAZINE COMPANY

    PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


            TO
          MY SON
    ROBERT H. CHAMBERS




CONTENTS


        I SIR WILLIAM PASSES           11

       II TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE       13

      III THE POT BOILS                23

       IV TWO COUNTRY MICE             32

        V A SUPPER                     40

       VI RUSTIC GALLANTRY             51

      VII BEFORE THE STORM             60

     VIII SHEEP AND GOATS              68

       IX STOLE AWAY                   81

        X A NIGHT MARCH                86

       XI SUMMER HOUSE POINT           94

      XII THE SHAPE IN WHITE          102

     XIII THE DROWNED LANDS           113

      XIV THE LITTLE RED FOOT         124

       XV WEST RIVER                  132

      XVI A TROUBLED MIND             141

     XVII DEEPER TROUBLE              151

    XVIII FIRELIGHT                   169

      XIX OUT OF THE NORTH            177

       XX IN SHADOW-LAND              189

      XXI THE DEMON                   197

     XXII HAG-RIDDEN                  207

     XXIII WINTER AND SPRING          220

      XXIV GREEN-COATS                235

       XXV BURKE'S TAVERN             253

      XXVI ORDERS                     267

     XXVII FIRE-FLIES                 283

    XXVIII OYANEH!                    292

      XXIX THE WOOD OF BRAKABEEN      309

       XXX A LONG GOOD-BYE            322

      XXXI "IN THE VALLEY"            333

           AFTERMATH                  350




THE LITTLE RED FOOT




CHAPTER I

SIR WILLIAM PASSES


The day Sir William died there died the greatest American of his day.
Because, on that mid-summer evening, His Excellency was still only a
Virginia gentleman not yet famous, and best known because of courage and
sagacity displayed in that bloody business of Braddock.

Indeed, all Americans then living, and who since have become famous,
were little celebrated, excepting locally, on the day Sir William
Johnson died. Few were known outside a single province; scarcely one
among them had been heard of abroad. But Sir William was a world figure;
a great constructive genius; the greatest land-owner in North America; a
wise magistrate, a victorious soldier, a builder of cities amid a
wilderness; a redeemer of men.

He was a Baronet of the British Realm; His Majesty's Superintendent of
Indian Affairs for all North America. He was the only living white man
implicitly trusted by the savages of this continent, because he never
broke his word to them. He was, perhaps, the only representative of
royal authority in the Western Hemisphere utterly believed in by the
dishonest, tyrannical, and stupid pack of Royal Governors, Magistrates
and lesser vermin that afflicted the colonies with the British plague.

He was kind and great. All loved him. All mourned him. For he was a very
perfect gentleman who practiced truth and honour and mercy; an
unassuming and respectable man who loved laughter and gaiety and plain
people.

He saw the conflict coming which must drench the land in blood and dry
with fire the blackened cinders.

Torn betwixt loyalty to his King whom he had so tirelessly served, and
loyalty to his country which he so passionately loved, it has been said
that, rather than choose between King and Colony, he died by his own
hand.

But those who knew him best know otherwise. Sir William died of a broken
heart, in his great Hall at Johnstown, all alone.

       *       *       *       *       *

His son, Sir John, killed a fine horse riding from Fort Johnson to the
Hall. And arrived too late and all of a lather in the starlight.

And I have never ceased marvelling how such a man could have been the
son of the great Sir William.

At the Hall the numerous household was all in a turmoil; and, besides
Sir William's immediate family, there were a thousand guests--a thousand
Iroquois Indians encamped around the Hall, with whom Sir William had
been holding fire-council.

For he had determined to restrain his Mohawks, and to maintain
tranquillity among all the fierce warriors of the Six Nations, and so
pledge the entire Iroquois Confederacy to an absolute neutrality in the
imminence of this war betwixt King and Colony, which now seemed to be
coming so rapidly upon us that already its furnace breath was heating
restless savages to a fever.

All that hot June day, though physically ill and mentally unhappy,--and
under a vertical sun and with head uncovered,--Sir William had spoken to
the Iroquois with belts.

The day's labour of that accursed council-fire ended at sunset; sachem
and chief departed--tall spectres in the flaming west; there was a clash
of steel at the guard-house as the guard presented arms; Mr. Duncan
saluted the Confederacy with lifted claymore.

Then an old man, bareheaded, alone, turned away from the covered
council-fire; and an officer, seeing how feebly he moved, flung an arm
about his shoulders.

So Sir William came slowly to his great Hall, and slowly entered. And
laid him down in his library on a sofa.

And slowly died there while the sun was going down.

Then the first star came out where, in the ashes of the June sunset, a
pale rose tint still lingered.

But Sir William lay dead in his great Hall, all alone.




CHAPTER II

TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE


Sir John had arrived and I caught sight of his heavy, expressionless
face, which seemed more colourless than ever in the candle light.

Consternation reigned in the Hall,--a vast tumult of whispering and
guarded gabble among servants, checked by sobs,--and I saw officers come
and go, and the tall forms of Mohawks still as pines on a summer night.

The entire household was there--all excepting only Michael Cardigan and
Felicity Warren.

The two score farm slaves were there huddled along the wall in dusky
clusters, and their great, dark eyes wet with tears.

I saw Sir William's lawyer, Lafferty, come in with Flood, the Baronet's
Bouw-Meester.[1]

[Footnote 1: Farm overseer.]

His blacksmith, his tailor, and his armourer were there; also his
gardener; the German, Frank, his butler; Pontioch, his personal waiter;
and those two uncanny and stunted servants, the Bartholomews, with their
dead white faces and dwarfish dignity.

Also I saw poor Billy, Sir William's fiddler, gulping down the blubbers;
and there was his personal physician, Doctor Daly, very grave; and the
servile Wall, schoolmaster to Lady Molly's brood; and I saw Nicholas,
his valet, and black Flora, his cook, both sobbing into the same
bandanna.

The dark Lady Johnson was there, very quiet in her grief, slow-moving,
still beautiful, having by the hands the two youngest girls and boy,
while near her clustered the older children, fat Peter and Betsy and
pretty Lana.

A great multitude of candles burned throughout the hall; Sir William's
silver and mahogany sparkled everywhere; and so did the naked claymores
of the Highlanders on guard where the dead man lay in his own chamber,
done, at last, with all perplexity and grief.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the morning came the quality in scores--all the landed gentry of
Tryon County, Tory and Whig alike, to show their reverence:--old Colonel
John Butler from his seat at Butlersbury near Caughnawaga, and his dark,
graceful son Walter,--he of the melancholy golden eyes--an attorney then
and sick of a wound which, some said, had been taken in a duel with
Michael Cardigan near Fort Pitt.

Colonel Claus was there, too, son-in-law to Sir William, and battered
much by frontier battles: and Guy Johnson, a cousin, and a son-in-law,
too, had come from his fine seat at Guy Park to look upon a face as
tranquil in death as a sleeping child's.

The McDonald, of damned memory, was there in his tartan and kilts and
bonnet; and the Albany Patroon, very modest; and God knows how many
others from far and near, all arrived to honour a man who had died very
tired in the service of our Lord, who knows and pardons all.

The pretty lady of Sir John, who was Polly Watts of New York, came to me
where I stood in the noon breeze near the lilacs; and I kissed her hand,
and, straightening myself, retained it, looking into her woeful face of
a child, all marred with tears.

"I had not thought to be mistress of the Hall for many years," said she,
her lips a-tremble. "But yesterday, at this hour, he was living: and,
today, in this hour, the heavy importunities of strange new duties are
already crushing me.... I count on you, Jack."

I made no answer.

"May we not count on you?" she said. "Sir John and I expect it."

As I stood silent there in the breezy sunshine by the porch, there came
across the grass Billy Alexander, who is Lord Stirling, a man much older
than I, but who seemed young enough; and made his reverence to Lady
Johnson, kissing the hand which I very gently released.

"Oh, Billy," says she, the tears starting again, "why should death take
him at such a time, when God's wrath darkens all the world?"

"God's convenience is not always ours," he replied, looking at me
sideways, with a certain curiosity which I understood if Lady Johnson
did not.

She turned and gazed out across the sunny grass where, beyond the hedge
fence, the primeval forest loomed like a dark cloud along the sky, far
as the eye could see.

"Well," says she, half to herself, "the storm is bound to break, now.
And we women of County Tryon may need your swords, gentlemen, before
snow flies."

Lord Stirling stole another look at me. He knew as well as I how loosely
in their scabbards lay our two swords. He knew, also, as well as I, in
which cause would flash the swords of the landed gentry of County Tryon.
And he knew, too, that his blade as well as mine must, one day, be
unsheathed against them and against the stupid King they served.

Something of this Lady Johnson had long since suspected, I think; but
Billy Alexander, for all his years, was a childhood friend; and I, too,
a friend, although more recent.

She looked at my Lord Stirling with that troubled sweetness I have seen
so often in her face, alas! and she said in a low voice:

"It would be unthinkable that Lord Stirling's sword could lay a-rusting
when the Boston rabble break clear out o' bounds."

She turned to me, touched my arm confidingly, child that she seemed and
was, God help her.

"A Stormont," she said, "should never entertain any doubts. And so I
count on you, Lord Stormont, as I count upon my Lord Stirling----"

"I am not Lord Stormont," said I, striving to force a smile at the old
and tiresome contention. "Lord Stormont is the King's Ambassador in
Paris--if it please you to recollect----"

"You are as surely Viscount Stormont as is Billy Alexander, here, Lord
Stirling--and as I am Lady Johnson," she said earnestly. "What do you
care if your titles be disputed by a doddering committee on privileges
in the House of Lords? What difference does it make if usurpers wear
your honours as long as you know these same stolen titles are your own?"

"A pair o' peers _sans_ peerage," quoth Billy Alexander, with that
boyish grin I loved to see.

"I care nothing," said I, still smiling, "but Billy Alexander
does--pardon!--my Lord Stirling, I should say."

Said he: "Sure I am Lord Stirling and no one else; and shall wear my
title however they dispute it who deny me my proper seat in their rotten
House of Lords!"

"I think you are very surely the true Lord Stirling," said I, "but I, on
the other hand, most certainly am not a Stormont Murray. My name is John
Drogue; and if I be truly also Viscount Stormont, it troubles me not at
all, for my ambition is to be only American and to let the Stormonts
glitter as they please and where."

Lady Johnson came close to me and laid both hands upon my shoulders.

"Jack," she pleaded, "be true to us. Be true to your gentle blood. Be
true to your proper caste. God knows the King will have a very instant
need of his gentlemen in America before we three see another summer here
in County Tryon."

I made no reply. What could I say to her? And, indeed, the matter of the
Stormont Viscounty was distasteful, stale, and wearisome to me, and I
cared absolutely nothing about it, though the landed gentry of Tryon
were ever at pains to place me where I belonged,--if some were
right,--and where I did not belong if others were righter still.

For Lady Johnson, like many of her caste, believed that the second
Viscount Stormont died without issue,--which was true,--and that the
third Viscount had a son,--which is debatable.

At any rate, David Murray became the fourth Viscount, and the claims of
my remote ancestor went a-glimmering for so many years that, in 1705, we
resumed our family name of the Northesks, which is Drogue; and in this
natural manner it became my proper name. God knows I found it good
enough to eat and sleep with, so that my Lord Stormont's capers in Paris
never disturbed my dreams. Thank Heaven for that, too; and it was a sad
day for my Lord Stormont when he tried to bully Benjamin Franklin; for
the whole world is not yet done a-laughing at him.

No, I have no desire to claim a Viscounty which our witty Franklin has
made ridiculous with a single shaft of satire from his bristling
repertoire.

Thinking now of this, and reddening a little at the thought,--for no
Stormont even of remotest kinship to the family can truly relish Mr.
Franklin's sauce, though it dressed an undoubted goose,--I become far
more than reconciled to the decision rendered in the House of Lords.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two people who had come from the house, and who were advancing slowly
toward us across the clipped grass, now engaged our full attention.

The one we perceived to be Sir John Johnson himself; the other his
lady's school friend and intimate companion, Claudia Swift, the toast of
the British Army and of all respectable young Tories; and the
"Sacharissa" of those verses made by the new and lively Adjutant
General, Major André, who was then a captain.

For, though very young, our lovely Sacharissa had murdered many a
gallant's peace of mind, leaving a trail of hearts bled white from New
York to Boston, and from that afflicted city to Albany; where, it was
whispered, her bright and merciless eyes had made the sad young Patroon
much sadder, and his offered manor a more melancholy abode than usual.

She gave us, now, her dimpled hand to kiss. And, to Lady Johnson: "My
dear," she said very tenderly, "how pale you seem! God sends us
affliction as a precious gift and we must accept it with meekness,"
letting her eyes rest absently the while on Lord Stirling, and then on
me.

Our Sacharissa might babble of meekness if she chose, but that virtue
was not lodged within her, God knows,--nor many other virtues either.

Billy Alexander, old enough to be her parent, nevertheless had been her
victim; and I also. It was our opinion that we had recovered. But, to be
honest with myself, I could not avoid admitting that I had been very
desperate sick o' love, and that even yet, at times----But no matter:
others, stricken as deep as I, know well that Claudia Swift was not a
maid that any man might easily forget, or, indeed, dismiss at will from
his mind as long as she remained in his vicinity.

"Are you well, Billy, since we last met?" she asked Lord Stirling in
that sweet, hesitating way of hers. And to me: "You have grown thin,
Jack. Have you been in health?"

I said that I had been monstrous busy with my new glebe in the Sacandaga
patent, and had swung an axe there with the best o' them until an
express from Sir William summoned me to return to aid him with the
Iroquois at the council-fire. At which explaining of my silence the jade
smiled.

When I mentioned the Sacandaga patent and the glebe I had had of Sir
William on too generous terms--he making all arrangements with Major
Jelles Fonda through Mr. Lafferty--Sir John, who had been standing
silent beside us, looked up at me in that cold and stealthy way of his.

"Do you mean your parcel at Fonda's Bush?" he inquired.

"Yes; I am clearing it."

"Why?"

"So that my land shall grow Indian corn, pardie!"

"Why clear it _now_?" he persisted in his deadened voice.

I could have answered very naturally that the land was of no value to
anybody unless cleared of forest. But of course he knew this, too; so I
did not evade the slyer intent of his question.

"I am clearing my land at Fonda's Bush," said I, "because, God willing,
I mean to occupy it in proper person."

"And when, sir, is it your design to do this thing?"

"Do what, sir? Clear my glebe?"

"Remove thither--in _proper person_, Mr. Drogue?"

"As soon as may be, Sir John."

At that Lady Johnson gave me a quick look and Claudia said: "What! Would
you bury yourself alive in that wilderness, Jack Drogue?"

I smiled. "But I must hew out for myself a career in the world some day,
Sacharissa. So why not begin now?"

"Then in Heaven's name," she exclaimed impatiently, "go somewhere among
men and not among the wild beasts of the forest! Why, a young man is
like to perish of loneliness in such a spot; is he not, Sir John?"

Sir John's inscrutable gaze remained fixed on me.

"In such times as these," said he, "it is better that men like ourselves
continue to live together.... To await events.... And master them....
And afterward, each to his vocation and his own tastes.... It is my
desire that you remain at the Hall," he added, looking steadily at me.

"I must decline, Sir John."

"Why?"

"I have already told you why."

"If your present position is irksome to you," he said, "you have merely
to name a deputy and feel entirely at liberty to pursue your pleasure.
Or--you are at least the Laird of Northesk if you are nothing greater.
There is a commission in my Highlanders--if you desire it.... And your
salary, of course, continues also."

He looked hard at me: "Augmented by--half," he added in his slow, cold
voice. "And this, with your income, should properly maintain a young man
of your age and quality."

I had been Brent-Meester to Sir William, for lack of other employment;
and had been glad to take the important office, loving as I do the open
air. Also the addition of a salary to my slender means had been
acceptable. But it was one matter to serve Sir William as Brent-Meester,
and another to serve Sir John in any capacity whatsoever. And as for the
remainder of the family,--Guy Johnson and Colonel Claus--and their
intimates the Butlers, I had now had more than enough of them, having
endured these uncongenial people only because I had loved Sir William.
Yet, for his father's sake, I now spoke to Sir John politely, using him
most kindly because I both liked and pitied his lady, too.

Said I: "My desire is to become a Tryon County farmer, Sir John; and to
that end I happily became possessed of the parcel at Fonda's Bush. For
that reason I am clearing it. And so I must beg of you to accept my
resignation as Brent-Meester at the Hall, for I mean to start as soon as
convenient to occupy my glebe."

There was a silence; Sacharissa gazed at me in pity, astonishment, and
unfeigned horror; Lady Johnson gave me an odd, unhappy look; and Billy
Alexander a meaning one, half grin.

Then Sir John's slow and heavy voice invaded the momentary silence: "As
my father's Brent-Meester, only an Indian or a Forest Runner knows the
wilderness as do you. And we shall have great need of such forest
knowledge as you possess, Mr. Drogue."

I think we all understood the Baronet's meaning.

I considered a moment, then replied very quietly that in time of stress
no just cause would find me skulking to avoid duty.

I think my manner and tone, as well as what I said, combined to stop Sir
John's mouth. For nobody could question such respectable sentiments
unless, indeed, a quarrel was meant.

But Sir John Johnson, in his way, was as slow to mortal quarrel as was I
in mine. And whatever suspicion of me he might nurse in his secret mind
he now made no outward sign of it.

Also, other people were coming across the grass to join us; and
presently grave greetings were exchanged in sober voices suitable to the
occasion when a considerable company of ladies and gentlemen are
gathered at a house of mourning.

Turning away, I noticed Mr. Duncan and the Highland officers at the
magazine, all wearing their black badges of respect and a knot of crape
on the basket-hilts of their claymores; and young Walter Butler, still
stiff in his bandages, gazing up at the June sky out of melancholy eyes,
like a damned man striving to see God.

Sir John had now given his arm to his lady. His left hand rested on his
sword-hilt--the same left hand he had offered to poor Claire Putnam--and
to which the child still clung, they said.

Claudia turned from Billy Alexander and came toward me. Her face was
serious, but I saw the devil looking out of her blue eyes.

Nature had given this maid most lovely proportions--that charming
slenderness which is plumply moulded--and she stood straight, and
tall enough, too, to meet on a level the love-sick gaze of any
stout young man she had bedevilled; and she wore a most bewitching
countenance--short-nosed, red-lipped, a skin as white as a water-lily,
and thick soft hair as black as night, which she wore unpowdered--the
dangerous jade!

"Jack," says she in honeyed tones, "are you truly designing to become a
hermit?"

"Oh, no," said I, smilingly, "only a farmer, Claudia."

"Why?"

"Because I am a poor man and must feed and clothe myself."

"There is a commission from Sir John in the Scotch regiment----"

"I'm Scotch enough without that," said I.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Are you a little angry with me?"

"No," said I, feeling uncomfortable and concluding to beware of her, for
she stood now close to me, and the scent of her warm breath troubled me.

"Why are you angry with me, Jack?" she asked sorrowfully. And took one
step nearer.

"I am not," said I.

"Am--am I driving you into the wilderness?" she inquired.

"That, also, is absurd," I replied impatiently. "No woman could ever
boast of driving me, though some may once have led me."

"Oh, I feared that I had sapped, perhaps, your faith in women, John."

I forced a laugh: "Why, Claudia? Because I lately--and vainly--was
enamoured of you?"

"_Lately?_"

"Yes. I did love you, once."

"_Did_ love?" she breathed. "Do you not love me any more, Jack?"

"I think not," said I, very cheerfully.

"And why? Sure I used you kindly, Jack. Did I not so?"

"You conducted as is the privilege of maid with man, Sacharissa," said I
uneasily. "And that is all I have to say."

"How so did I conduct, Jack?"

"Sweetly--to my undoing."

"Try me again," she said, looking up at me, and the devil in her eyes.

But already I was becoming sensible of the ever-living enchantment of
this young thing, so wise in stratagems and spoils of Love, and I chose
to leave my scalp hang drying at her lodge door beside the scanter pol
of Billy Alexander.

For God knows this vixen-virgin spared neither young nor old, but shot
them through and through at sight with those heavenly darts from her
twin eyes.

And no man, so far, could boast of obtaining from Mistress Swift the
least token or any serious guerdon that his quest might lead him by a
single step toward Hymen's altar, but only to that cruel arena where all
her victims agonized under the mocking sweetness of her smile, and her
pretty, down-turned and merciless thumbs--the little Vestal villain!

"No, Claudia," quoth I, "you have taken my bow and spear, and shorn me
of my thatch like any Mohawk. No; I go to Fonda's Bush----" I smiled,
"--to heal, perhaps, my heart, as you say; but, anyhow, to consult my
soul, and armour it in a wilderness."

"A hermit!" she exclaimed scornfully, "--and afeard of a maid armed only
with two matched eyes, a nose, a mouth and thirty teeth!"

"Afeard of a monster more frightful than that," said I, laughing.

"Of what monster, John Drogue?"

"Of that red monster that is surely, surely creeping northward to
surprise and rend us all," said I in a low voice. "And so I shall retire
to question my secret soul, and arm it cap-à-pie as God directs."

She was looking at me intently. After a silence she said:

"I do love you; and Billy Alexander; and all gay and brave young men
whose unstained swords hedge the women of County Tryon from this same
red monster that you mention." And watched me to see how I swallowed
this.

I said warily: "Surely, Claudia, all women command our swords ... no
matter _which cause we espouse_."

"Jack!"

"I hear you, Claudia."

But, "Oh, my God!" she breathed; and put her hands to her face. A moment
she stood so, then, eyes still covered by one hand, extended the other
to me. I kissed it lightly; then kissed it again.

"Do you leave us, Jack?"

I understood.

"It is you who leave me, Claudia."

She, too, understood. It was my first confession that all was not right
betwixt my conscience and my King. For that was the only thing I was
certain about concerning her: she never betrayed a confidence, whatever
else she did. And so I made plain to her where my heart and honour
lay--not with the King's men in this coming struggle--but with my own
people.

I think she knew, too, that I had never before confessed as much to any
living soul, for she took her other hand from her eyes and looked at me
as though something had happened in which she took a sorrowful pride.

Then I kissed her hand for the third time, and let it free. And, going:

"God be with you," she said with a slight smile; "you are my dear
friend, John Drogue."

At the Hall porch she turned, the mischief glimmering in her eyes:
"--And so is Billy Alexander," quoth she.

So she went into the darkened Hall.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was many months before I saw our Sacharissa again--not until Major
André had made many another verse for many another inamorata, and his
soldier-actors had played more than one of his farces in besieged Boston
to the loud orchestra of His Excellency's rebel cannon.




CHAPTER III

THE POT BOILS


Sir William died on the 24th of June in the year 1774; which was the
twentieth year of my life.

On the day after he was buried in Saint John's Church in Johnstown,
which he had built, I left the Hall for Fonda's Bush, which was a
wilderness and which lay some nine miles distant in the Mohawk country,
along the little river called Kennyetto.

I speak of Fonda's Bush as a wilderness; but it was not entirely so,
because already old Henry Stoner, the trapper who wore two gold rings in
his ears, had built him a house near the Kennyetto and had taken up his
abode there with his stalwart and handsome sons, Nicholas and John, and
a little daughter, Barbara.

Besides this family, who were the pioneers in that vast forest where the
three patents[2] met, others now began settling upon the pretty little
river in the wilderness, which made a thousand and most amazing windings
through the Bush of Major Fonda.

[Footnote 2: The Three Patents were Sacandaga, Kayaderosseras, and
Stones.]

There came, now, to the Kennyetto, the family of one De Silver; also the
numerous families of John Homan, and Elias Cady; then the Salisburys,
Putnams, Bowmans, and Helmers arrived. And Benjamin De Luysnes followed
with Joseph Scott where the Frenchman, De Golyer, had built a house and
a mill on the trout brook north of us. There was also a dour Scotchman
come thither--a grim and decent man with long, thin shanks under his
kilts, who roved the Bush like a weird and presently went away again.

But before he took himself elsewhere he marked some gigantic trees with
his axe and tied a rag of tartan to a branch.

And, "Fonda's Bush is no name," quoth he. "Where a McIntyre sets his
mark he returns to set his foot. And where he sets foot shall be called
Broadalbin, or I am a great liar!"

And he went away, God knows where. But what he said has become true; for
when again he set his foot among the dead ashes of Fonda's Bush, it
became Broadalbin. And the clans came with him, too; and they peppered
the wilderness with their Scottish names,--Perth, Galway, Scotch Bush,
Scotch Church, Broadalbin,--but my memory runs too fast, like a young
hound giving tongue where the scent grows hotter!--for the quarry is not
yet in sight, nor like to be for many a bloody day, alas!----

       *       *       *       *       *

There was a forest road to the Bush, passable for waggons, and used
sometimes by Sir William when he went a-fishing in the Kennyetto.

It was by this road I travelled thither, well-horsed, and had borrowed
the farm oxen to carry all my worldly goods.

I had clothing, a clock, some books, bedding of my own, and sufficient
pewter.

I had my own rifle, a fowling piece, two pistols, and sufficient
ammunition.

And with these, and, as I say, well horsed, I rode out of Johnstown on a
June morning, all alone, my heart still heavy with grief for Sir
William, and deeply troubled for my country.

For the provinces, now, were slowly kindling, warmed with those pure
flames that purge the human soul; and already the fire had caught and
was burning fiercely in Massachusetts Bay, where John Hancock fed the
flames, daintily, cleverly, with all the circumstance, impudence, and
grace of your veritable macaroni who will not let an inferior outdo him
in a bow, but who is sometimes insolent to kings.

Well, I was for the forest, now, to wrest from a sunless land a mouthful
o' corn to stop the stomach's mutiny.

And if the Northland caught fire some day--well, I was as inflammable as
the next man, who will not suffer violation of house or land or honour.

       *       *       *       *       *

As Brent-Meester to Sir William, my duties took me everywhere. I knew
old man Stoner, and Nick had become already my warm friend, though I was
now a grown man of more than twenty and he still of boy's age. Yet, in
many ways, he seemed more mature than I.

I think Nick Stoner was the most mischievous lad I ever knew--and
admired. He sometimes said the same of me, though I was not, I think, by
nature, designed for a scapegrace. However, two years in the wilderness
will undermine the grace of saint or sinner in some degree. And if, when
during those two hard years I went to Johnstown for a breath of
civilization--or to Schenectady, or, rarely, to Albany--I frequented a
few good taverns, there was little harm done, and nothing malicious.

True, disputes with Tories sometimes led to blows, and mayhap some
Albany watchman's Dutch noddle needed vinegar to soothe the flamms
drummed upon it by a stout stick or ramrod resembling mine.

True, the humming ale at the Admiral Warren Tavern may sometimes have
made my own young noddle hum, and Nick Stoner's, too; but there came no
harm of it, unless there be harm in bussing a fresh and rosy wench or
two; or singing loudly in the tap-room and timing each catch to the
hammering of our empty leather jacks on long hickory tables wet with
malt.

But why so sad, brother Broadbrim? Youth is not to be denied. No! And
youth that sets its sinews against an iron wilderness to conquer
it,--youth that wields its puny axe against giant trees,--youth that
pulls with the oxen to uproot enormous stumps so that when the sun is
let in there will be a soil to grow corn enough to defy
starvation,--youth that toils from sun-up to dark, hewing, burning,
sawing, delving, plowing, harrowing day after day, month after month,
pausing only to kill the wild meat craved or snatch a fish from some
forest fount,--such youth cannot be decently denied, brother Broadbrim!

But if Nick and I were truly as graceless as some stiff-necked folk
pretended, always there was laughter in our scrapes, even when hot blood
boiled at the Admiral Warren, and Tory and Rebel drummed one another's
hides to the outrage of law and order and the mortification of His
Majesty's magistrates in County Tryon.

Even in Fonda's Bush the universal fire had begun to smoulder; the names
Rebel and Tory were whispered; the families of Philip Helmer and Elias
Cady talked very loudly of the King and of Sir John, and how a hempen
rope was the fittest cravat for such Boston men as bragged too freely.

But what most of all was in my thoughts, as I swung my axe there in the
immemorial twilight of the woods, concerned the Indians of the great
Iroquois Confederacy.

What would these savages do when the storm broke? What would happen to
this frontier? What would happen to the solitary settlers, to such
hamlets as Fonda's Bush, to Johnstown, to Schenectady--nay, to Albany
itself?

Sir William was no more. Guy Johnson had become his Majesty's
Superintendent for Indian affairs. He was most violently a King's man--a
member of the most important family in all the Northland, and master of
six separate nations of savages, which formed the Iroquois Confederacy.

What would Guy Johnson do with the warriors of these six nations that
bordered our New York frontier?

Always these questions were seething in my mind as I swung my axe or
plowed or harrowed. I thought about them as I sat at eventide by the
door of my new log house. I considered them as I lay abed, watching the
moonlight crawl across the puncheon floor.

       *       *       *       *       *

As Brent-Meester to Sir William, I knew Indians, and how to conduct when
I encountered them in the forest, in their own castles, or when they
visited the Hall.

I had no love for them and no dislike, but treated them always with the
consideration due from one white man to another.

I was not conscious of making any friends among them, nor of making any
enemies either. To me they were a natural part of the wilderness, like
the trees, rivers, hills, and wild game, belonging there and not
wantonly to be molested.

Others thought differently; trappers, forest runners, coureurs-du-bois
often hated them, and lost no opportunity to display their animosity or
to do them a harm.

But it was not in me to feel that way toward any living creature whom
God had fashioned in His own image if not in His own colour. And who is
so sure, even concerning the complexion of the Most High?

Also, Sir William's kindly example affected my sentiments toward these
red men of the forest. I learned enough of their language to suit my
requirements; I was courteous to their men, young and old; and
considerate toward their women. Otherwise, I remained indifferent.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, during these first two years of my life in Fonda's Bush, events in
the outer world were piling higher than those black thunder-clouds that
roll up behind the Mayfield hills and climb toward mid-heaven. Already
the dull glare of lightning lit them redly, though the thunder was, as
yet, inaudible.

In April of my first year in Fonda's Bush a runner came to the Kennyetto
with the news of Lexington, and carried it up and down the wilderness
from the great Vlaie and Maxon Ridge to Frenchman's Creek and Fonda's
Bush.

This news came to us just as we learned that our Continental Congress
was about to reassemble; and it left our settlement very still and
sober, and a loaded rifle within reach of every man who went grimly
about his spring plowing.

But the news of open rebellion in Massachusetts Bay madded our Tory
gentry of County Tryon; and they became further so enraged when the
Continental Congress met that they contrived a counter demonstration,
and, indeed, seized upon a pretty opportunity to carry it with a high
hand.

For there was a Court holden in Johnstown, and a great concourse of
Tryon loyalists; and our Tory hatch-mischiefs did by arts and guile and
persuasions obtain signatures from the majority of the Grand Jurors and
the County Magistracy.

Which, when known and flaunted in the faces of the plainer folk of Tryon
County, presently produced in all that slow, deep anger with which it is
not well to trifle--neither safe for kings nor lesser fry.

In the five districts, committees were appointed to discuss what was to
be the attitude of our own people and to erect a liberty pole in every
hamlet.

The Mohawk district began this business, which, I think, was truly the
beginning of the Revolution in the great Province of New York. The
Canajoharie district, the Palatine, the Flatts, the Kingsland followed.

And, at the Mohawk district meeting, who should arrive but Sir John,
unannounced, uninvited; and with him the entire company of Tory
big-wigs--Colonels Claus, Guy Johnson, and John Butler, and a heavily
armed escort from the Hall.

Then Guy Johnson climbed up onto a high stoop and began to harangue our
unarmed people, warning them of offending Majesty, abusing them for
dolts and knaves and traitors to their King, until Jacob Sammons, unable
to stomach such abuse, shook his fist at the Intendant. And, said he:
"Guy Johnson, you are a liar and a villain! You may go to hell, sir, and
take your Indians, too!"

But Guy Johnson took him by the throat and called him a damned villain
in return. Then the armed guard came at Sammons and knocked him down
with their pistol-butts, and a servant of Sir John sat astride his body
and beat him.

There was a vast uproar then; but our people were unarmed, and presently
took Sammons and went off.

But, as they left the street, many of them called out to Sir John that
it were best for him to fortify his Baronial Hall, because the day drew
near when he would be more in need of swivel guns than of
congratulations from his Royal Master.

Sure, now, the fire blazing so prettily in Boston was already running
north along the Hudson; and Tryon had begun to smoke.

Now there was, in County Tryon, a number of militia regiments of which,
when brigaded, Sir William had been our General.

Guy Johnson, also, was Colonel of the Mohawk regiment. But the Mohawk
regiment had naturally split in two.

Nevertheless he paraded the Tory remainder of it, doubtless with the
intention of awing the entire county.

It did awe us who were unorganized, had no powder, and whose messengers
to Albany in quest of ammunition were now stopped and searched by Sir
John's men.

For the Baronet, also, seemed alarmed; and, with his battalion of
Highlanders, his Tory militia, his swivels, and his armed retainers,
could muster five hundred men and no mean artillery to hold the Hall if
threatened.

But this is not what really troubled the plain people of Tryon. Guy
Johnson controlled thousands of savage Iroquois. Their war chief was Sir
William's brother-in-law, brother to the dark Lady Johnson, Joseph
Brant, called Thayendanegea,--the greatest Mohawk who ever
lived,--perhaps the greatest of all Iroquois. And I think that Hiawatha
alone was greater in North America.

Brave, witty, intelligent, intellectual, having a very genius for war
and stratagems, educated like any gentleman of the day and having served
Sir William as secretary, Brant, in the conventional garments of
civilization, presented a charming and perfectly agreeable appearance.

Accustomed to the society of Sir William's drawing room, this Canienga
Chief was utterly conversant with polite usage, and entirely qualified
to maintain any conversation addressed to him. Always he had been made
much of by ladies--always, when it did not too greatly weary him, was he
the centre of batteries of bright eyes and the object of gayest
solicitation amid those respectable gatherings for which, in Sir
William's day, the Hall was so justly celebrated.

That was the modest and civil student and gentleman, Joseph Brant.

But in the forest he was a painted spectre; in battle a flame! He was a
war chief: he never became Royaneh;[3] but he possessed the wisdom of
Hendrik, the eloquence of Red Jacket, the terrific energy of Hiakatoo.

[Footnote 3: Sachem: the Canienga term.]

We, of Tryon, were aware of all these things. Our ears were listening
for the dread wolf cry of the Iroquois in their paint; our eyes were
turned in dumb expectation toward our Provincial Congress of New York;
toward our dear General Schuyler in Albany; toward the Continental
Congress now in solemn session; toward our new and distant hope shining
clearer, brighter as each day ended--His Excellency the Virginian.

How long were Sir John and his people to be left here in County Tryon to
terrorize all friends to liberty,--to fortify Johnstown, to stop us
about our business on the King's highway, to intrigue with the Mohawks,
the Oneidas, the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Senecas, the Tuscaroras?

Guy Johnson tampered with the River Indians at Poughkeepsie, and we knew
it. He sent belts to the Shawanese, to the Wyandottes, to the Mohicans.
We knew it. He met the Delaware Sachems at a mongrel fire--God knows
where and by what authority, for the Federal Council never gave it!--and
we stopped one of his runners in the Bush with his pouch full o' belts
and strings; and we took every inch of wampum without leave of Sir John,
and bade the runner tell him what we did.

We wrote to Albany; Albany made representations to Sir John, and the
Baronet replied that his show of armed force at the Hall was solely for
the reason that he had been warned that the Boston people were laying
plans to invade Tryon and make of him a prisoner.

I think this silly lie was too much for Schuyler, for all now knew that
war must come. Twelve Colonies, in Congress assembled, had announced
that they had rather die as free people than continue to live as slaves.
Very fine indeed! But what was of more interest to us at Fonda's Bush,
this Congress commissioned George Washington as Commander in Chief of a
Colonial Army of 20,000 men, and prepared to raise three millions on
bills of credit _for the prosecution of the war_!

Now, at last, the cleavage had come. Now, at last, Sir John was forced
into the open.

He swore by Almighty God that he had had no hand in intriguing against
the plain people of Tryon: and while he was making this oath, Guy
Johnson was raising the Iroquois against us at Oswego; he was plotting
with Carleton and Haldimand at Montreal; he had arranged for the
departure of Brant with the great bulk of the Mohawk nation, and, with
them, the fighting men of the Iroquois Confederacy. Only the Western
Gate Keepers remained,--the fierce Senecas.

And so, except for a few Tuscaroras, a few lukewarm Onondagas, a few of
the Lenape, and perhaps half--possibly two-thirds of the Oneida nation,
Guy Johnson already had swung the terrible Iroquois to the King.

And now, secretly, the rats began to leave for the North, where, behind
the Canada border, savage hordes were gathering by clans, red and white
alike.

Guy Johnson went on pretense of Indian business; and none dare stop the
Superintendent for Indian affairs on a mission requiring, as he stated,
his personal appearance at Oswego.

But once there he slipped quietly over into Canada; and Brant joined
him.

Colonel Claus sneaked North; old John Butler went in the night with a
horde of Johnstown and Caughnawaga Tories. McDonald followed,
accompanied by some scores of bare-shinned Tory Mc's. Walter Butler
disappeared like a phantom.

But Sir John remained behind his stockade and swivels at the Hall,
vowing and declaring that he meditated no mischief--no, none at all.

Then, in a fracas in Johnstown, that villain sheriff, Alexander White,
fired upon Sammons, and the friends to liberty went to take the
murderous Tory at the jail.

Frey was made sheriff, which infuriated Sir John; but Governor Tryon
deposed him and reappointed White, so the plain people went again to do
him a harm; and he fled the district to the mortification of the
Baronet.

But Sir John's course was nearly at an end: and events in the outer
world set the sands in his cloudy glass running very swiftly. Schuyler
and Montgomery were directing a force of troops against Montreal and
Quebec, and Sir Guy Carleton, Governor General of Canada, was shrieking
for help.

St. John's surrendered, and _the Mohawk Indians began fighting_!

Here was a pretty pickle for Sir John to explain.

Suddenly we had news of the burning of Falmouth.

       *       *       *       *       *

On a bitter day in early winter, an Express passed through Fonda's Bush
on snow-shoes, calling out a squad of the Mohawk Regiment of District
Militia.

Nick Stoner, Andrew Bowman, Joe Scott, and I answered the summons.

Snow-shoeing was good--a light fall on the crust--and we pulled foot for
the Kingsborough trail, where we met up with a squad from the Palatine
Regiment and another from the Flatts.

But scarce were we in sight of Johnstown steeples when the drums of an
Albany battalion were heard; and we saw, across the snow, their long
brown muskets slanting, and heard their bugle-horn on the Johnstown
road.

       *       *       *       *       *

I saw nothing of the affair at the Hall, being on guard at St. John's
Church, lower down in the town. But I saw our General Schuyler ride up
the street with his officers; and so knew that all would go well.

All went well enough, they say. For when again the General rode past the
church, I saw waggons under our escort piled with the muskets of the
Highland Battalion, and others heaped high with broad-swords, pistols,
swivels, and pikes. And on Saturday, the twentieth of January, when our
tour of duty ended, and our squads were dismissed, each to its proper
district, all people knew that Sir John Johnson had given his parole of
honor not to take up arms against America; not to communicate with the
Royalists in Canada; not to oppose the friends of liberty at home; nor
to stir from his Baronial Hall to go to Canada or to the sea, but with
liberty to transact such business as might be necessary in other parts
of this colony.

And I, for one, never doubted that a son of the great Sir William would
keep his word and sacred parole of honour.




CHAPTER IV

TWO COUNTRY MICE


It was late in April, and I had boiled my sap and had done with my sugar
bush for another year. The snow was gone; the Kennyetto roared amber
brilliant through banks of melting ice, and a sweet odour of arbutus
filled all the woods.

Spring was in the land and in my heart, too, and when Nick Stoner
galloped to my door in his new forest dress, very fine, I, nothing
loath, did hasten to dress me in my new doe-skins, not less fine than
Nick's and lately made for me by a tailor-woman in Kingsborough who was
part Oneida and part Dutch.

That day I wore a light, round cap of silver mole fur with my unshorn
hair, all innocent of queue or powder, curling crisp like a woman's. Of
which I was ashamed and eager to visit Toby Tice, our Johnstown barber,
and be trimmed.

My new forest dress, as I say, was of doe-skin--a laced shirt belted in,
shoulder-caped, cut round the neck to leave my throat free, and with
long thrums on sleeve and skirt against need.

Trews shaped to fit my legs close; and thigh moccasins, very deep with
undyed fringe, but ornamented by an infinite pattern of little green
vines, made me brave in my small mirror. And my ankle moccasins were gay
with Oneida devices wrought out of porcupine quills and beads, scarlet,
green, purple, and orange, and laid open at the instep by two beaded
flaps.

I saddled my mare, Kaya, in her stall, which was a log wing to my house,
and presently mounted and rode around to where Nick sat his saddle
a-playing on his fife, which he carried everywhere with him, he loving
music but obliged to make his own.

"Lord Harry!" cried he on seeing me so fine. "If you are not truly a
Viscount then you look one!"

"I would not change my name and health and content," said I, "for a
king's gold crown today." And I clinked the silver coins in my pouch and
laughed. And so we rode away along the Johnstown road.

He also, I think, was dying for a frolic. Young minds in trouble as well
as hard-worked bodies need a holiday now and then. He winked at me and
chinked the shillings in his bullet-pouch.

"We shall see all the sights," quoth he, "and the Kennyetto could not
quench my thirst today, nor our two horses eat as much, nor since time
began could all the lovers in history love as much as could I this April
day.... Were there some pretty wench of my own mind to use me kindly....
Like that one who smiled at us--do you remember?"

"At Christmas?"

"That's the one!" he exclaimed. "Lord! but she was handsome in her
sledge!--and her sister, too, Jack."

"I forget their names," said I.

"Browse," he said, "--Jessica and Betsy. And they live at Pigeon-Wood
near Mayfield."

"Oho!" said I, "you have made their acquaintance!"

He laughed and we galloped on.

Nick sang in his saddle, beating time upon his thigh with his fife:

    "Flammadiddle!
    Paddadiddle!
    Flammadiddle dandy!
    My Love's kisses
    Are sweet as sugar-candy!
    Flammadiddle!
    Paddadiddle!
    Flammadiddle dandy!
    She makes fun o' me
    Because my legs are bandy----"

He checked his gay refrain:

"Speaking of flamms," said he, "my brother John desires to be a drummer
in the Continental Line."

"He is only fourteen," said I, laughing.

"I know. But he is a tall lad and stout enough. What will be your
regiment, Jack?"

"I like Colonel Livingston's," said I, "but nobody yet knows what is to
be the fate of the district militia and whether the Mohawk regiment, the
Palatine, and the other three are to be recruited to replace the Tory
deserters, or what is to be done."

Nick flourished his flute: "All I know," he said, "is that my father and
brother and I mean to march."

"I also," said I.

"Then it's in God's hands," he remarked cheerfully, "and I mean to use
my ears and eyes in Johnstown today."

We put our horses to a gallop.

       *       *       *       *       *

We rode into Johnstown and through the village, very pleased to be in
civilization again, and saluting many wayfarers whom we recognized, Tory
and Whig alike. Some gave us but a cold good-day and looked sideways at
our forest dress; others were marked in cordiality,--men like our new
Sheriff, Frey, and the two Sammonses and Jacob Shew.

We met none of the Hall people except the Bouw-Meester, riding beside
five yoke of beautiful oxen, who drew bridle to exchange a mouthful of
farm gossip with me while the grinning slaves waited on the footway,
goads in hand.

Also, I saw out o' the tail of my eye the two Bartholomews passing,
white and stunted and uncanny as ever, but pretended not to notice them,
for I had always felt a shiver when they squeaked good-day at me, and
when they doffed hats the tops of their heads had blue marbling on the
scalp under their scant dry hair. Which did not please me.

Whilst I chattered with the Bouw-Meester of seeds and plowing, Nick, who
had no love for husbandry, practiced upon his fife so windily and with
such enthusiasm that we three horsemen were soon ringed round by urchins
of the town on their reluctant way to school.

"How's old Wall?" cried Nick, resting his puckered lips and wiping his
fife. "There's a schoolmaster for pickled rods, I warrant. Eh, boys? Am
I right?"

Lads and lassies giggled, some sucked thumbs and others hung their
heads.

"Come, then," cried Nick, "he's a good fellow, after all! And so am
I--when I'm asleep!"

Whereat all the children giggled again and Nick fished a great cake of
maple sugar from his Indian pouch, drew his war-hatchet, broke the lump,
and passed around the fragments. And many a childish face, which had
been bright and clean with scrubbing, continued schoolward as sticky as
a bear cub in a bee-tree.

And now the Bouw-Meester and his oxen and the grinning slaves had gone
their way; so Nick and I went ours.

There were taverns enough in the town. We stopped at one or two for a
long pull and a dish of meat.

Out of the window I could see something of the town and it seemed
changed; the Court House deserted; the jail walled in by a new
palisade; fewer people on the street, and little traffic. Nor did I
perceive any red-coats ruffling it as of old; the Highlanders who passed
wore no side-arms,--excepting the officers. And I thought every Scot
looked glum as a stray dog in a new village, where every tyke moves
stiffly as he passes and follows his course with evil eyes.

We had silver in our bullet pouches. We visited every shop, but
purchased nothing useful; for Nick bought sweets and a mouse-trap and
some alley-taws for his brother John--who wished to go to war! Oh,
Lord!--and for his mother he found skeins of brightly-coloured wool; and
for his father a Barlow jack-knife.

I bought some suekets and fish-hooks and a fiddle,--God knows why, for I
can not play on it, nor desire to!--and I further purchased two books,
"Lives of Great Philosophers," by Rudd, and a witty poem by Peter
Pindar, called "The Lousiad"--a bold and mirthful lampoon on the British
King.

These packets we stowed in our saddle-bags, and after that we knew not
what to do save to seek another tavern.

But Nick was no toss-pot, nor was I. And having no malt-thirst, we
remained standing in the street beside our horses, debating whether to
go home or no.

"Shall you pay respects at the Hall?" he asked seriously.

But I saw no reason to go, owing no duty; and the visit certain to prove
awkward, if, indeed, it aroused in Sir John no more violent emotion than
pain at sight of me.

With our bridles over our arms, still debating, we walked along the
street until we came to the Johnson Arms Tavern,--a Tory rendezvous not
now frequented by friends of liberty.

It was so dull in Johnstown that we tied our horses and went into the
Johnson Arms, hoping, I fear, to stir up a mischief inside.

Their brew was poor; and the spirits of the dozen odd Tories who sat
over chess or draughts, or whispered behind soiled gazettes, was poorer
still.

All looked up indifferently as we entered and saluted them.

"Ah, gentlemen," says Nick, "this is a glorious April day, is it not?"

"It's well enough," said a surly man in horn spectacles, "but I should
be vastly obliged, sir, if you would shut the door, which you have left
swinging in the wind."

"Sir," says Nick, "I fear you are no friend to God's free winds. Free
winds, free sunshine, free speech, these suit my fancy. Freedom, sir, in
her every phase--and Liberty--the glorious jade! Ah, gentlemen, there's
a sweetheart you can never tire of. Take my advice and woo her, and
you'll never again complain of a breeze on your shins!"

"If you are so ardent, sir," retorted another man in a sneering voice,
"why do you not go courting your jade in Massachusetts Bay?"

"Because, sir," said I, "our sweetheart, Mistress Liberty, is already on
her joyous way to Johnstown. It is a rendezvous, gentlemen. Will it
please you to join us in receiving her?"

One man got up, overturning the draught board, paid his reckoning, and
went out muttering and gesticulating.

"A married man," quoth Nick, "and wedded to that old hag, Tyranny. It
irks him to hear of fresh young jades, knowing only too well what old
sour-face awaits him at home with the bald end of a broom."

The dark looks cast at us signalled storms; but none came, so poor the
spirit of the company.

"Gentlemen, you seem melancholy and distrait," said I. "Are you so
pensive because my Lord Dunmore has burned our pleasant city of Norfolk?
Is it that which weighs upon your minds? Or is the sad plight of Tommy
Gage distressing you? Or the several pickles in which Sir Guy Carleton,
General Burgoyne, and General Howe find themselves?"

"Possibly," quoth Nick, "a short poem on these three British warriors
may enliven you:

    "_Carleton, Burgoyne, Howe,_
    "_Bow-wow-wow_!"

But there was nothing to be hoped of these sullen Tories, for they took
our laughter scowling, but budged not an inch. A pity, for it was come
to a pretty pass in Johnstown when two honest farmers must go home for
lack of a rogue or two of sufficient spirit to liven a dull day withal.

       *       *       *       *       *

We stopped at the White Doe Tavern, and Nick gave the company another
poem, which he said was writ by my Lord North:

    "O Boston wives and maids draw near and see
    Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea;
    Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black, or brown;
    If not, we'll cut your throats and burn your town!"

Whereat all the company laughed and applauded; and there was no hope of
any sport to be had there, either.

"Well," said Nick, sighing, "the war seems to be done ere it begun.
What's in those whelps at the Johnson Arms, that they stomach such jests
as we cook for them? Time was when I knew where I could depend upon a
broken head in Johnstown--mine own or another's."

We had it in mind to dine at the Doe, planning, as we sat on the stoop,
bridles in hand, to ride back to the Bush by new moonlight.

"If a pretty wench were as rare as a broken head in Johnstown," he
muttered, "I'd be undone, indeed. Come, Jack; shall we ride that way
homeward?"

"Which way?"

"By Pigeon-Wood."

"By Mayfield?"

"Aye."

"You have a sweetheart there, you say?"

"And so, perhaps, might you, for the pain of passing by."

"No," said I, "I want no sweetheart. To clip a lip en passant, if the
lip be warm and willing,--that is one thing. A blush and a laugh and
'tis over. But to journey in quest of gallantries with malice
aforethought--no."

"I saw her in a sledge," sighed Nick, sucking his empty pipe. "And
followed. Lord, but she is handsome,--Betsy Browse!--and looked at me
kindly, I thought.... We had a fight."

"What?"

"Her father and I. For an hour the old man nigh twisted his head off
turning around to see what sledge was following his. Then he shouts,
'Whoa!' and out he bounces into the snow; and I out o' my sledge to see
what it was he wanted.

"He wanted my scalp, I think, for when I named myself and said I lived
at Fonda's Bush, he fetched me a knock with his frozen mittens,--Lord,
Jack, I saw a star or two, I warrant you; and a gay stream squirted from
my nose upon the snow and presently the whole wintry world looked red to
me, so I let fly a fist or two at the old man, and he let fly a few more
at me.

"'Dammy!' says he, 'I'll learn ye to foller my darters, you poor dum
Boston critter! I'll drum your hide from Fundy's Bush to Canady!'

"But after I had rolled him in the snow till his scratch-wig fell off,
he became more civil--quite polite for a Tory with his mouth full o'
snow.

"So I went with him to his sledge and made a polite bow to the
ladies--who looked excited but seemed inclined to smile when I promised
to pass by Pigeon-Wood some day."

"A rough wooing," said I, laughing.

"Rough on old man Browse. But he's gone with Guy Johnson."

"What! To Canada? The beast!"

"Aye. So I thought to stop some day at Pigeon-Wood to see if the cote
were entirely empty or no. Lord, what a fight we had, old Browse and I,
there in the snow of the Mayfield road! And he burly as an October
bear--a man all knotted over with muscles, and two fists that slapped
you like the front kick of a moose! Oh, Lordy! Lordy! What a battle was
there.... What bright eyes hath that little jade Betsy, of Pigeon-Wood!"

Now, as he spoke, I had a mind to see this same Tory girl of
Pigeon-Wood; and presently admitted to him my curiosity.

And then, just as we had mounted and were gathering bridles and
searching for our stirrups with moccasined toes, comes a galloper in
scarlet jacket and breeks, with a sealed letter waved high to halt me.

Sitting my horse in the street, I broke the seal and read what was
written to me.

The declining sun sent its rosy shafts through the still village now,
painting every house and setting glazed windows a-glitter.

I looked around me, soberly, at the old and familiar town; I glanced at
Nick; I gazed coldly upon the galloper,--a cornet of Border Horse, and
as solemn as he was young.

"Sir," said I, "pray present to Lady Johnson my duties and my
compliments, and say that I am honoured by her ladyship's commands, and
shall be--happy--to present myself at Johnson Hall within the hour."

Young galloper salutes; I outdo him in exact and scrupulous courtesy,
mole-skin cap in hand; and 'round he wheels and away he tears like the
celebrated Tory in the song, Jock Gallopaway.

"Here's a kettle o' fish," remarked Nick in disgust.

"Were it not Lady Johnson," muttered I, but checked myself. After all,
it seemed ungenerous that I should decline to see even Sir John, who now
was virtually a prisoner of my own party, penned here within that
magnificent domain of which his great father had been creator and
absolute lord.

"I must go, Nick," I said in a low voice.

He said with a slight sneer, "Noblesse oblige----" and then, sorry, laid
a quick hand on my arm.

"Forgive me, Jack. My father wears two gold rings in his ears. Your
father wore them on his fingers. I know I am a boor until your kindness
makes me forget it."

I said quietly: "We are two comrades and friends to liberty. It is not
what we are born to but what we are that matters a copper penny in the
world."

"It is easy for you to say so."

"It is important for you to believe so. As I do."

"Do you really so?" he asked with that winning upward glance that
revealed his boyish faith in me.

"I really do, Nick; else, perhaps, I had been with Guy Johnson in Canada
long ago."

"Then I shall try to believe it, too," he murmured, "--whether ears or
fingers or toes wear the rings."

We laughed.

"How long?" he inquired bluntly.

"To sup, I think. I must remain if Lady Johnson requests it of me."

"And afterward. Will you ride home by way of Pigeon-Wood?"

"Will you still be lingering there?" I asked with a smile.

"Whether the pigeon-cote be empty or full, I shall await you there."

I nodded. We smiled at each other and wheeled our horses in opposite
directions.




CHAPTER V

A SUPPER


Now, what seemed strange to me at the Hall was the cheerfulness of all
under circumstances which must have mortified any Royalist, and, in
particular, the principal family in North America of that political
complexion.

Even Sir John, habitually cold and reserved, appeared to be in most
excellent spirits for such a man, and his wintry smile shed its faint
pale gleam more than once upon the company assembled at supper.

On my arrival there seemed to be nobody there except the groom, who took
my mare, Kaya, and Frank, Sir William's butler, who ushered me and
seemed friendly.

Into the drawing room came black Flora, all smiles, to say that the
gentlemen were dressing but that Lady Johnson would receive me.

She was seated before her glass in her chamber, and the red-cheeked
Irish maid she had brought from New York was exceedingly busy curling
her hair.

"Oh, Jack!" said Lady Johnson softly, and holding out to me one hand to
be saluted, "they told me you were in the village. Has it become
necessary that I must send for an old friend who should have come of his
own free will?"

"I thought perhaps you and Sir John might not take pleasure in a visit
from me," I replied, honestly enough.

"Why? Because last winter you answered the district summons and were on
guard at the church with the Rebel Mohawk company?"

So she knew that, too. But I had scarcely expected otherwise. And it
came into my thought that the dwarfish Bartholomews had given her news
of my doings and my whereabouts.

"Come," said she in her lively manner, "a good soldier obeys his
colonel, whoever that officer may chance to be--_for the moment_. And,
were you even otherwise inclined, Jack, of what use would it have been
to disobey after Philip Schuyler disarmed our poor Scots?"

"If Sir John feels as you do, it makes my visit easier for all," said I.

"Sir John," she replied, "is not a whit concerned. We here at the Hall
have laid down our arms; we are peaceably disposed; farm duties begin; a
multitude of affairs preoccupy us; so let who will fight out this
quarrel in Massachusetts Bay, so only that we have tranquillity and
peace in County Tryon."

I listened, amazed, to this school-girl chatter, marvelling that she
herself believed such pitiable nonsense.

Yet, that she did believe it I was assured, because in my Lady Johnson
there was nothing false, no treachery or lies or cunning.

Somebody sure had filled her immature mind with this jargon, which now
she repeated to me. And in it I vaguely perceived the duplicity and
ingenious manoeuvring of wills and minds more experienced than her
own.

But I said only that I hoped this county might escape the conflagration
now roaring through all New England and burning very fiercely in
Virginia and the Carolinas. Then, smiling, I made her a compliment on
her hair, which her Irish maid was dressing very prettily, and laughed
at her man's banyan which she so saucily wore in place of a levete. Only
a young and pretty woman could presume to wear a flowered silk banyan at
her toilet; but it mightily became Polly Johnson.

"Claudia is here," she remarked with a kindly malice perfectly
transparent.

I took the news in excellent part, and played the hopeless swain for a
while, to amuse her, and so cunningly, too, that presently the charming
child felt bound to comfort me.

"Claudia is a witch," says she, "and does vast damage to no purpose but
that it feeds her vanity. And this I have said frequently to her very
face, and shall continue until she chooses to refrain from such harmful
coquetry, and seems inclined to a more serious consideration of life and
duty."

"Claudia serious!" I exclaimed. "When Claudia becomes pensive, beware of
her!"

"Claudia should marry early--as I did," said she. But her features grew
graver as she said it, and I saw not in them that inner light which
makes delicately radiant the face of happy wifehood.

I thought, "God pity her," but I said gaily enough that retribution must
one day seize Claudia's dimpled hand and place it in the grasp of some
gentleman fitly fashioned to school her.

We both laughed; then she being ready for her stays and gown, I retired
to the library below, where, to my chagrin, who should be lounging but
Hiakatoo, war chief of the Senecas, in all his ceremonial finery.
Despite what dear Mary Jamison has written of him, nor doubting that
pure soul's testimony, I knew Hiakatoo to be a savage beast and a very
devil, the more to be suspected because of his terrible intelligence.

With him was a Mr. Hare, sometime Lieutenant in the Mohawk Regiment,
with whom I had a slight acquaintance. I knew him to be Tory to the
bone, a deputy of Guy Johnson for Indian affairs, and a very shifty
character though an able officer of county militia and a scout of no
mean ability.

Hare gave me good evening with much courtesy and self-possession.
Hiakatoo, also, extended a muscular hand, which I was obliged to take or
be outdone in civilized usage by a savage.

"Well, sir," says Hare in his frank, misleading manner, "the last o' the
sugar is a-boiling, I hear, and spring plowing should begin this week."

Neither he nor Hiakatoo had as much interest in husbandry as two
hoot-owls, nor had they any knowledge of it, either; but I replied
politely, and, at their request, gave an account of my glebe at Fonda's
Bush.

"There is game in that country," remarked Hiakatoo in the Seneca
dialect.

Instantly it entered my head that his remark had two interpretations,
and one very sinister; but his painted features remained calmly
inscrutable and perhaps I had merely imagined the dull, hot gleam that I
thought had animated his sombre eyes.

"There is game in the Bush," said I, pleasantly,--"deer, _bear_,
turkeys, and partridges a-drumming _the long roll_ all day long. And I
have seen a moose near Lake Desolation."

Now I had replied to the Seneca in the Canienga dialect; and he might
interpret in two ways my reference to _bears_, and also what I said
concerning the _drumming_ of the partridges.

But his countenance did not change a muscle, nor did his eyes. And as
for Hare, he might not have understood my play upon words, for he seemed
interested merely in a literal interpretation, and appeared eager to
hear about the moose I had seen near Lake Desolation.

So I told him I had watched two bulls fighting in the swamp until the
older beast had been driven off.

"Civilization, too, will soon drive away the last of the moose from
Tryon," quoth Hare.

"How many families at Fonda's Bush?" asked Hiakatoo abruptly.

I was about to reply, telling him the truth, and checked myself with
lips already parted to speak.

There ensued a polite silence, but in that brief moment I was convinced
that they realized I suddenly suspected them.

What I might have answered the Seneca I do not exactly know, for the
next instant Sir John entered the room with Ensign Moucher, of the old
Mohawk Regiment, and young Captain Watts from New York, brother to
Polly, Lady Johnson, a handsome, dissipated, careless lad, inclined to
peevishness when thwarted, and marred, perhaps, by too much adulation.

Scarce had compliments been exchanged with snuff when Lady Johnson
entered the room with Claudia Swift, and I thought I had seldom beheld
two lovelier ladies in their silks and powder, who curtsied low on the
threshold to our profound bows.

As I saluted Lady Johnson's hand again, she said: "This is most kind of
you, Jack, because I know that all farmers now have little time to
waste."

"Like Cincinnatus," said I, smilingly, "I leave my plow in the furrow at
the call of danger, and hasten to brave the deadly battery of your
bright eyes."

Whereupon she laughed that sad little laugh which I knew so well, and
which seemed her manner of forcing mirth when Sir John was present.

I took her out at her request. Sir John led Claudia; the others paired
gravely, Hare walking with the Seneca and whispering in his ear.

Candles seemed fewer than usual in the dining hall, but were sufficient
to display the late Sir William's plate and glass.

The scented wind from Claudia's fan stirred my hair, and I remembered it
was still the hair of a forest runner, neither short nor sufficiently
long for the queue, and powdered not a trace.

I looked around at Claudia's bright face, more brilliant for the saucy
patches and newly powdered hair.

"La," said she, "you vie with Hiakatoo yonder in Mohawk finery,
Jack,--all beads and thrums and wampum. And yet you have a pretty leg
for a silken stocking, too."

"In the Bush," said I, "the backwoods aristocracy make little of your
silk hosen, Claudia. Our stockings are leather and our powder black, and
our patches are of buckskin and are sewed on elbow and knee with
pack-thread or sinew. Or we use them, too, for wadding."

"It is a fashion like another," she remarked with a shrug, but watching
me intently over her fan's painted edge.

"The mode is a tyrant," said I, "and knows neither pity nor good taste."

"How so?"

"Why, Hiakatoo also wears paint, Claudia."

"Meaning that I wear lip-rouge and lily-balm? Well, I do, my impertinent
friend."

"Who could suspect it?" I protested, mockingly.

"You might have suspected it long since had you been sufficiently
adventurous."

"How so?" I inquired in my turn.

"By kissing me, pardieu! But you always were a timid youth, Jack Drogue,
and a woman's 'No,' with the proper stare of indignation, always was
sufficient to route you utterly."

In spite of myself I reddened under the smiling torment.

"And if any man has had that much of you," said I, "then I for one will
believe it only when I see your lip-rouge on his lips!"

"Court me again and then look into your mirror," she retorted calmly.

"What in the world are you saying to each other?" exclaimed Lady
Johnson, tapping me with her fan. "Why, you are red as a squaw-berry,
Jack, and your wine scarce tasted."

Claudia said: "I but ask him to try his fortune, and he blushes like a
silly."

"Shame," returned Lady Johnson, laughing; "and you have Mr. Hare's scalp
fresh at your belt!"

Hare heard it, and laughed in his frank way, which instantly disarmed
most people who had not too often heard it.

"I admit," said he, "that I shall presently perish unless this cruel
lady proves kinder, or restores to me my hair."

"It were more merciful," quoth Ensign Moucher, "to slay outright with a
single glance. I myself am long since doubly dead," he added with his
mealy-mouthed laugh, and his mean reddish eyes a-flickering at Lady
Johnson.

Sir John, who was carving a roast of butcher's meat, carved on, though
his young wife ventured a glance at him--a sad, timid look as though
hopeful that her husband might betray some interest when other men said
gallant things to her.

I asked Sir John's permission to offer a toast, and he gave it with cold
politeness.

"To the two cruellest and loveliest creatures alive in a love-stricken
world," said I. "Gentlemen, I offer you our charming tyrants. And may
our heads remain ever in the dust and their silken shoon upon our
necks!"

All drank standing. The Seneca gulped his Madeira like a slobbering dog,
noticing nobody, and then fell fiercely to cutting up his meat, until,
his knife being in the way, he took the flesh in his two fists and
gnawed it.

But nobody appeared to notice the Seneca's beastly manners; and such
general complaisance preoccupied me, because Hiakatoo knew better, and
it seemed as though he considered himself in a position where he might
disdain to conduct suitably amid a company which, possibly, stood in
need of his good will.

Nobody spoke of politics, nor did I care to introduce such a subject.
Conversation was general; matters concerning the town, the Hall, were
mentioned, together with such topics as are usually discussed among land
owners in time of peace.

And it seemed to me that Sir John, who had, as usual, remained coldly
reticent among his guests, became of a sudden conversational with a sort
of forced animation, like a man who recollects that he has a part to
play and who unwillingly attempts it.

He spoke of the Hall farm, and of how he meant to do this with this part
and that with that part; and how the herd bulls were now become useless
and he must send to the Patroon for new blood,--all a mere toneless and
mechanical babble, it seemed to me, and without interest or sincerity.

Once, sipping my claret, I thought I heard a faint clash of arms outside
and in the direction of the guard-house.

And another time it seemed to me that many horses were stirring
somewhere outside in the darkness.

I could not conceive of anything being afoot, because of Sir John's
parole, and so presently dismissed the incidents from my mind.

The wine had somewhat heated the men; laughter was louder, speech less
guarded. Young Watts spoke boldly of Haldimand and Guy Carleton, naming
them as the two most efficient servants that his Majesty had in Canada.

Nobody, however, had the effrontery to mention Guy Johnson in my
presence, but Ensign Moucher pretended to discuss a probable return of
old John Butler and of his son Walter to our neighborhood,--to hoodwink
me, I think,--but his mealy manner and the false face he pulled made me
the more wary.

The wine burned in Hiakatoo, but he never looked toward me nor directly
at anybody out of his blank red eyes of a panther.

Sir John had become a little drunk and slopped his wine-glass, but the
wintry smile glimmered on his thin lips as though some secret thought
contented him, and he was ever whispering with Captain Watts.

But he spoke always of the coming summer and of his cattle and fields
and the pursuits of peace, saying that he had no interest in Haldimand
nor in any kinsmen who had fled Tryon; and that all he desired was to be
let alone at the Hall, and not bothered by Phil Schuyler.

"For," says he, emptying his glass with unsteady hand, "I've enough to
do to feed my family and my servants and collect my rents; and I'm
damned if I can do it unless those excitable gentlemen in Albany mind
their own business as diligently as I wish to mind mine."

"Surely, Sir John," said I, "nobody wishes to annoy you, because it is
the universal desire that you remain. And, as you have pledged your
honour to do so, only a fool would attempt to make more difficult your
position among us."

"Oh, there are fools, too," said he in his slow voice. "There were fools
who supposed that the Six Nations would not resent ill treatment meted
out to Guy Johnson." His cold gaze rested for a second upon Hiakatoo,
then swept elsewhere.

Preoccupied, I heard Claudia's voice in my ear:

"Do you take no pleasure any longer in looking at me, Jack! You have
paid me very scant notice tonight."

I turned, smilingly made her a compliment, and she was now gazing into
the little looking-glass set in the handle of her French fan, and her
dimpled hand busy with her hair.

"Polly's Irish maid dressed my hair," she remarked. "I would to God I
had as clever a wench. Could you discover one to wait on me?"

Hare, who had no warrant for familiarity, as far as I was concerned,
nevertheless called out with a laugh that I knew every wench in the
countryside and should find a pretty one very easily to serve Claudia.

Which pleasantry did not please me; but Ensign Moucher and young Watts
bore him out, and they all fell a-laughing, discussing with little
decency such wenches as the two Wormwood girls near Fish House, and
Betsy and Jessica Browse--maids who were pretty and full of gaiety at
dance or frolic, and perhaps a trifle free in manners, but of whom I
knew no evil and believed none whatever the malicious gossip concerning
them.

The gallantries of such men as Sir John and Walter Butler were known to
everybody in the country; and so were the carryings on of all the
younger gentry and the officers from Johnstown to Albany. Young girls'
names--the daughters of tenants, settlers, farmers, were bandied about
carelessly enough; and the names of those famed for beauty, or a lively
disposition, had become more or less familiar to me.

Yet, for myself, my escapades had been harmless enough--a pretty maid
kissed at a quilting, perhaps; another courted lightly at a barn-romp; a
laughing tavern wench caressed en passant, but no evil thought of it and
nothing to regret--no need to remember aught that could start a tear in
any woman's eyes.

Watts said to Claudia: "There is a maid at Caughnawaga who serves old
Douw Fonda--a Scotch girl, who might serve you as well as Flora cares
for my sister."

"Penelope Grant!" exclaims Hare with an oath. Whereat these three young
men fell a-laughing, and even Sir John leered.

I had heard her name and that the careless young gallants of the country
were all after this young Scotch girl, servant to Douw Fonda--but I had
never seen her.

"She lives with the old gentleman, does she not?" inquired Claudia with
a shrug.

"She cares for him, dresses him, cooks for him, reads to him, sews,
mends, lights him to bed and tucks him in," said Hare. "My God, what a
wife she'd make for a farmer! Or a mistress for a gentleman."

"A wench I would employ very gladly," quoth Claudia, frowning. "Could
you get her ear, Jack, and fetch her?"

"Take her from Douw Fonda?" I exclaimed in surprise.

"The old man is like to die any moment," remarked Watts.

"Besides," said Moucher, "he has scores of kinsmen and their women to
take him in charge."

"She's a pretty bit o' baggage," said Sir John drunkenly. "If you but
kiss the little slut she looks at you like a silly kitten, and, I think,
with no more sense or comprehension."

Captain Watts darted an angry look at his brother-in-law but said
nothing.

Lady Johnson's features were burning and her lip quivered, but she
forced a laugh, saying that her husband could have judged only by
hearsay, and that the Scotch girl's reputation was still very good in
the country.

"Somebody'll get her," retorted Sir John, thickly, "for they're all
a-pestering--Walter Butler, too, when he was here,--and your brother,
and Hare and Moucher yonder. The little slut has yellow hair, but she's
too damned thin!----" he hiccoughed and upset his wine; and a servant
wiped his neck-cloth and his silk and silver waistcoat while he, with
wagging and unsteady head, gazed gravely down at the damage done.

Claudia set her lips to my ear: "The beast!--to affront his wife!" she
whispered. "Tell me, do you, also, go about your rustic gallantries in
the shameful manner of these educated and Christian gentlemen?"

"I seek no woman's destruction," said I drily.

"Not even mine?" She laughed as I reddened, and tapped me with her fan.

"If our young men do not turn this Scotch girl's head with their
philandering, send her to me and I will use her kindly."

"You would not seduce her from an old and almost helpless man who needs
her?" I demanded.

"I find my servants where I can in such days as these," said she coolly.
"And there are plenty to care for old Douw Fonda in Caughnawaga, but
only an accomplished wench like Penelope Grant would I trust to do my
hair and lace me. Will you send this girl to me?"

"No, I won't," said I bluntly. "I shall not charge myself with such an
errand, even for you. It is not a decent thing you ask of me or of the
wench, either."

"It is decent," retorted Claudia pettishly. "If she's as pretty a
baggage as is reported, some of our young fools will never let her alone
until one among them turns her silly head. Whereas the girl would be
safe with me."

"That is not my affair," I remarked.

"Do you wish her harm?"

"I tell you she is no concern of mine. And if she's not a hopeless fool
she'll know how to trust the gentry of County Tryon."

"You are of them, too, Jack," she said maliciously.

"I am a plain farmer and I trouble no woman."

"You trouble me," she insisted sweetly.

I laughed, not agreeably.

"You do so," she repeated. "I would you had courage to court me again."

"Do you mean courage or inclination, Claudia?"

She gave me a melting look, very sweet, and a trifle sad.

"With patience," she murmured, "you might awaken both our hearts."

"I know well what I'd awaken in you," said I; "I'd awaken the devil. No;
I've had my chance."

She sighed, still looking at me, and I awaited her further assault,
grimly armed with memories.

But ere she could speak, Hiakatoo lurched to his feet and stood towering
there unsteadily, his burning gaze fixed on space.

Whereat Sir John, now very tight and very drowsy, opened owlish eyes;
and Hare took the Seneca by the arm.

"If you desire to go," said he, "here are three of us ready to ride
beside you."

Moucher, too, stood up, and so did Captain Watts; but they were not in
their cups. Watts took Hiakatoo's blanket from a servant and cast it
over the tall warrior's shoulders.

"The Western Gate of the Confederacy lies unguarded," explained Hare to
us all, in his frank, amiable manner. "The great Gate Keeper, Hiakatoo,
bids you all farewell. Duty calls him toward the setting sun."

All had now risen from the table. Hiakatoo lurched past us and out into
the hallway; Hare and Moucher and Watts took smiling leave of Sir John;
the ladies gave them all a courteous farewell. Hare, passing, said to
me:

"To any who enquire you can answer pat enough to make an end to foolish
rumours concerning any meditated flight of this family."

"My answer," said I quietly, "is always the same: Sir William's son has
given his parole."

They went out after their Indian, which disturbed me greatly, as I could
not account for Hiakatoo's presence at Johnstown, and I was ill at ease
seeing him so apparently in charge of three known Tories, and one of
them a deputy of Guy Johnson.

However, I took my leave of Sir John, who gave me a wavering hand and
stared at me blankly. Then I kissed the ladies' hands and went out to
the porch where Billy waited with my mare, Kaya.

Lady Johnson came to the door as I mounted.

"Don't forget us when again you are in Johnstown," she said.

Claudia, too, appeared and stepped daintily out on the dewy grass,
lifting her petticoat.

"What a witching night," she exclaimed mischievously, "--what a night
for love! Do you mark the young moon, Jack, and how all the dark is
saturated with a sweet smell of new buds?"

"I mark it all," said I, laughing, "and, as for love, why, I love it
all, Claudia,--moon, darkness, scent of young leaves, the far forest
still as death, and the noise of the brook yonder."

"I meant a sweeter love," quoth she, coming to my stirrup and laying
both hands upon my saddle.

"There is no sweeter love," said I, still laughing, "--none happier than
the love of this silvery world of night which God made to heal us of the
blows of day."

"Whither do you ride, Jack?"

"Homeward."

"To Fonda's Bush?"

"Yes."

"Directly home?"

"I have a comrade----" said I. "He awaits me on the Mayfield Road."

"Why do you ride by Mayfield?"

"Because he waits for me there."

"Why, Jack?"

"He has friends to visit----"

"At Mayfield?"

"At Pigeon-Wood," I muttered.

"More gallantry!" she said, tossing her head. "But young men must have
their fling, and I am not jealous of Betsy Browse or of her pretty
sister, so that you ride not toward Caughnawaga----"

"What?"

"To see this rustic beauty, Penelope Grant----"

"Have I not refused to seek her for you?" I demanded.

"Yes, but not for yourself, Jack! Curiosity killed a cat and started a
young man on his travels!"

Exasperated by her malice I struck my mare's flanks with moccasined
heels; and as I rode out into the darkness Claudia's gaily mocking laugh
floated after me on the still, sweet air.




CHAPTER VI

RUSTIC GALLANTRY


There were few lanterns and fewer candle lights in Johnstown; sober folk
seemed to be already abed; only a constable, Hugh McMonts, stood in the
main street, leaning upon his pike as I followed the new moon out of
town and down into a dark and lovely land where all was still and
fragrant and dim as the dreams of those who lie down contented with the
world.

Now, as I jogged along on my mare, Kaya, over a well-levelled road, my
mind was very full of what I had seen and heard at Johnson Hall.

One thing seemed clear to me; there could be no foundation for any
untoward rumours regarding Sir John,--no fear that he meant to shame his
honoured name and flee to Canada to join Guy Johnson and his Indians and
the Tryon County Tories who already had fled.

No; Sir John was quietly planning his summer farming. All seemed
tranquil at the Hall. And I could not find it in my nature to doubt his
pledged word, nor believe that he was plotting mischief.

Still, it had staggered me somewhat to see Hiakatoo there in his
ceremonial paint, as though the fire were still burning at Onondaga. But
I concluded that the Seneca War Chief had come on some private affair
and not for his nation, because a chief does not travel alone upon a
ceremonial mission. No; this Indian had arrived to talk privately with
Hare, who, no doubt, now represented Guy Johnson's late authority among
the Johnstown Tories.

Thinking over these matters, I jogged into the Mayfield road; and as I
passed in between the tall wayside bushes, without any warning at all
two shadowy horsemen rode out in front of me and threw their horses
across my path, blocking it.

Instantly my hand flew to my hatchet, but at that same moment one of the
tall riders laughed, and I let go my war-axe, ashamed.

"It's John Drogue!" said a voice I recognized, as I pushed my mare
close to them and peered into their faces; and I discovered that these
riders were two neighbors of mine, Godfrey Shew of Fish House, and Joe
de Golyer of Varick's.

"What frolic is this?" I demanded, annoyed to see their big pistols
resting on their thighs and their belted hatchets loosened from the
fringed sheaths.

"No frolic," answered Shew soberly, "though Joe may find it a matter for
his French mirth."

"Why do you stop folk at night on the King's highway?" I inquired
curiously of de Golyer.

"Voyons, l'ami Jean," he replied gaily, "Sir Johnson and his Scottish
bare-shanks, they have long time stop us on their sacré King's highway.
Now, in our turn, we stop them, by gar! Oui, nom de dieu! And we shall
see what we shall see, and we shall catch in our little trap what shall
step into it, pardieu!"

Shew said in his heavy voice: "Our authorities in Albany have concluded
to watch, for smuggled arms, the roads leading to Johnstown, Mr.
Drogue."

"Do they fear treachery at the Hall?"

"They do not know what is going on at the Hall. But there are rumours
abroad concerning the running in of arms for the Highlanders, and the
constant passing of messengers between Canada and Johnstown."

"I have but left the Hall," said I. "I saw nothing to warrant
suspicion." And I told them who were there and how they conducted at
supper.

Shew said with an oath that Lieutenant Hare was a dangerous man, and
that he hoped a warrant for him would be issued.

"As for the Indian, Hiakatoo," he went on, "he's a surly and cunning
animal, and a fierce one as are all Senecas. I do not know what has
brought him to Johnstown, nor why Moucher was there, nor Steve Watts."

"Young Watts, no doubt, came to visit his sister," said I. "That is
natural, Mr. Shew."

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt," grumbled Shew. "You, Mr. Drogue, are one of
those gentlemen who seem trustful of the honour of all gentlemen. And
for every gentleman who _is_ one, the next is a blackguard. I do not
contradict you. No, sir. But we plain folk of Tryon think it wisdom to
watch gentlemen like Sir John Johnson."

"I am as plain a man as you are," said I, "but I am not able to doubt
the word of honour given by the son of Sir William Johnson."

De Golyer laughed and asked me which way I rode, and I told him.

"Nick Stoner also went Mayfield way," said Shew with a shrug. "I think
he unsaddled at Pigeon-Wood."

They wheeled their horses into the bushes with gestures of adieu; I
shook my bridle, and my mare galloped out into the sandy road again.

The sky was very bright with that sweet springtime lustre which comes
not alone from the moon but also from a million million unseen stars,
all a-shining behind the purple veil of night.

Presently I heard the Mayfield creek babbling like a dozen laughing
lasses, and rode along the bushy banks looking up at the mountains to
the north.

They are friendly little mountains which we call the Mayfield Hills, all
rising into purple points against the sky, like the waves on Lake
Ontario, and so tumbling northward into the grim jaws of the
Adirondacks, which are different--not sinister, perhaps, but grim and
stolid peaks, ever on guard along the Northern wilderness.

Long, still reaches of the creek stretched away, unstarred by rising
trout because of the lateness of the night. Only a heron's croak sounded
in the darkness; there were no lights where I knew the Mayfield
settlement to be.

Already I saw the grist mill, with its dusky wheel motionless; and, to
the left, a frame house or two and several log-houses set in cleared
meadows, where the vast ramparts of the forest had been cut away.

Now, there was a mile to gallop eastward along a wet path toward Summer
House Point; and in a little while I saw the long, low house called
Pigeon-Wood, which sat astride o' the old Iroquois war trail to the
Sacandaga and the Canadas.

It was a heavy house of hewn timber and smoothed with our blue clay,
which cuts the sandy loam of Tryon in great streaks.

There was no light in the windows, but the milky lustre of the heavens
flooded all, and there, upon the rail fence, I did see Nick Stoner
a-kissing of Betsy Browse.

They heard my horse and fluttered down from the fence like two robins,
as I pulled up and dismounted.

"Hush!" said the girl, who was bare of feet and her gingham scarce
pinned decently; and laid her finger on her lips as she glanced toward
the house.

"The old man is back," quoth Nick, sliding a graceless arm around her.
"But he sleeps like an ox." And, to Betsy, "Whistle thy little sister
from her nest, sweetheart. For there are no gallants in Tryon to match
with my comrade, John Drogue!"

Which did not please me to hear, for I had small mind for rustic
gallantry; but Martha pursed her lips and whistled thrice; and presently
the house door opened without any noise.

She was a healthy, glowing wench, half confident, half coquette, like a
playful forest thing in springtime, when all things mate.

And her sister, Jessica, was like her, only slimmer, who came across the
starlit grass rubbing both eyes with her little fists, like a child
roused from sleep,--a shy, smiling, red-lipped thing, who gave me her
hand and yawned.

And presently went to where my mare stood to pet her and pull the new,
wet grass and feed her tid-bits.

I did not feel awkward, yet knew not how to conduct or what might be
expected of me at this star-dim rendezvous with a sleepy, woodland
beauty.

But she seemed in nowise disconcerted after a word or two; drew my arm
about her; put up her red mouth to be kissed, and then begged to be
lifted to my saddle.

Here she sat astride and laughed down at me through her tangled hair.
And:

"I have a mind to gallop to Fish House," said she, "only that it might
prove a lonely jaunt."

"Shall I come, Jessica?"

"Will you do so?"

I waited till the blood cooled in my veins; and by that time she had
forgotten what she had been about--like any other forest bird.

"You have a fine mare, Mr. Drogue," said she, gently caressing Kaya with
her naked heels. "No rider better mounted passes Pigeon-Wood."

"Do many riders pass, Jessica?"

"Sir John's company between Fish House and the Hall."

"Any others lately?"

"Yes, there are horsemen who ride swiftly at night. We hear them."

"Who may they be?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Sir John's people?"

"Very like."

"Coming from the North?"

"Yes, from the North."

"Have they waggons to escort?"

"I have heard waggons, too."

"Lately?"

"Yes." She leaned down from the saddle and rested both hands on my
shoulders:

"Have you no better way to please than in catechizing me, John Drogue?"
she laughed. "Do you know what lips were fashioned for except words?"

I kissed her, and, still resting her hands on my shoulders, she looked
down into my eyes.

"Are you of Sir John's people?" she asked.

"Of them, perhaps, but not now with them, Jessica."

"Oh. The other party?"

"Yes."

"You! A Boston man?"

"Nick and I, both."

"Why?"

"Because we design to live as free as God made us, and not as
king-fashioned slaves."

"Oh, la!" quoth she, opening her eyes wide, "you use very mighty words
to me, Mr. Drogue. There are young men in red coats and gilt lace on
their hats who would call you rebel."

"I am."

"No," she whispered, putting both arms around my neck. "You are a pretty
boy and no Yankee! I do not wish you to be a Boston rebel."

"Are all your lovers King's men?"

"My lovers?"

"Yes."

"Are you one?"

At which I laughed and lifted the saucy wench from my saddle, and stood
so in the starlight, her arms still around my neck.

"No," said I, "I never had a sweetheart, and, indeed, would not know how
to conduct----"

"We could learn."

But I only laughed, disengaging her arms, and passing my own around her
supple waist.

"Listen," said I, "Nick and I mean no harm in a starlit frolic, where we
tarry for a kiss from a pretty maid."

"No harm?"

"Neither that nor better, Jessica. Nor do you; and I know that very
well. With me it's a laugh and a kiss and a laugh; and into my stirrups
and off.... And you are young and soft and sweet as new maple-sap in
the snow. But if you dream like other little birds, of nesting----"

"May a lass not dream in springtime?"

"Surely. But let it end so, too."

"In dreams."

"It is wiser."

"There is no wisdom in me, pretty boy in buckskin. And I love thrums
better than red-coats and lace."

"Love spinning better than either!"

"Oh, la! He preaches of wheels and spindles when my mouth aches for a
kiss!"

"And mine," said I, "--but my legs ache more for my saddle; and I must
go."

At that moment when I said adieu with my lips, and she did not mean to
unlink her arms, came Nick on noiseless tread to twitch my arm. And,
"Look," said he, pointing toward the long, low rampart of Maxon Ridge.

I turned, my hand still retaining Jessica's: and saw the Iroquois
signal-flame mount thin and high, tremble, burn red against the stars,
then die there in the darkness.

Northward another flame reddened on the hills, then another, fire
answering fire.

"What the devil is this?" growled Nick. "These are no times for Indians
to talk to one another with fire."

"Get into your saddle," said I, "and we shall ride by Varick's, for I've
a mind to see what will-o'-the-wisps may be a-dancing over the great
Vlaie!"

So the tall lad took his leave of his little pigeon of Pigeon-Wood, who
seemed far from willing to let him loose; and I made my adieux to
Jessica, who stood a-pouting; and we mounted and set off at a gallop for
Varick's, by way of Summer House Point.

I could not be certain, but it seemed to me that there was a light at
the Point, which came through the crescents from behind closed shutters;
but that was within reason, Sir John being at liberty to keep open the
hunting lodge if he chose.

As for the Drowned Lands, as far as we could see through the night there
was not a spark over that desolate wilderness.

The Mohawk fires on the hills, too, had died out. Fish House, if still
burning candles, was too far away to see; we galloped through Varick's,
past the mill where, from its rocky walls, Frenchman's Creek roared
under the stars; then turned west along the Brent-Meester's trail toward
Fonda's Bush and home.

"Those Iroquois fires trouble me mightily," quoth Nick, pushing his lank
horse forward beside my mare.

"And me," said I.

"Why should they talk with fire on the night Hiakatoo comes to the
Hall?"

"I do not know," said I. "But when I am home I shall write it in a
letter to Albany that this night the Mohawks have talked among
themselves with fire, and that a Seneca was present."

"And that mealy-mouthed Ensign, Moucher; and Hare and Steve Watts!"

"I shall so write it," said I, very seriously.

"Good!" cried he with a jolly slap on his horse's neck. "But the sweeter
part of this night's frolic you and I shall carry locked in our breasts.
Eh, John? By heaven, is she not fresh and pink as a dewy strawberry in
June--my pretty little wench? Is she not apt as a school-learned lass
with any new lesson a man chooses to teach?"

"Yes, too apt, perhaps," said I, shaking my head but laughing. "But I
think they have had already a lesson or two in such frolics, less
innocent, perhaps, than the lesson we gave."

"I'll break the back of any red-coat who stops at Pigeon-Wood!" cried
Nick Stoner with an oath. "Yes, red-coat or any other colour, either!"

"You would not take our frolic seriously, would you, Nick?"

"I take all frolics seriously," said he with a gay laugh, smiting both
thighs, and his bridle loose. "Where I place my mark with my proper
lips, let roving gallants read and all roysterers beware!--even though I
so mark a dozen pretty does!"

"A very Turk," said I.

"An antlered stag in the blue-coat that brooks no other near his herd!"
cried he with a burst of laughter. And fell to smiting his thighs and
tossing up both arms, riding like a very centaur there, with his hair
flowing and his thrums streaming in the starlight.

And, "Lord God of Battles!" he cried out to the stars, stretching up his
powerful young arms. "Thou knowest how I could love tonight; but dost
Thou know, also, how I could fight if I had only a foe to destroy with
these two empty hands!"

"Thou murderous Turk!" I cried in his ear. "Pray, rather, that there
shall be no war, and no foe more deadly than the pretty wench of
Pigeon-Wood!"

"Love or war, I care not!" he shouted in his spring-tide frenzy,
galloping there unbridled, his lean young face in the wind. "But God
send the one or the other to me very quickly--or love or war--for I need
more than a plow or axe to content my soul afire!"

"Idiot!" said I, "have done a-yelling! You wake every owl in the bush!"

And above his youth-maddened laughter I heard the weird yelping of the
forest owls as though the Six Nations already were in their paint, and
blood fouled every trail.

       *       *       *       *       *

So we galloped into Fonda's Bush, pulling up before my door; but Nick
would not stay the night and must needs gallop on to his own log house,
where he could blanket and stall his tired and sweating horse--I owning
only the one warm stall.

"Well," says he, still slapping his thighs where he sat his saddle as I
dismounted, and his young face still aglow in the dim, silvery light,
"--well, John, I shall ride again, one day, to Pigeon-Wood. Will you
ride with me?"

"I think not."

"And why?"

But, standing by my door, bridle in hand, I slowly shook my head.

"There is no prettier bit o' baggage in County Tryon than Jessica
Browse," he insisted--"unless, perhaps, it be that Scotch girl at
Caughnawaga, whom all the red-coats buzz about like sap flies around a
pan."

"And who may this Scotch lassie be?" I asked with a smile, and busy,
now, unsaddling.

"I mean the new servant to old Douw Fonda."

"I have not noticed her."

"You have not seen the Caughnawaga girl?"

"No. I remain incurious concerning servants," said I, drily.

"Is it so!" he laughed. "Well, then,--for all that they have a right to
gold binding on their hats,--the gay youth of Johnstown, yes, and of
Schenectady, too, have not remained indifferent to the Scotch girl of
Douw Fonda, Penelope Grant!"

I shrugged and lifted my saddle.

"Every man to his taste," said I. "Some eat woodchucks, some porcupines,
and others the tail of a beaver. Venison smacks sweeter to me."

Nick laughed again. "When she reads the old man to sleep and takes her
knitting to the porch, you should see the ring of gallants every
afternoon a-courting her!--and their horses tied to every tree around
the house as at a quilting!

"But there's no quilting frolic; no supper; no dance;--nothing more
than a yellow-haired slip of a wench busy knitting there in the sun, and
looking at none o' them but intent on her needles and with that faint
smile she wears----"

"Go court her," said I, laughing; and led my mare into her warm stall.

"You'll court her yourself, one day!" he shouted after me, as he
gathered bridle. "And if you do, God help you, John Drogue, for they say
she's a born disturber of quiet men's minds, and mistress of a very
mischievous and deadly art!"

"What art?" I laughed.

"The art o' love!" he bawled as he rode off, slapping his thighs and
setting the moonlit woods all a-ringing with his laughter.




CHAPTER VII

BEFORE THE STORM


Johnny Silver had ridden my mare to Varick's to be shod, the evening
previous, and was to remain the night and return by noon to Fonda's
Bush.

It was the first sunny May day of the year, murmurous with bees, and a
sweet, warm smell from woods and cleared lands.

Already bluebirds were drifting from stump to stump, and robins, which
had arrived in April before the snow melted, chirped in the furrows of
last autumn's plowing.

Also were flying those frail little grass-green moths, earliest
harbingers of vernal weather, so that observing folk, versed in the
pretty signals which nature displays to acquaint us of her designs,
might safely prophesy soft skies.

I was standing in my glebe just after sunrise, gazing across my great
cleared field--I had but one then, all else being woods--and I was
thinking about my crops, how that here should be sown buckwheat to break
and mellow last year's sod; and here I should plant corn and Indian
squashes, and yonder, God willing, potatoes and beans.

And I remember, now, that I presently fell to whistling the air of "The
Little Red Foot," while I considered my future harvest; and was even
planning to hire of Andrew Bowman his fine span of white oxen for my
spring plowing; when, of a sudden, through the May woods there grew upon
the air a trembling sound, distant and sad. Now it sounded louder as the
breeze stirred; now fainter when it shifted, so that a mournful echo
only throbbed in my ears.

It was the sound of the iron bell ringing on the new Block House at
Mayfield.

The carelessly whistled tune died upon my lips; my heart almost ceased
for a moment, then violently beat the alarm.

I ran to a hemlock stump in the field, where my loaded rifle rested, and
took it up and looked at the priming powder, finding it dry and bright.

A strange stillness had fallen upon the forest; there was no sound save
that creeping and melancholy quaver of the bell. The birds had become
quiet; the breeze, too, died away; and it was as though each huge tree
stood listening, and that no leaf dared stir.

As a dark cloud gliding between earth and sun quenches the sky's calm
brightness, so the bell's tolling seemed to transform the scene about me
to a sunless waste, through which the dread sound surged in waves, like
the complaint of trees before a storm.

Standing where my potatoes had been hoed the year before, I listened a
moment longer to the dreary mourning of the bell, my eyes roving along
the edges of the forest which, like a high, green rampart, enclosed my
cleared land on every side.

Then I turned and went swiftly to my house, snatched blanket from bed,
spread it on the puncheon floor, laid upon it a sack of new bullets, a
new canister of powder, a heap of buckskin scraps for wadding, a bag of
salt, another of parched corn, a dozen strips of smoked venison.

Separately on the blanket beside these I placed two pair of woollen
hose, two pair of new ankle moccasins, an extra pair of deer-skin
leggins, two cotton shirts, a hunting shirt of doe-skin, and a fishing
line and hooks. These things I rolled within my blanket, making of
everything a strapped pack.

Then I pulled on my District Militia regimentals, which same was a
hunting shirt of tow-cloth, spatter-dashes of the same, and a felt hat,
cocked.

Across the breast of my tow-cloth hunting-shirt I slung a bullet-pouch,
a powder-horn and a leather haversack; seized my light hatchet and hung
it to my belt, hoisted the blanket pack to my shoulders and strapped it
there; and, picking up rifle and hunting knife, I passed swiftly out of
the house, fastening the heavy oaken door behind me and wondering
whether I should ever return to open it again.

The trodden forest trail, wide enough for a team to pass, lay straight
before me due west, through heavy woods, to Andrew Bowman's farm.

When I came into the cleared land, I perceived Mrs. Bowman washing
clothing in a spring near the door of her log house, and the wash
a-bleaching in the early sun. When she saw me she called to me across
the clearing:

"Have you news for me, John Drogue?"

"None," said I. "Where is your man, Martha?"

"Gone away to Stoner's with pack and rifle. He is but just departed. Is
it only a drill call, or are the Indians out at the Lower Castle?"

"I know nothing," said I. "Are you alone in the house?"

"A young kinswoman, Penelope Grant, servant to old Douw Fonda, arrived
late last night with my man from Caughnawaga, and is still asleep in the
loft."

As she spoke a girl, clothed only in her shift, came to the open door of
the log house. Her naked feet were snow-white; her hair, yellow as
October-corn, seemed very thick and tangled.

She stood blinking as though dazzled, the glory of the rising sun in her
face; then the tolling of the tocsin swam to her sleepy ears, and she
started like a wild thing when a shot is fired very far away.

And, "What is that sound?" she exclaimed, staring about her; and I had
never seen a woman's eyes so brown under such yellow hair.

She stepped out into the fresh grass and stood in the dew listening, now
gazing at the woods, now at Martha Bowman, and now upon me.

Speech came to me with an odd sort of anger. I said to Mrs. Bowman, who
stood gaping in the sunshine:

"Where are your wits? Take that child into the house and bar your
shutters and draw water for your tubs. And keep your door bolted until
some of the militia can return from Stoner's."

"Oh, my God," said she, and fell to snatching her wash from the bushes
and grass.

At that, the girl Penelope turned and looked at me. And I thought she
was badly frightened until she spoke.

"Young soldier," said she, "do you know if Sir John has fled?"

"I know nothing," said I, "and am like to learn less if you women do not
instantly go in and bar your house."

"Are the Mohawks out?" she asked.

"Have I not said I do not know?"

"Yes, sir.... But I should have escort by the shortest route to
Cayadutta----"

"You talk like a child," said I, sharply. "And you seem scarcely more,"
I added, turning away. But I lingered still to see them safely bolted in
before I departed.

"Soldier," she began timidly; but I interrupted:

"Go fill your tubs against fire-arrows," said I. "Why do you loiter?"

"Because I have great need to return to Caughnawaga. Will you guide me
the shortest way by the woods?"

"Do you not hear that bell?" I demanded angrily.

"Yes, sir, I hear it. But I should go to Cayadutta----"

"And I should answer that militia call," said I impatiently. "Go in and
lock the house, I tell you!"

Mrs. Bowman, her arms full of wet linen, ran into the house. The girl,
Penelope, gazed at the woods.

"I am servant to a very old man," she said, twisting her linked fingers.
"I can not abandon him! I can not let him remain all alone at Cayadutta
Lodge. Will you take me to him?"

"And if I were free of duty," said I, "I would not take you or any other
woman into those accursed woods!"

"Why not, sir?"

"Because I do not yet comprehend what that bell is telling me. And if it
means that there is a painted war-party out between the Sacandaga and
the Mohawk, I shall not take you to Caughnawaga when I return from
Stoner's, and that's flat!"

"I am not afraid to go," said she. But I think I saw her shudder; and
her face seemed very still and white. Then Mrs. Bowman ran out of the
house and caught the girl by her homespun shift.

"Come indoors!" she cried shrilly, "or will you have us all pulling war
arrows out of our bodies while you stand blinking at the woods and
gossiping with Jack Drogue?"

The girl shook herself free, and asked me again to take her to Cayadutta
Lodge.

But I had no more time to argue, and I flung my rifle to my shoulder and
started out across the cleared land.

Once I looked back. And I saw her still standing there, the rising sun
bright on her tangled hair, and her naked feet shining like silver in
the dew-wet grass.

By a spring path I hastened to the house of John Putman, and found him
already gone and his family drawing water and fastening shutters.

His wife, Deborah, called to me saying that the Salisburys should be
warned, and I told her that I had already spoken to the Bowmans.

"Your labour for your pains, John Drogue!" cried she. "The Bowmans are
King's people and need fear neither Tory nor Indian!"

"It is unjust to say so, Deborah," I retorted warmly. "Dries Bowman is
already on his way to answer the militia call!"

"Watch him!" she said, slamming the shutters; and fell to scolding her
children, who, poor things, were striving at the well with dripping
bucket too heavy for their strength.

So I drew the water they might need if, indeed, it should prove true
that Little Abe's Mohawks at the Lower Castle had painted themselves and
were broken loose; and then I ran back along the spring path to the
Salisbury's, and found them already well bolted in, and their man gone
to Stoner's with rifle and pack.

And now comes Johnny Silver, who had ridden my mare from Varick's, but
had no news, all being tranquil along Frenchman's Creek, and nobody able
to say what the Block House bell was telling us.

"Did you stable Kaya?" I asked.

"Oui, mon garce! I have bolt her in tight!"

"Good heavens," said I, "she can not remain bolted in to starve if I am
sent on to Canada! Get you forward to Stoner's house and say that I
delay only to fetch my horse!"

The stout little French trapper flung his piece to his shoulder and
broke into a dog-trot toward the west.

"Follow quickly, Sieur Jean!" he called gaily. "By gar, I have smell
Iroquois war paint since ver' long time already, and now I smell him
strong as old dog fox!"

I turned and started back through the woods as swiftly as I could
stride.

As I came in sight of my log house, I was astounded to see my mare out
and saddled, and a woman setting foot to stirrup. As I sprang out of the
edge of the woods and ran toward her, she wheeled Kaya, and I saw that
it was the Caughnawaga wench in _my_ saddle and upon _my_ horse--her
yellow hair twisted up and shining like a Turk's gold turban above her
bloodless face.

"What do you mean!" I cried in a fury. "Dismount instantly from that
mare! Do you hear me?"

"I must ride to Caughnawaga!" she called out, and struck my mare with
both heels so that the horse bounded away beyond my reach.

Exasperated, I knew not what to do, for I could not hope to overtake the
mad wench afoot; and so could only shout after her.

However, she drew bridle and looked back; but I dared not advance from
where I stood, lest she gallop out of hearing at the first step.

"This is madness!" I called to her across the field. "You do not know
why that bell is ringing at Mayfield. A week since the Mohawks were
talking to one another with fires on all these hills! There may be a
war party in yonder woods! There may be more than one betwixt here and
Caughnawaga!"

"I cannot desert Mr. Fonda at such a time," said she with that same pale
and frightened obstinacy I had encountered at Bowman's.

"Do you wish to steal my horse!" I demanded.

"No, sir.... It is not meant so. If some one would guide me afoot I
would be glad to return to you your horse."

"Oh. And if not, then you mean to ride there in spite o' the devil. Is
that the situation?"

"Yes, sir."

Had it been any man I would have put a bullet in him; and could have
easily marked him where I pleased. Never had I been in colder rage;
never had I felt so helpless. And every moment I was afeard the crazy
girl would ride on.

"Will you parley?" I shouted.

"Parley?" she repeated. "How so, young soldier?"

"In this manner, then: I engage my honour not to seize your bridle or
touch you or my horse if you will sit still till I come up with you."

She sat looking at me across the fallow field in silence.

"I shall not use violence," said I. "I shall try only to find some way
to serve you, and yet to do my own duty, too."

"Soldier," she replied in a troubled voice, "is this the very truth you
speak?"

"Have I not engaged my honour?" I retorted sharply.

She made no reply, but she did not stir as I advanced, though her brown
eyes watched my every step.

When I stood at her stirrup she looked down at me intently, and I saw
she was younger even than I had thought, and was made more like a
smooth, slim boy than a woman.

"You are Penelope Grant, of Caughnawaga," I said.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, sir."

I named myself, saying with a smile that none of my name had ever broken
faith in word or deed.

"Now," I continued, "that bell calls me to duty as surely as drum or
trumpet ever summoned soldier since there were wars on earth. I must go
to Stoner's; I can not guide you to Caughnawaga through the woods or
take you thither by road or trail. And yet, if I do not, you mean to
take my horse."

"I must."

"And risk a Mohawk war party on the way?"

"I--must."

"That is very brave," said I, curbing my impatience, "but not wise.
There are others of his kin to care for old Douw Fonda if war has truly
come upon us here in Tryon County."

"Soldier," said she in her still voice, which I once thought had been
made strange by fear, but now knew otherwise--"my honour, too, is
engaged. Mr. Fonda, whom I serve, has made of me more than a servant. He
uses me as a daughter; offers to adopt me; trusts his age and feebleness
to me; looks to me for every need, every ministration....

"Soldier, I came to Dries Bowman's last night with his consent, and gave
him my word to return within a week. I came to Fonda's Bush because Mr.
Fonda desired me to visit the only family in America with whom I have
the slightest tie of kinship--the Bowmans.

"But if war has come to us here in County Tryon, then instantly my duty
is to this brave old gentleman who lives all alone in his house at
Caughnawaga, and nobody except servants and black slaves to protect him
if danger comes to the door."

What the girl said touched me; nor could I discern in her anything of
the coquetry which Nick Stoner's story of her knitting and her ring of
gallants had pictured for me.

Surely here was no rustic coquette to be flattered and courted and
bedeviled by her betters--no country suck-thumb to sit a-giggling at her
knitting, surfeited with honeyed words that meant destruction;--no wench
to hang her head and twiddle apron while some pup of quality whispered
in her ear temptations.

I said: "This is the better way. Listen. Ride my mare to Mayfield by the
highway. If you learn there that the Lower Castle Indians have painted
for war, there is no hope of winning through to Cayadutta Lodge. And of
what use to Mr. Fonda would be a dead girl?"

"That is true," she whispered.

"Very well. And if the Mohawks are loose along the river, then you shall
remain at the Block House until it becomes possible to go on. There is
no other way. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you engage to do this thing? And to place my horse in safety at the
Mayfield fort?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then," said I, "in my turn I promise to send aid to you at Mayfield, or
come myself and take you to Cayadutta Lodge as soon as that proves
possible. And I promise more; I shall endeavour to get word through to
Mr. Fonda concerning your situation."

She thanked me in that odd, still voice of hers. Her eyes had the starry
look of a child's--or of unshed tears.

"My mare will carry two," said I cheerfully. "Let me mount behind you
and set you on the Mayfield road."

She made no reply. I mounted behind her, took the bridle from her
chilled fingers, and spoke to Kaya very gaily. And so we rode across my
sunlit glebe and across the sugar-bush, where the moist trail, full of
ferns, stretched away toward Mayfield as straight as the bee flies.

I do not know whether it was because the wench was now fulfilling her
duty, as she deemed it, and therefore had become contented in a measure,
but when I dismounted she took the bridle with a glance that seemed near
to a faint smile. But maybe it was her mouth that I thought fashioned in
pleasant lines.

"Will you remember, soldier?" she asked, looking down at me from the
saddle. "I shall wait some news of you at the Mayfield fort."

"I shall not let you remain there long abandoned," said I cheerily. "Be
kind to Kaya. She has a tender mouth and an ear more sensitive still to
a harsh word."

The girl laid a hand flat on my mare's neck and looked at me, the shy
caress in her gesture and in her eyes.

Both were meant for my horse; and a quick kindness for this Scotch girl
came into my heart.

"Take shelter at the Mayfield fort," said I, "and be very certain I
shall not forget you. You may gallop all the way on this soft wood-road.
Will you care for Kaya at the fort when she is unsaddled?"

A smile suddenly curved her lips.

"Yes, John Drogue," she answered, looking me in the eyes. And the next
moment she was off at a gallop, her yellow hair loosened with the first
bound of the horse, and flying all about her face and shoulders now,
like sunshine flashing across windblown golden-rod.

Then, in her saddle, the girl turned and looked back at me, and sat so,
still galloping, until she was out of sight.

And, as I stood there alone in the woodland road, I began to understand
what Nick Stoner meant when he called this Scotch girl a disturber of
men's minds and a mistress--all unconscious, perhaps--of a very deadly
art.




CHAPTER VIII

SHEEP AND GOATS


Now, as I came again to the forest's edge and hastened along the wide
logging road, to make up for moments wasted, I caught sight of two
neighbors, John Putman and Herman Salisbury, walking ahead of me.

They wore the regimentals of our Mohawk Regiment of district militia,
carried rifles and packs; and I smelled the tobacco from their pipes,
which seemed pleasant though I had never learned to smoke.

I called to them; they heard me and waited.

"Well, John," says Putman, as I came up with them, "this is like to be a
sorry business for farmers, what with plowing scarce begun and not a
seed yet planted in all the Northland, barring winter wheat."

"You think we are to take the field in earnest this time?" I asked
anxiously.

"It looks that way to me, Mr. Drogue. It's a long, long road to liberty,
lad; and I'm thinking we're off at last."

"He believes," explained Salisbury, "that Little Abraham's Mohawks are
leaving the Lower Castle--which God prevent!--but I think this business
is liker to be some new deviltry of Sir John's."

"Sir John gave his parole to General Schuyler," said I, turning very
red; for I was mortified that the honour of my caste should be so
carelessly questioned.

"It is not unthinkable that Sir John might lie," retorted Salisbury
bluntly. "I knew his father. Well and good. I know the son, also.... But
I suppose that gentlemen like yourself, Mr. Drogue, are ashamed to
suspect the honour of any of their own class,--even an enemy."

But Putman was plainer spoken, saying that in his opinion any Tory was
likely to attempt any business, however dirty, and rub up his tarnished
honour afterward.

I made him no answer; and we marched swiftly forward, each engaged with
a multitude of serious and sombre thoughts.

A few moments later, chancing to glance behind me, stirred by what
instinct I know not, I espied two neighbors, young John, son of Philip
Helmer, and Charles Cady, of Fonda's Bush, following us so stealthily
and so closely that they might decently have hailed us had they been so
minded.

Now, when they perceived that I had noticed them, they dodged into the
bush, as though moved by some common impulse. Then they reappeared in
the road. And, said I in a low voice to John Putman:

"Yonder comes slinking a proper pair o' tree-cats to sniff us to our
destination. If these two be truly of the other party, then they have no
business at John Stoner's."

Putman and Salisbury both looked back. Said the one, grimly:

"They are not coming to answer the militia call; they have rifles but
neither regimentals nor packs."

Said the other: "I wish we were clean split at Fonda's Bush, so that an
honest man might know when 'neighbor' spells 'traitor' in low Dutch."

"Some riddles are best solved by bullets," muttered the other. "Who
argues with wolves or plays cat's-cradle with catamounts!"

Glancing again over my shoulder, I saw that the two behind us were
mending their pace and must soon come up with us. And so they did,
Putman giving them a civil good-day.

"Have you any news, John Drogue?" inquired young Helmer.

I replied that I had none to share with him, meaning only that I had no
news at all. But Cady took it otherwise and his flat-featured face
reddened violently, as though the pox were coming out on him.

And, "What the devil," says he, "does this young, forest-running
cockerel mean? And why should he not share his news with John Helmer
here,--yes, or with me, too, by God, or yet with any true man in County
Tryon?"

I said that I had not intended any such meaning; that he mistook me; and
that I had aimed at no discourtesy to anybody.

"And safer for you, too!" retorted Cady in a loud and threatening tone.
"A boy's wisdom lies in his silence."

"Johnny Helmer asked a question of me," said I quietly. "I replied as
best I knew how."

"Yes, and I'll ask a dozen questions if I like!" shouted Cady. "Don't
think to bully me or cast aspersions on my political complexion!"

"If," said I, "your political complexion be no clearer than your
natural one, God only can tell what ferments under your skin."

At which he seemed so taken aback that he answered nothing; but Helmer
urgently demanded to know what political views I pretended to carry.

"I wear mine on my back," said I pleasantly, glancing around at both
Helmer and Cady, who bore no packs on their backs in earnest of their
readiness for service.

"You are a damned impudent boy!" retorted Cady, "whatever may be your
politics or your complexion."

Salisbury and Putman looked around at him in troubled silence, and he
said no more for the moment. But Helmer's handsome features darkened
again: and, "I'll not be put upon," said he, "whatever Charlie Cady
stomachs! Who is Jack Drogue to flaunt his pack and his politics under
my nose!

"And," he added, looking angrily at me, "by every natural right a
gentleman should be a King's man. So if your politics stink somewhat of
Boston, you are doubly suspect as an ingrate to the one side and a
favour-currying servant to the other!"

I said: "Had Sir William lived to see this day in Tryon, I think he,
also, would be wearing his regimentals as I do, and to the same
purpose."

Cady burst into a jeering laugh: "Say as much to Sir John! Go to the
Hall and say to Sir John that his father, had he lived, would this day
be sending out a district militia call! Tell him that, young cockerel,
if you desire a flogging at the guard-house."

"You know more of floggings than do I," said I quietly. Which stopt his
mouth. For, despite my scarcity of years, I had given him a sound
beating the year before, being so harassed and pestered by him because I
had answered the militia-call on the day that General Schuyler marched
up and disarmed Sir John's Highlanders at the Hall.

Putman, beside whom I was marching, turned to me and said, loud enough
for all to hear: "You are only a lad, John Drogue, but I bear witness
that you display the patience and good temper of a grown man. For if
Charlie Cady, here, had picked on me as he has on you, he sure had
tasted my rifle-butt before now!"

"Neighbors must bear with one another in such times," said I, "and help
each other stamp down the earth where the war-axe lies buried."

And, "Damn you!" shouts Cady at a halt, "I shall not stir a step more to
be insulted. I shall not budge one inch, bell or no bell, call or no
call!----"

But Helmer dropped to the rear and got him by the elbow and pulled him
forward; and I heard them whispering together behind us as we hastened
on.

Herman Salisbury said: "A pair of real tree-cats, old Tom and little
Kit! I'm in half a mind to turn them back!" And he swung his brown rifle
from the shoulder and let it drop to the hollow of his left arm--an
insult and a menace to any man.

"They but answer their nature, which is to nose about and smell out
what's a-frying," growled Putman. "Shall we turn them back and be done
with them? It will mean civil war in Fonda's Bush."

"Watched hens never lay," said I. "Let them come with us. While they
remain under our eyes the stale old plan they brood will addle like a
cluck-egg."

Salisbury nodded meaningly:

"So that I can see my enemy," growled he, "I have no care concerning
him. But let him out o' sight and I fret like a chained beagle."

As he finished speaking we came into Stoner's clearing, which was but a
thicket of dead weed-stalks in a fallow field fenced by split rails.
Fallow, indeed, lay all the Stoner clearing, save for a patch o'
hen-scratched garden at the log-cabin's dooryard; for old Henry Stoner
and his forest-running sons were none too fond of dallying with plow and
hoe while rifle and fish-pole rested across the stag-horn's crotch above
the chimney-piece.

And if ever they fed upon anything other than fish and flesh, I do not
know; for I never saw aught growing in their garden, save a dozen
potato-vines and a stray corn-stalk full o' worms.

Around the log house in the clearing already were gathered a dozen or
sixteen men, the greater number wearing the tow-cloth rifle-frock of the
district militia.

Other men began to arrive as we came up. Everywhere great, sinewy hands
were extended to greet us; old Henry Stoner, sprawling under an apple
tree, saluted us with a harsh pleasantry; and I saw the gold rings
shining in his ears.

Nick came over to where I stood, full of that devil's humour which so
often urged him into--and led him safely out of--endless scrapes betwixt
sun-up and moon-set every day in the year.

"It's Sir John we're to take, I hear," he said to me with a grin. "They
say the lying louse of a Baronet has been secretly plotting with Guy
Johnson and the Butlers in Canada. What wonder, then, that our
Provincial Congress has its belly full of these same Johnstown Tories
and must presently spew them up. And they say we are to march on the
Hall at noon and hustle our merry Baronet into Johnstown jail."

I felt myself turning red.

"Is it not decent to give Sir John the benefit of doubt until we learn
why that bell is ringing?" said I.

"There we go!" cried Nick Stoner. "Just because your father loved Sir
William and you may wear gold lace on your hat, you feel an attachment
to all quality. Hearken to me, John Drogue: Sir William is dead and the
others are as honourable as a pack of Canada wolves." He climbed to the
top of the rickety rail fence and squatted there. "The landed gentry of
Tryon County are a pack of bloody wolves," said he, lighting his cob
pipe;--"Guy Johnson, Colonel Claus, Walter Butler, every one of
them--every one!--only excepting you, John Drogue! Look, now, where
they're gathering in the Canadas--Johnsons, Butlers, McDonalds,--the
whole Tory pack--with Brant and his Mohawks stole away, and Little
Abraham like to follow with every warrior from the Lower Castle!

"And do you suppose that Sir John has no interest in all this Tory
treachery? Do you suppose that this poisonous Baronet is not in constant
and secret communication with Canada?"

I looked elsewhere sullenly. Nick took me by the arm and drew me up to a
seat beside him on the rail fence.

"Let's view it soberly and fairly, Jack," says he, tapping his palm with
the stem of his pipe, through which smoke oozed. "Let's view it from the
start. Begin from the Boston business. Now, then! George the Virginian
got the Red-coats cooped up in Boston. That's the Yankee answer to too
much British tyranny.

"We, in the Northland, looked to our landed gentry to stand by us, lead
us, and face the British King who aims to turn us into slaves.

"We called on our own governing class to protect us in our ancient
liberties,--to arm us, lead us in our own defense! We begged Guy Johnson
to hold back his savages so that the Iroquois Confederacy should remain
passive and take neither the one side nor t'other.

"I grant you that Sir William in his day did loyally his uttermost to
quiet the Iroquois and hold his own Mohawks tranquil when Cresap was
betrayed by Dunmore, and the first breeze from this storm which is now
upon us was already stirring the Six Nations into restlessness."

"Sir William," said I, "was the greatest and the best of all Americans."

He said gravely: "Sir William is dead. May God rest his soul. But this
is the situation that confronts us here this day on the frontier: We
appealed to the landed gentry of Tryon. They sneered at us, and spoke of
us as rebels, and have used us very scornfully--all excepting yourself,
John!

"They forced Alec White on us as Sheriff, and he broke up our meetings.
They strove by colour of law and by illegal force to stamp out in Tryon
County the last spark of liberty, of manhood among us. God knows what we
have endured these last few years from the landed gentry of Tryon!--what
we have put up with and stomached since the first shot was fired at
Lexington!

"And what has become of our natural protectors and leaders! Where is the
landed gentry of County Tryon at this very hour? Except you, John
Drogue, where are our gentlemen of the Northland?"

"Gone," said I soberly.

"Gone to Canada with the murderous Indians they were supposed to hold
neutral! Guy Park stands empty and locked. It is an accursed place! Guy
Johnson is fled with every Tory desperado and every Indian he could
muster! May God damn him!

"Old John Butler followed; and is brigading malcontents in Canada.
Butlersbury stands deserted. May every devil in hell haunt that house!
Young Walter Butler is gone with many of our old neighbors of Tryon; and
at Niagara he is forming a merciless legion to return and cut our
throats.

"And Colonel Claus is gone, and McDonald, the bloody thief!--with his
kilted lunatics and all his Scotch banditti----"

"But Sir John remains," said I quietly.

"Jack! Are you truly so blinded by your caste! Did not you yourself
answer the militia call last winter and march with our good General to
disarm Sir John's popish Highlanders! And even then they lied--and Sir
John lied--for they hid their broad-swords and pikes! and delivered them
not when they paraded to ground their muskets!"

"Sir John has given his parole," I repeated stubbornly.

"Sir John breaks it every hour of the day!" cried Nick. "And he will
break it again when we march to take him. Do you think he won't learn of
our coming? Do you suppose he will stay at the Hall, which he has
pledged his honour to do?"

"His lady is still there."

"With his lady I have no quarrel," rejoined Nick. "I know her to be a
very young, very wilful, very bitter, and very unhappy Tory; and she
treats us plain folk like dirt under her satin shoon. But for that I
care nothing. I pity her because she is the wife of that cold, sleek
beast, Sir John. I pity her because she is gently bred and frail and
lonely and stuffed with childish pride o' race. I pity her lot there in
the great Hall, with her girl companions and her servants and her
slaves. And I pity her because everybody in County Tryon, excepting only
herself, knows that Sir John cares nothing for her, and that Claire
Putnam of Tribes Hill is Sir John's doxy!--and be damned to him! And you
think such a man will not break his word?

"He broke his vows to wife and mistress alike. Why should he keep his
vows to men?" He slid to the ground as he spoke, and I followed, for our
three drummers had formed rank and were drawing their sticks from their
cross-belts. Our fifers, also, lined up behind them; and Nick and his
young brother, John, took places with them.

"Fall in! Fall in!" cried Joe Scott, our captain; and everybody ran with
their packs and rifles to form in double ranks of sixteen files front
while the drums rolled like spring thunder, filling the woods with their
hollow sound, and the fifes shrilled like the swish of rain through
trees.

Standing at ease between Dries Bowman and Baltus Weed, I answered to the
roll call. Some among us lighted pipes and leaned on our long rifles,
chatting with neighbors; others tightened belts and straps, buttoned
spatter-dashes, or placed a sprig of hemlock above the black and white
cockades on their felt hats.

Balty Weed, who lived east of me, a thin fellow with red rims to his
eyes and dry, sparse hair tied in a queue with a knot of buckskin, asked
me in his stealthy way what I thought about our present business, and if
our Provincial Congress had not, perhaps, unjustly misjudged Sir John.

I replied cautiously. I had never trusted Balty because he frequented
taverns where few friends to liberty cared to assemble; and he was far
too thick with Philip and John Helmer and with Charlie Cady to suit my
taste.

We, in the little hamlet of Fonda's Bush, were scarce thirty families,
all counted; and yet, even here in this trackless wilderness, out of
which each man had hewed for himself a patch of garden and a stump
pasture along the little river Kennyetto, the bitter quarrel had long
smouldered betwixt Tory and Patriot--King's man and so-called Rebel.

And this was the Mohawk country. And the Mohawks stood for the King of
England.

The road, I say, ended here; but there was a Mohawk path through twenty
odd miles of untouched forest to those healing springs called Saratoga.

Except for this path and a deep worn war-trail north to the Sacandaga,
which was the Iroquois road to Canada, and except for the wood road to
Sir William's Mayfield and Fish House settlements, we of Fonda's Bush
were utterly cut off. Also, save for the new Block House at Mayfield, we
were unprotected in a vast wilderness which embodied the very centre of
the Mohawk country.

True, north of us stood that little pleasure house built for his hour of
leisure by Sir William, and called "The Summer House."

Painted white and green, it stood on a hard ridge jutting out into those
dismal, drowned lands which we call the Great Vlaie. But it was not
fortified.

Also, to the north, lay the Fish House, a hunting lodge of Sir William.
But these places were no protection for us. On the other hand, they
seemed a menace; for Tories, it had been rumoured, were ever skulking
along the Vlaie and the Sacandaga; and for aught we knew, these
buildings were already designed to be made into block-houses and to be
garrisoned by our enemies as soon as the first rifle-shot cracked out in
the cause of liberty.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our company of the Mohawk Regiment numbered thirty-six rifles--all that
now remained of the old company, three-fourths of which had already
deserted to the Canadas with Butler. All our officers had fled; Joe
Scott of Maxon, formerly a sergeant, now commanded us; Benjamin de
Luysnes was our lieutenant; Dries Bowman and Phil Helmer our
sergeants--both already suspected.

Well, we got away from Stoner's, marching in double file, and only the
little creatures of the forest to hear our drums and fifes.

But the old discipline which had obtained in all our Tryon regiments
when Sir William was our Major General and the landed gentry our
officers seemed gone; a dull sense of bewilderment reigned, confusing
many among us, as when leaderless men begin to realize how they had
depended upon a sturdy staff now broken forever.

We marched with neither advanced guard nor flankers for the first half
mile; then Joe Scott halted us and made Nick Stoner put away his beloved
fife and sent him out on our right flank where the forest was heavy.

Me he selected to scout forward on the left--a dirty job where alders
and willows grew thick above the bogs.

But why in God's name our music played to advertise our coming I can not
guess, for our men needed no heartening, having courage and resolution,
only the lack of officers causing them any anxiety at all.

On the left flank of the little column I kept very easily in touch
because of this same silly drumming and fifing. And I was glad when we
came to high ground and breasted the hills which lead to that higher
plateau, over which runs the road to Johnstown.

Plodding along in the bush, keeping a keen watch for any enemy who might
come in paint or in scarlet coat, and the far rhythm of our drums
thumping dully in my ears, I wondered whether other companies of my
regiment were marching on Johnstown, and if other Tryon regiments--or
what was left of them--were also afoot that day.

Was this, then, the beginning of the war in the Northland? And, when we
made a prisoner of Sir John, would all the dusky forests glow with
scarlet war-paint and scarlet coats?

Today birds sang. Tomorrow the terrific panther-slogan of the Iroquois
might break out into hell's own uproar among these purple hills.

Was this truly the beginning? Would these still, leafy trails where the
crested partridge strutted witness bloody combats between old
neighbors--all the horrors of a fratricidal war?

Would the painted men of the woods hold their hands while Tory and
patriot fought it out? Or was this utter and supreme horror to be added
to this unnatural conflict?

Reflecting very seriously upon these matters, I trotted forward, rifle
a-trail, and saw nothing living in the woods save a big hare or two in
the alders, and the wild brown poultry of the woods, that ran to cover
or rose into thunderous flight among the thickets.

       *       *       *       *       *

About four o'clock came to me Godfrey Shew, of Fish House, a private
soldier like myself, with news of a halt on the Johnstown road, and
orders that I eat a snack and rest in my tracks.

He told me that a company of horse from Albany was out scouting along
the Mohawk, and that a column of three thousand men under Colonel
Dayton were marching on Johnstown and had passed Schenectady about noon.

Other news he had none, excepting that our company was to remain where
we had halted, in order to stop the road to Fonda's Bush and Saratoga,
in case Sir John should attempt to retire this way.

"Well, Godfrey," said I, "if Sir John truly turns out to be without
shame and honour, and if he marches this way, there is like to be a
lively time for us of the Bush, because Sir John has three hundred
Highlanders to thirty odd of ourselves, and enough Borderers and Tory
militia to double the count."

"We all know that," said Shew calmly, "and are not afraid."

"Do you think our people mean to stand?"

"Yes," said he simply.

A hot thrill of pride tingled my every vein. Suddenly I completely
comprehended that these plain folk of Fonda's Bush were my own people;
that I was one of them; that, as they meant to stand for the ancient
liberties of all Englishmen, now wickedly denied them, so I also meant
to stand to the end.

And now, at last, I comprehended that I was in actual revolt against
that King and against that nobility and gentry who were deserting us
when we had so desperate need of them in this coming battle for human
freedom in a slave-cursed world.

The cleavage had come at last; the Northland was clean split; the red
livery of the King's men had suddenly become a target for every honest
rifle in Tryon.

"Godfrey," I said, "the last chance for truce is passing as you and I
stand here,--the last chance for any reconciliation and brotherly
understanding between us and our Tory neighbors."

"It is better that way," he said, giving me a sombre look.

I nodded, but all the horror of civil war lay heavy in my heart and I
thought of my many friends in Tryon who would wear the scarlet coat
tomorrow, and whom I now must try to murder with my proper hands, lest
they do the like for me.

Around us, where we were standing, a golden dusk reigned in the forest,
into which, through the roof of green above, fell a long sunbeam,
lighting the wooded aisle as a single candle on the altar gleams athwart
the gloom of some still cathedral.

       *       *       *       *       *

At five o'clock Godfrey and I had not moved from that silent place where
we stood on watch, leaning upon our rifles.

Twice soldiers came to bid us keep close guard in these open woods
which, being primeval, were clear of underbrush and deep with the brown
carpet of dead leaves.

At last, toward six o'clock, we heard our drums rolling in the
distance--signal to scout forward. I ran out among the great trees and
started on toward Johnstown, keeping Godfrey in view on my left hand.

Very soon I came out of the forest on the edge of cleared land. Against
the evening sky I saw the spires of Johnstown, stained crimson in the
westering sun which was going down red as a cherry.

But what held me in spell was the sight that met my eyes across the open
meadows, where moving ranks of musket-barrels glanced redly in the last
gleam of sunset and the naked swords and gorgets of mounted officers
glittered.

Godfrey Shew emerged from the edge of the forest on my left and stood
knee deep in last year's wild grass, one hand shading his eyes.

"What troops are those?" I shouted to him. "They look like the
Continental Line!"

"It's a reg'lar rig'ment," he bawled, "but whose I know not!"

The clanking of their armament came clearly to my ears; the timing tap
of their drum sounded nearer still.

"There can be no mistake," I called out to Godfrey; "yonder marches a
regiment of the New York line! We're at war!"

We moved out across the pasture. I examined my flint and priming, and,
finding all tight and bright, waded forward waist high, through last
year's ghostly golden-rod, ready for a quick shot if necessary.

The sun had gone down; a lilac-tinted dusk veiled the fields, through
which the gay evening chirruping of the robins rang incessantly.

"There go our people!" shouted Godfrey.

I had already caught sight of the Fonda's Bush Company filing between
some cattle-bars to the left of us; and knew they must be making
straight for Johnson Hall.

We shouldered our pieces and ran through the dead weeds to intercept
them; but there was no need for haste, because they halted presently in
some disorder; and I saw Joe Scott walking to and fro along the files,
gesticulating.

And then, as Godfrey and I came up with them, we witnessed the first
shameful exhibition of disorder that for so many months disgraced the
militia of New York--a stupidity partly cowardly, partly treacherous,
which at one time so incensed His Excellency the Virginian that he said
they were, as a body, more detrimental than helpful to the cause, and
proposed to disband them.

In the light of later events, I now realize that their apparent
poltroonery arose not from individual cowardice. But these levies had no
faith in their companies because every battalion was still full of
Tories, nor had any regiment yet been purged.

Also, they had no confidence in their officers, who, for the greater
part, were as inexperienced as they themselves. And I think it was
because of these things that the New York militia behaved so
contemptibly after the battle of Long Island, and in Tryon County, until
the terrific trial by fire at Oriskany had burnt the dross out of us and
left only the nobler metal.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our Fonda's Bush Company presented a most mortifying spectacle as
Godfrey and I came up. Joe Scott stood facing the slovenly single rank
which he had contrived to parade in the gathering dusk; and he was
arguing with the men while they talked back loudly.

There was a hubbub of voices, angry arguments, some laughter which
sounded more sinister to me than the cursing.

Then Charlie Cady and John Howell of Sacandaga left the ranks, refusing
to listen to Scott, and withdrew a little distance, where they stood
sullenly in their defiance.

Elias Cady called out that he would not march to the Hall to take Sir
John, and he, also, left the ranks.

Then, and despite Joe Scott's pleading, Phil Helmer and his sullen son,
John, walked away and joined the Cadys, and called on Andrew Bowman to
do the like.

Dries wavered; but Baltus Weed and Eugene Grinnis left the company.

Which so enraged me that I, also, forgot all discipline and duty, and
shook my rifles at the mutineers.

"You Tory dogs!" I said, "we're well purged of you, and I for one thank
God that we now know you for what you are!"

Godfrey, a stark, fierce figure in his blackened buckskins, went out in
front of our single rank and called to the malcontents:

"Pull foot, you swine, or I'll mark you!"

And, "Pull foot!" shouted Nick Stoner, "and be damned to you! Why do you
loiter! Do you wait for a volley in your guts!"

At that, Balty Weed turned and ran toward the woods; but the others
moved more slowly and sullenly, not exactly menacing us with their
rifles, but carrying them conveniently across the hollow of their left
arms.

In the increasing darkness I heard somebody sob, and saw Joe Scott
standing with one hand across his eyes, as though to close from his
sight such a scene of deep disgrace.

Then I went to him. I was trembling and could scarce command my voice,
but gave him a salute and stood at attention until he finally noticed
me.

"Well, John," said he, "this is like to be the death of me."

"Sir; will you order the drums to beat a march?"

"Do you think the men will march?"

"Yes, sir--what remains of them."

He came slowly back, motioning what was left of the company to close up.
I could not hear what he said, but the men began to count off, and their
voices were resolute enough to hearten all.

So presently Nick Stoner, who acted as fife-major, blew lustily into his
fife, playing the marching tune, which is called "The Little Red Foot";
and the drums beat it; and we marched in column of fours to take Sir
John at his ancestral Hall, if it chanced to be God's will.




CHAPTER IX

STOLE AWAY


Johnson Hall was a blaze of light with candles in every window, and
great lanterns flaring from both stone forts which flanked the Hall, and
along the new palisades which Sir John had built recently for his
defense.

All gates and doors stood wide open, and officers in Continental uniform
and in the uniform of the Palatine Regiment, were passing in and out
with a great clanking of swords and spurs.

Everywhere companies of regular infantry from Colonel Dayton's regiment
of the New York Line were making camp, and I saw their baggage waggons
drive up from the town below and go into park to the east of the Hall,
where cattle were lying in the new grass.

An officer of the Palatine Regiment carrying a torch came up to Joe
Scott, where our little company stood at ease along the hedge fence.

"What troops are these, sir?" he inquired, indicating us with a nervous
gesture.

And when he was informed:

"Oho!" said he, "there should be material for rangers among your
farmer-militia. Pick me two men for Colonel Dayton who live by rifle and
trap and who know the wilderness from Albany to the Lakes."

So our captain told off Nick Stoner and me, and we stepped out of the
ranks into the red torch-glow.

"Thank you, sir," said the Palatine officer to our Captain. And to us:
"Follow me, lads."

He was a brisk, handsome and smartly uniformed officer of militia; and
his cheerful demeanor heartened me who had lately witnessed such
humiliations and disgrace.

We followed him through the stockade gate and into the great house, so
perfectly familiar to me in happier days.

Excepting for the noise and confusion of officers coming and going,
there was no disorder within; the beautiful furniture stood ranged in
stately symmetry; the pictures hung on the walls; but I saw no silver
anywhere, and all the candlesticks were pewter.

As we came to the library, an officer in the uniform of a colonel of the
Continental Line turned from a group of men crowded around the centre
table, on which lay a map. Nick Stoner and I saluted his epaulettes.

He came close to us and searched our faces coolly enough, as a farmer
inspects an offered horse.

"This is young Nick Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, sir," said the Palatine
officer.

"Oh," said the Colonel drily, "I have heard of the Stoner boys. And what
may be your name?" he inquired, fastening his piercing eyes on mine.

"John Drogue, sir."

"I have heard of you, also," he remarked, more drily still.

For a full minute, it seemed to me, he scrutinized me from head to foot
with a sort of curiosity almost brutal. Then, on his features a fine
smile softened what had seemed insolence. With a glance he dismissed the
Palatine, motioned us to follow him, and we three entered the
drawing-room across the hall, which was lighted but empty.

"Mr. Drogue," said he, "I am Colonel Dayton; and I have in my personal
baggage a lieutenant's commission for you from our good Governor,
procured, I believe, through the solicitation of our mutual and most
excellent friend, Lord Stirling."

I stood astonished to learn of my preferment, never dreaming nor even
wishing for military rank, but perfectly content to carry the sack of a
private soldier in this most just of all wars. And as for Billy
Alexander remembering to so serve me, I was still more amazed. For Lord
Stirling was already a general officer in His Excellency's new army, and
I never expected him to remember me amid the desperate anxieties of his
new position.

"Mr. Drogue," said Dayton, "you, I believe, are the only example among
the gentry of Tryon County who has openly embraced the cause of our
thirteen colonies. I do not include the Albany Patroon; I speak only of
the nobility and gentry of this county.... And it took courage to turn
your back upon your own caste."

"It would have taken more to turn against my own countrymen, sir."

He smiled. "Come, sir, were you not sometime Brent-Meester to Sir
William?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you should know the forest, Mr. Drogue."

"I do know it."

"So General Schuyler has informed me."

He clasped his gloved hands behind his back and began to pace to and
fro, his absent glances on the window candles. Presently he halted:

"Sir John is fled. Did you know it?" he said abruptly.

I felt the hot shame burn my face to the roots of my hair.

"Broke his parole of honour and gone off," added Dayton. "Where do you
suppose he is making for with his Tories and Highlanders?"

I could scarcely speak, so mortified was I that a gentleman of my own
class could have so foully conducted. But I made out to say that Sir
John, no doubt, was traveling toward Canada. "Certainly," said the
Colonel; "but which route?"

"God knows, sir. By the Sacandaga and the Lakes, no doubt."

"Could he go by Saratoga and the top o' the Hudson?"

"It is a pathless wilderness."

"Yes. And still I think the rogue went that way. I have rangers out
looking for signs of him beyond Ballston. Also, I sent half a battalion
toward the Sacandaga. Of course Albany Royalists warned him of my
coming; I couldn't prevent that, nor could Schuyler, no, nor the very
devil himself!

"And here am I at the Hall, and the fox stole away to the Canadas. And
what now to do I know not.... Do _you_?"

He shot the question in my face point blank; and I stood dumb for a
minute, striving to collect and marshall any ideas that might bear upon
so urgent a matter.

"Colonel," said I, "unless the British hold Champlain, Sir John would
scarcely risk a flight in that direction. No. He would prefer to plunge
into the wilderness and travel by Oswegatchi."

"Do you so believe, Mr. Drogue?"

I considered a moment more; then:

"Yet, if Guy Johnson's Indians have come down toward the Sacandaga to
protect him--knowing that he had meant to flee----"

I looked at Dayton, then turned to Nick.

"What think you, Nick?" I demanded.

"By God," he blurted out, "I am of that mind too! Only a madman would
attempt the wilderness by Oswegatchi; and I wager that Sir John is
already beyond the Sacandaga and making for the Canadas on the old
Mohawk war-trail!"

Colonel Dayton laid one hand on my shoulder:

"Mr. Drogue," said he, "we have militia and partizans more than
sufficient in Tryon. What we need are more regulars, too; but most of
all, and in this crisis, we need rangers. God alone knows what is coming
upon Tryon County from the North,--what evil is breeding there,--what
sinister forces are gathering to overwhelm these defenceless
settlements.

"We have scarcely a fort on this frontier, scarcely a block house. Every
town and village and hamlet north of Albany is unprotected; every lonely
settler is now at the mercy of this unknown and monstrous menace which
is gathering like a thundercloud in the North.

"Regular regiments require time to muster; the militia have yet to prove
their worth; partizans, minute men, alarm companies--the value of all
these remains a question still. Damn it, I want rangers! I want them
_now_!"

He began to stride about the room again in his perplexity, but presently
came back to where we stood.

"How many rifles in your company from Fonda's Bush?" he demanded.

I blushed to tell him, and further confessed what had occurred that very
evening in the open fields before Johnstown.

"Well," said he coolly, "it is well to be rid of vermin. Now you should
pick your men in safety, Mr. Drogue. And if none will volunteer--such as
have families or are not fit material for rangers--you are authorized to
go out into the wilderness and recruit any forest-running fellow you can
persuade."

He drove one gloved hand into the palm of the other to emphasize what he
said:

"I want real rangers, not militia! I want young men who laugh at any
face old Death can pull at them! I want strong men, keen men, tough men,
rough men.

"I want men who fear God, if that may be, or who fear the devil, if that
may be; but who fear nothing else on earth!"

He shot a look at Nick, "--like that boy there!" he exclaimed--"or I am
no judge of men! And like yourself, Mr. Drogue, when once they blood
you! Come, sir; can you find a few such men for me, and take full
charge?"

"Yes, sir."

"A pledge!" he exclaimed, beating his gloved palms. "And when you can
collect a dozen--the first full dozen--I want you to stop the Iroquois
trail at the Sacandaga. That's where you shall chiefly operate--along
the Sacandaga and the mountains northward! That's where I expect
trouble. There lies this accursed war-trail; and along it there is like
to be a very bloody business!"

He turned aside and stood smiting his hands softly together, his
preoccupied eyes regarding the candles.

"A very bloody business," he repeated absently to himself. "Only rangers
can aid us now.... Help us a little in this dreadful crisis.... Until we
can recruit--build forts----"

An officer appeared at the open door and saluted.

"Well, sir," inquired Dayton sharply.

"Lady Johnson is not to be discovered in the town, sir."

"What? Has Lady Johnson run away also? Does the poor, deluded woman
imagine that any man in my command would offer insult to her?"

"It is reported, sir, that Lady Johnson said some very bitter things
concerning us. It is further reported that Lady Johnson is gone in a
great rage to the hunting lodge of the late Sir William, as there were
already family servants there at last accounts."

"Where's this place?" demanded Dayton, turning to me.

"The summer house on the Vlaie, sir."

"Very well. Take what men you can collect and go there instantly, Mr.
Drogue, and place that foolish woman under arrest!"

A most painful colour burnt my face, but I saluted in silence.

"The little fool," muttered Dayton, "to think we meant to insult her!"
And to me: "Let her remain there, Mr. Drogue, if she so desires. Only
guard well the house. I shall march a battalion of my regiment thither
in the morning, and later I shall order a company of Colonel
Livingston's regiment to Fish House. And then we shall see what we shall
see," he added grimly to the officer in the doorway, who smiled in
return.

There ensued a silence through which, very far away, we heard the music
of another regiment marching into the town, which lay below us under the
calm, high stars.

"That's Livingston, now!" said Colonel Dayton, briskly; and went out in
a hurry, his sword and spurs ringing loudly in the hall. And a moment
later we heard him ride away at a gallop, and the loud clatter of
horsemen at his heels.

I pulled a bit of jerked venison from my sack and bit into it. Nick
Stoner filled his mouth with cold johnnycake.

And so, munching our supper, we left the Hall, headed for the Drowned
Lands to make prisoner an unhappy girl who had gone off in a rage to
Summer House Point.




CHAPTER X

A NIGHT MARCH


The village of Johnstown was more brightly lighted than I had ever
before seen it. Indeed, as we came out of the Hall the glow of it showed
rosy in the sky and the distant bustle in the streets came quite plainly
to our ears.

Near the hedge fence outside the Hall we came upon remnants of our
militia company, which had just been dismissed from further duty, and
the men permitted to go home.

Some already were walking away across the fields toward the Fonda's Bush
road, and these all were farmers; but I saw De Luysnes and Johnny
Silver, the French trappers, talking to old man Stoner and his younger
boy; and Nick and I went over to where they were gathered near a
splinter torch, which burned with a clear, straight flame like a candle.

Joe Scott, too, was there, and I told him about my commission, whereupon
he gave me the officer's salute and we shook hands very gravely.

"There is scarce a handful remaining of our company," said he, "and you
had best choose from us such as may qualify for rangers, and who are
willing to go with you. As for me, I can not go, John, because I have
here a letter but just delivered from Honikol Herkimer, calling me to
the Canajoharie Regiment."

It appeared, also, that old man Stoner had already enlisted with Colonel
Livingston's regiment, and his thirteen-year-old boy, also, had been
taken into the same command as a drummer.

Dries Bowman shook his head when I appealed to him, saying he had a wife
and children to look after, and would not leave them alone in the Bush.

None could find fault with such an answer, though his surly tone
troubled me a little.

However, the two French trappers offered to enlist in my company of
Rangers, and they instantly began to strap up their packs like men
prepared to start on any journey at a moment's notice.

Then Godfrey Shew, of Fish House, said to me very simply that his
conscience and his country weighed more together than did his cabin; and
that he was quite ready to go with me at once.

At that, Joe de Golyer, of Varick's, fetched a laugh and came up in the
torch-light and stood there towering six foot eight in his greasy
buckskins, and showing every hound's tooth in his boyish head.

"Give me my shilling, John," quoth he, "for I, also, am going with you.
I've a grist-mill and a cabin and a glebe fair cleared at Varick's. But
my father was all French; I have seen red for many a day; and if the
King of England wants my mill I shall take my pay for it where I find
it!"

Silver began to grin and strut and comb out his scarlet thrums with
dirty fingers.

"Enfin," said he, with both thumbs in his arm-pits, "we shall be ver'
happee familee in our pretee Bush. No more Toree, no more Iroquois!
Tryon Bush all belong to us."

"All that belongs to us today," remarked Godfrey grimly, "is what we
hold over our proper rifles, Johnny Silver!"

Old man Stoner nodded: "What you look at over your rifle sight is all
that'll ever feed and clothe you now, Silver."

"Oh, sure, by gar!" cried Silver with his lively grin. "Deer in blue
coat, man in red coat, même chose, savvy? All good game to Johnee
Silver. Ver' fine chasse! Ah, sacré garce!" And he strutted about like a
cock-partridge, slapping his hips.

Nick Stoner burst into a loud laugh.

"Ours is like to be a rough companionship, John!" he said. "For the
first shot fired will hum in our ears like new ale; and the first
screech from the Iroquois will turn us into devils!"

"Come," said I with a shiver I could not control.

I shook hands with Joe Scott; Nick took leave of his big, gaunt father.
We both looked at Dries Bowman, but he had turned away in pretense of
firing the torch.

"Good-bye, Brent-Meester!" cried little Johnny Stoner in his childish
treble, as we started down the stony way toward the town below.

       *       *       *       *       *

Johnstown streets were full of people and every dwelling, shop, and
tavern lighted brightly as we came into the village.

Mounted troopers of the Albany Horse guarded every street or clattered
to and fro in search, they told us, of hidden arms and supplies.
Soldiers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, too, were
to be seen everywhere, some guarding the jail, some encamped before the
Court House, others occupying suspected dwellings and taverns notorious
as Tory nests.

Such inhabitants as were known friends to liberty roamed about the
streets or stood in knots under the trees, whispering together and
watching the soldiers. But Tories and their families remained indoors,
peering sullenly from their windows and sometimes scowling upon these
soldiers of a new nation, within the confines of which they already were
discovering that no place remained for any friend to England or her
King.

As my little file of riflemen passed on moccasined feet through the
swarming streets of Johnstown, soldiers and townspeople gazed curiously
after us, surmising immediately what might be our errand. And many
greeted us or called out pleasantries after us, such as, "Hearkaway! The
red fox will fool you yet!" And, "Dig him out, you wolf-hounds! He's
gone to earth at Sacandaga!"

Many soldiers cheered us, swinging their cocked hats; and Nick Stoner
and Johnny Silver swung their coon-tailed caps in return, shouting the
wolf-cry of the Coureur-du-Bois--"Yik-yik-hoo-hoolo--o!"

And now we passed the slow-moving baggage waggons of Colonel
Livingston's regiment, toiling up from Caughnawaga, the sleepy teamsters
nodding, and armed soldiers drowsing behind, who scarce opened one eye
as we trotted by them and out into the darkness of the Mayfield road.

Now, in this dim and starlit land, we moved more slowly, for the road
lay often through woods where all was dark; and among us none had
fetched any lantern.

It was close to midnight, I think, when we were challenged; and I knew
we were near the new Block House, because I heard the creek, very noisy
in the dark, and smelled English grass.

The sentinel held us very firmly and bawled to his fellow, who arrived
presently with a lantern; and we saw the grist-mill close to us, with
its dripping wheel and the high flume belching water.

When they were satisfied, I asked for news and they told us they had
seen none of Sir John's people, but that a carriage carrying two ladies
had nigh driven over them, refusing to halt, and that they had been
ashamed to fire on women.

He informed us, further, that a sergeant and five men of Colonel
Dayton's regiment had arrived at the Block House and would remain the
night.

"Also," said one of the men, "we caught a girl riding a fine horse this
morning, who gave an account that she came from Fonda's Bush and was
servant to Douw Fonda at Caughnawaga."

"Where is the horse?" I asked.

"Safe stabled in the new fort."

"Where is the girl?"

"Well," said he, "she sits yonder eating soupaan in the fort, and all
the Continentals making moon-eyes at her."

"That's my horse," said I shortly. "Take your lantern and show her to
me."

One of the militia men picked up the lantern, which had been burning on
the grass between us, and I followed along the bank of the creek.

Presently I saw the Block House against the stars, but all loops were
shuttered and no light came from them.

There was a ditch, a bridge of three logs, a stockade not finished; and
we passed in between the palings where a gateway was to be made, and
where another militia-man sat guard on a chopping block, cradling his
fire-lock between his knees, fast asleep.

The stable was but a shed. Kaya turned her head as I went to her and
made a soft little noise of welcome, and fell a-lipping me and rubbing
her velvet nose against me.

"The Scotch girl cared for your mare and fed her, paying four pence,"
said the militia-man. "But we were ashamed to take pay."

I examined Kaya. She had been well cared for. Then I lifted her harness
from the wooden peg where it hung and saddled her by the lantern light.

And when all was snug I passed the bridle over my arm and led her to the
door of the Block House.

Before I entered, I could hear from within the strains of a fiddle; and
then opened the door and went in.

The girl, Penelope, sat on a block of wood eating soupaan with a pewter
spoon out of a glazed bowl upon her knees.

Ten soldiers stood in a ring around her, every man jack o' them
a-courting as hard as he could court and ogle--which all was as plain to
me as the nose on your face!--and seemed to me a most silly sight.

For the sergeant, a dapper man smelling rank of pomatum and his queue
smartly floured, was a-wooing her with his fiddle and rolling big eyes
at her to kill at twenty paces; and a tall, thin corporal was tying a
nosegay made of swamp marigolds for her, which, now and again, he
pretended to match against her yellow hair and smirked when she lifted
her eyes to see what he was about.

Every man jack o' them was up to something, one with a jug o' milk to
douse her soupaan withal, another busy with his Barlow carving a basket
out of a walnut to please her;--this fellow making pictures on
birch-bark; that one scraping her name on his powder-horn and pricking a
heart about it.

As for the girl, Penelope, she sat upon her chopping block with downcast
eyes and very leisurely eating of her porridge; but I saw her lips
traced with that faint smile which I remembered.

What with the noise of the fiddle and the chatter all about her, neither
she nor the soldiers heard the door open, nor, indeed, noticed us at all
until my militia-men sings out: "Lieutenant Drogue, boys, on duty from
Johnstown!"

At that the Continentals jumped up very lively, I warrant you, being
troops of some little discipline already; and I spoke civilly to their
sergeant and went over to the girl, Penelope, who had risen, bowl in one
hand, spoon in t'other, and looking upon me very hard out of her brown
eyes.

"Come," said I pleasantly, "you have kept your word to me and I mean to
keep mine to you. My mare is saddled for you."

"You take me to Caughnawaga, sir!" she exclaimed, setting bowl and spoon
aside.

"Tomorrow. Tonight you shall ride with us to the Summer House, where I
promise you a bed."

I held out my hand. She placed hers within it, looked shyly at the
Continentals where they stood, dropped a curtsey to all, and went out
beside me.

"Is there news?" she asked as I lifted her to the saddle.

"Sir John is gone."

"I meant news from Caughnawaga."

"Why, yes. All is safe there. A regiment of Continentals passed through
Caughnawaga today with their waggons. So, for the time at least, all is
quite secure along the Mohawk."

"Thank you," she said in a low voice.

I led the horse back to the road, where my little squad of men was
waiting me, and who fell in behind me, astonished, I think, as I started
east by north once more along the Mayfield road.

Presently Nick stole to my side through the darkness, not a whit
embarrassed by my new military rank.

"Why, John," says he in a guarded voice, "is this not the Scotch girl of
Caughnawaga who rides your mare, Kaya?"

I told him how she had come to the Bowmans the night before, and how,
having stolen my mare, I bargained with her and must send her or guide
her myself on the morrow to Cayadutta.

I was conscious of his stifled mirth but paid no heed, for we were
entering the pineries now, where all was inky dark, and the trail to be
followed only by touch of foot.

"Drop your bridle; Kaya will follow me," I called back softly to the
girl, Penelope. "Hold to the saddle and be not afraid."

"I am not afraid," said she.

We were now moving directly toward Fonda's Bush, and not three miles
from my own house, but presently we crossed the brook, ascended a hill,
and so came out of the pinery and took a wide and starlit waggon-path
which bore to the left, running between fields where great stumps stood.

This was Sir William's carriage road to the Point; and twice we crossed
the Kennyetto by shallow fords.

Close beside this carriage path on the north, and following all the way,
ran the Iroquois war trail, hard and clean as a sheep walk, worn more
than a foot deep by the innumerable moccasined feet that had trodden it
through the ages.

Very soon we passed Nine-Mile Tree, a landmark of Sir William's, which
was a giant pine left by the road to tower in melancholy majesty all
alone.

When I rode the hills as Brent-Meester, this pine was like a guide post
to me, visible for miles.

Now, as I passed, I looked at it in the silvery dusk of the stars and
saw some strange object shining on the bark.

"What is that shining on Nine-Mile Tree?" said I to Nick. He ran across
the road; we marched on, I leading, then the Scotch girl on my mare,
then my handful of men trudging doggedly with pieces a-trail.

A moment later Nick same swiftly to my side and nudged me; and looking
around I saw an Indian hatchet in his hand, the blade freshly
brightened.

"It was sticking in the tree," he breathed. "My God, John, the Iroquois
are out!"

Chill after chill crawled up my back as I began to understand the
significance of that freshly polished little war-axe with its limber
helve of hickory worn slippery by long usage, and its loop of braided
deer-hide blackened by age.

"Was there aught else?" I whispered.

"Nothing except this Mohawk hatchet struck deep into the bark of
Nine-Mile Tree, and sticking there."

"Do you know what it means, Nick?"

"Aye. Also, it is an _old_ war-axe _newly_ polished. And struck deep
into the tallest pine in Tryon. Any fool must know what all this means.
Shall you speak of this to the others, John?"

"Yes," said I, "they must know at once."

I waited for Kaya to come up, laid my hand on the bridle and called back
in a low voice to my men: "Boys, an Indian war-axe was left sticking in
Nine-Mile Tree. Nick drew it out. The hatchet is an old one, but _it is
newly polished_!"

"Sacré garce!" whispered Silver fiercely. "Now, grâce à dieu, shall I
reckon with those dirtee trap-robbers who take my pelts like the
carcajou! Ha! So is it war? A la bonheur! Let them come for my hair
then! And if they get Johnny Silver's hair they may paint the Little Red
Foot on the hoop, nom de dieu!"

"Get along forward, boys," said I. "Some of you keep an eye on the
mountains lest they begin calling to Sir John with fire----"

"A flame on Maxon!" whispered Nick at my elbow.

I jerked my head around as though I had been shot. There it rose, a thin
red streak above the blunt headland that towered over the Drowned Lands.
Steadily as a candle's flame in a still room, it burned for a few
moments, then was shattered into crimson jets.

Far to the North, on some invisible mountain, a faint crimson flare
replied.

Nobody spoke, but I knew that every eye was fixed on those Indian
signal-fires as we moved rapidly forward into the swale country where
swampy willows spread away on either hand and little pools of water
caught the starlight.

The road, too, had become wet, and water stood in the ruts; and every
few minutes we crossed corduroy.

"Yonder stands the Summer House," whispered Nick.

A ridge of hard land ran out into the reed-set water. A hinged gate
barred the neck. Nick swung it wide; I led my mare and her rider through
it; posted Godfrey and Silver there; posted Luysnes and De Golyer a
hundred paces inland near the apple trees; left Nick by the well, and,
walking beside my mare, continued on to the little green and white
hunting lodge where, through the crescents of closed shutters, rays of
light streamed out into the night.

Here I lifted the Scotch girl from her saddle, walked with her to the
kitchen porch, and knocked softly on the kitchen door.

After a while I could hear a stirring within, voices, steps.

"Nicholas! Pontioch! Flora!" I called in guarded tones.

Presently I heard Flora's voice inquiring timidly who I might be.

"Mr. Drogue is arrived to await her ladyship's commands," said I.

At that the bolts slid and the door creaked open. Black Flora stood
there in her yellow night shift, rolling enormous eyes at me, and behind
her I saw Colas with a lighted dip, gaping to see me enter with a
strange woman.

"Is your mistress here?" I demanded.

"Yassuh," answered Flora, "mah lady done gone to baid, suh."

"Who else is here? Mistress Swift?"

"Yassuh."

"Is there a spare bed?"

Flora rolled suspicious eyes at the Scotch girl, but thought there was a
bed in Sir William's old gun room.

I waited until the black wench had made sure, then bade Colas look to my
mare, said a curt good-night to Penelope Grant, and went out to unroll
my blanket on the front porch.

When I whistled softly Nick came across the garden from the well.

"Lady Johnson is here," said I. "Yonder lies my blanket. I stand first
watch. Go you and sleep now while you can----"

"Sleep first, John. I am not weary----"

"Remember I am your officer, Nick!"

"Oh, hell!" quoth he. "That does not awe me, John. What awes me in you
is your kindness--and to remember that your ancestors wore their gold
rings upon their fingers."

I passed my arm about his shoulders, then released him and went slowly
over to the well. And here I primed my rifle with bright, dry powder,
shouldered it, and began to walk my post at a brisk pace to cheat the
sleep which meddled with my heavy eyes and set me yawning till my young
jaws crackled.




CHAPTER XI

SUMMER HOUSE POINT


The sun in my eyes and the noise of drums awoke me, where, relieved on
post by Nick, I had been sleeping on the veranda.

Beyond the orchard on the Johnstown road, mounted officers in blue and
buff were riding amid undulating ranks of moving muskets; and I knew
that the Continental Line had arrived at Summer House Point, and was
glad of it.

As I shook loose my blanket and stood up, black Flora and Colas came up
from their kitchen below ground, and seemed astonished to see me still
there.

"Is your mistress awake?" I demanded. But they did not know; so I bade
Flora go inside and awaken Lady Johnson. Then I went down to the well in
the orchard, where Nick stood sentry, looking through the blossoming
boughs at what was passing on the mainland road beyond the Point.

It was a soft, sunny morning, and a pleasant scent from the apple bloom,
which I remember was full o' bees.

Through the orchard, on the small peninsula, now came striding toward us
a dozen or more officers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and
Livingston, all laughing together and seeming very merry; and some, as
they passed under the flowering branches, plucked twigs of white and
pink flowers and made themselves nosegays.

Their major, who seemed to know me as an officer, though I did not know
him, called out in high good humour:

"Well, my lord Northesk, did you and your rangers arrive in time to
close the cage on our pretty bird?"

"Yes, sir," said I, reddening, and not pleased.

"Lady Johnson is here then?"

"Yes, Major."

At that instant the front door opened and Lady Johnson came out quickly
and stood on the veranda, the sun striking across her pallid face, which
paleness was more due to her condition than to any fear of our soldiery.

She was but partly robed, and that hastily; her hair all unpowdered and
undressed, and only a levete of China silk flung about her girlish
figure, and making still more evident her delicate physical condition.

But in her eyes I saw storms a-brewing, and her lips and features went
white as she stood there, clenching and unclenching one hand, and still
a little blinded by the sun in her face.

We all had uncovered before her, bowing very low; and, if she noticed me
at first, I am not certain, but she gave our Major such a deadly stare
that it checked his speech and put him clean out o' countenance, leaving
him a-twiddling his sword-knot and dumb as a fish.

"What does this mean?" said she, her lip trembling with increasing
passion. "Have you come here to arrest me?"

And, as nobody replied, she stamped her bare foot in its silken
chamber-shoe, like any angry child in petty fury when disobliged.

"Is it not enough," she continued, "that you drive my unhappy husband
out of his own house, but you must presently follow me here to mock and
insult me? What has our family done to merit this outrage?"

Our Major, astonished and out o' countenance, attempted a civil word to
calm her, but she swept us all with scornful eyes and stamped her foot
again in such anger that her shoe fell off and landed on the grass.

"Our only crime is loyalty to a merciful and Christian King!" she cried,
paying no heed to the shoe. "Our punishment is that we are like to be
hunted as they hunt wild beasts! By a pack of rebels, too! Shame,
gentlemen! Is this worthy even of embattled shop-keepers?"

"Madame, I beg you----"

But she had no patience to listen.

"You have forced me out of my home in Johnstown," she said bitterly,
"and I thought to find refuge under this poor roof. But now you come
hunting me here! Very well, gentlemen, I leave you in possession and go
to Fish House. And if you hunt me out o' Fish House, I shall go on, God
knows where!--for I do not choose to endure the insult with which your
mere presence here affronts me!"

I had picked up her silk shoe and now went to her with it, where she
stood on the veranda, biting at her lip, and her eyes all a-glitter with
angry tears.

"For God's sake, madam," said I, "do not use us so harshly. We mean no
insult and no harm----"

"John Drogue," she said with a great sob, "I have loved you as a
brother, but I had rather see you dead there on this violated threshold
than know that the Laird of Northesk is become a rebel to his King!"

I knelt down and drew the shoe over her bare foot. Then I stood up and
took her hand, laying it very gently upon my arm. She suffered me to
lead her into the house--to the door of her bedroom, where Claudia,
already dressed, took her from me.

"Oh, John, John," she sobbed, "what is this pack o' riff-raff doing here
with their cobbler majors and carpenter colonels--all these petty
shop-keepers in uniform who come from filthy Boston to ride over us?"

Claudia's eyes were very bright, but without any trace of fear or anger.

"What troops are these, Jack?" she inquired coolly. "And do they really
come here to make prisoners of two poor women?"

I told her that these soldiers formed a mixed battalion from the
commands of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, and that they would encamp
for the present within sight of the Summer House.

"Do you mean that Polly and I are prisoners?" she repeated
incredulously.

"I'm afraid I do mean that, Claudia," said I.

At the word "prisoner" Lady Johnson flamed:

"Are you not ashamed, Jack Drogue, to tell me to my face such barbarous
news!" she cried. "You, a gentleman, to consort with vulgar bandits who
make prisoners of women! What do you think of your Boston friends now?
What do you think of your blacksmith generals and 'pothecary
colonels----"

"Polly! Be silent!" entreated Claudia, shaking her arm. "Is this a
decent manner to conduct when the fortune of war fails to suit your
tastes?"

And to me: "No one is like to harm us, I take it. We are not in personal
danger, are we?"

"Good Lord!" said I, mortified that she should even ask me.

"Well, then!" she said in a lively voice to Lady Johnson, who had turned
her back on me in sullen rage, "it will be but a few days at worst,
Polly. These rebel officers are not ogres. No! So in Heaven's name let
us make the best of this business--until Mr. Washington graciously
permits us to go on to Albany or to New York."

"I shall not go thither!" stormed Lady Johnson, pacing her chamber like
a very child in the tantrums; "I shall not deign to inhabit any city
which is held by dirty rebels----"

"But we shall drive them out first!" insisted Claudia, with an impudent
look at me. "Surely, dear, Albany will soon be a proper city to reside
in; General Howe has said it;--and so we had best address a polite
letter to Mr. Washington, requesting a safe conduct thither and a
flag----"

"I shall not write a syllable to the arch-rebel Washington!" stormed
Lady Johnson. "And I tell you plainly, Jack, I expect to have my throat
cut before this shameful business is ended!"

"You had best conduct sensibly, both of you," said I bluntly; "for I'm
tired of your airs and vapours; and Colonel Dayton will stand no
nonsense from either of you!"

"John!" faltered Lady Johnson, "do--do you, too, mean to use us
brutally?"

"I merely beg you to consider what you say before you say it, Polly
Johnson! You speak to a rebel of 'dirty' rebels and 'arch' rebels; you
conduct as though we, who hold another opinion than that entertained by
you, were the scum and offscouring of the earth."

"I meant it not as far as it concerns you, John Drogue," she said with
another sob.

"Then be pleased to trim your speech to my brother officers," said I,
still hotly vexed by her silly behaviour. "We went to Johnstown to take
your husband because we believe he has communicated with Canada. And it
was proper of us to do so.

"We came here to detain you until some decent arrangement can be made
whereby you shall have every conceivable comfort and every reasonable
liberty, save only to do us a harm by communicating with your friends
who are our enemies.

"Therefore, it would be wise for you to treat us politely and not rail
at us like a spoiled child. Our duty here is not of our own choosing,
nor is it to our taste. No man desires to play jailer to any woman. But
for the present it must be so. Therefore, as I say, it might prove more
agreeable for all if you and Claudia observe toward us the ordinary
decencies of polite usage!"

There was a silence. Lady Johnson's back remained turned toward me; she
was weeping.

Claudia took her hand and turned and looked at me with all the lively
mischief, all the adorable impudence I knew so well:

"La, Mr. Drogue," says she mockingly, "some gentlemen are born so and
others are made when made officers in armies. And captivity is irksome.
So, if your friends desire to pay their respects to us poor captives, I
for one shall not be too greatly displeased----"

"Claudia!" cried Lady Johnson, "do you desire a dish of tea with tinkers
and tin-peddlars?"

"I hear you, Polly," said she, "but prefer to hear you further after
breakfast--which, thank God! I can now smell a-cooking." And, to me:
"Jack, will you breakfast with us----"

She stopped abruptly: the door of Sir William's gun room opened, and the
Scottish girl, Penelope Grant, walked out.

"Lord!" said Claudia, looking at her in astonishment. "And who may you
be, and how have you come here?"

"I am Penelope Grant," she answered, "servant to Douw Fonda of
Caughnawaga; and I came last night with Mr. Drogue."

The perfect candour of her words should have clothed them with
innocence. And, I think, did so. Yet, Claudia shot a wicked look at me,
which did not please me.

But I ignored her and explained the situation briefly to Lady Johnson,
who had turned to stare at Penelope, who stood there quite
self-possessed in her shabby dress of gingham.

There was a silence; then Claudia asked the girl if she would take
service with her; and Penelope shook her head.

"I pay handsomely, and I need a clever wench to care for me," insisted
Claudia; "and by your fine, white hands I see you are well accustomed to
ladies' needs. Are you not, Penelope?"

"I am servant to Douw Fonda," repeated the girl. "It would not be kind
in me to leave him who offers to adopt me. Nor is it decent to abandon
him in times like these."

Lady Johnson came forward slowly, her tear-marred eyes clearing.

"My brother, Stephen, has spoken of you. I understood him to say that
you are the daughter of a Scottish minister. Is this true?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then you are no servant wench."

"I serve."

"Why?"

"My parents are dead. I must earn my bread."

"Oh. You have no means to maintain you?"

"None, madam."

"How long have you been left an orphan?"

"These three years, my lady."

"You came from Scotland?"

"From France, my lady."

"How so?"

"My father preached to the exiled Scots who live in Paris. When he was
dying, I promised to take ship and come to America, because, he said,
only in America is a young girl safe from men."

"Safe?" quoth Claudia, smiling.

"Yes, madam."

"Safe from what, child?"

"From the unlawful machinations of designing men, madam. My father told
me that men hunt women as a sport."

"Oh, la!" cried Claudia, laughing; "you have it hind end foremost! Man
is the hunted one! Man is the victim! Is it not so, Jack?"--looking so
impudently at me that I was too vexed to smile in return, but got very
red and gazed elsewhere.

"And what did you then, Penelope Grant?" inquired Lady Johnson, with a
soft sort of interest which was natural and unfeigned, she having a
gentle heart and tender under all her pride and childishness.

"I took ship, my lady, and came to New York."

"And then?"

"I went to Parson Gano in his church,--who was a friend to my father,
though a Baptist. I was but a child, and he cared for me for three
years. But I could not always live on others' bounty; so he yielded to
my desires and placed me as servant to Douw Fonda, who was at that time
visiting New York. And so, when Mr. Fonda was ready to go home to
Caughnawaga, I accompanied him."

"And are his aid and crutch in his old age," said Lady Johnson, gently.
"What wonder, then, he wishes to adopt you, Penelope Grant."

"If you will be my companion," cried Claudia, "I shall dare adopt you,
pretty as you are--and risk losing every lover I possess!"

The Scottish girl's brown eyes widened at that; but even Lady Johnson
laughed, and I saw the loveliest smile begin to glimmer on Penelope's
soft lips.

"Thank heaven for a better humour in the house," thought I, and was
pleased that Claudia had made a gayety of the affair.

I went to the window and looked out. Smoke from the camp fires of the
Continentals made a haze all along the reedy waterfront. I saw their
sentries walking their posts; heard the noise of their axes in the bush;
caught a glimpse of my own men lying in the orchard on the new grass,
and Nick cooking jerked meat at a little fire of coals, which gleamed in
the grass like a heap of dusty jewels.

And, as I stood a-watching, I felt a touch at my elbow, and turned to
face the girl, Penelope.

"Your promise, sir," she said. "You have not forgotten?"

"No," I replied, flushing again under Claudia's mocking gaze. "But you
should first eat something."

"And you, also," said Lady Johnson, coming to me and laying both hands
upon my shoulders.

She looked into my eyes very earnestly, very sadly.

"Forgive me, Jack," she said.

I kissed her hands, saying that it was I who needed forgiveness, to so
speak to her in her deep anxiety and unhappiness; but she shook her head
and bade me remain and eat breakfast; and went away to her chamber to
dress, carrying Claudia to aid her, and leaving me alone there with the
girl Penelope.

"So," said I civilly, though still annoyed by memory of my horse and how
this girl had carried everything with so high a hand, "so you have lived
in France?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hum! Well, did you find the people agreeable?"

"Yes, sir--the children. I was but fifteen when I left France."

"Then you now own to eighteen years."

"Yes, sir."

"A venerable age."

At that she lifted her brown eyes. I smiled; and that enchanting,
glimmering smile touched her lips again. And I thought of what I had
heard concerning her in Caughnawaga, and how, when the old gentleman was
enjoying his afternoon nap, she was accustomed to take her knitting to
the porch.

And I remembered, too, what Nick and others said concerning all the
gallants of the countryside, how they swarmed about that porch like
flies around a sap-pan.

"I have been told," said I, "that all young men in Tryon sit ringed
around you when you take your knitting to the porch at Cayadutta Lodge.
Nor can I blame them, now that I have seen you smile."

At that she blushed so brightly that I was embarrassed and somewhat
astonished to see how small a progress this girl had really made in
coquetry. I was to learn that she blushed easily; I did not know it
then; but it presently amused me to find her, after all, so unschooled.

"Why," said I, "should you show your colours to a passing craft that
fires no shot nor even thinks to board you? I am no pirate, Penelope;
like those Johnstown gallants who gather like flies, they say----"

But I checked my words, not daring to plague her further, for the colour
was surging in her cheeks and she seemed unaccustomed to such harmless
bantering as mine.

"Lord!" thought I, "here is a very lie that this maid is any such siren
as Nick thinks her, for her pretty thumb is still wet with sucking."

Yet I myself had become sensible that there really was about her a
_something_--exactly what I knew not--but some seductive quality, some
vague enchantment about her, something unusual which compelled men's
notice. It was not, I thought, entirely the agreeable contrast of yellow
hair and dark eyes; nor a smooth skin like new snow touched to a rosy
hue by the afterglow.

She sat near the window, where I stood gazing out across the water,
toward the mountains beyond. Her hands, joined, rested flat between her
knees; her hair, in the sun, was like maple gold reflected in a ripple.

"Lord!" thought I, "small wonder that the gay blades of Tryon should
come a-meddling to undo so pretty a thing."

But the thought did not please me, yet it was no concern o' mine. But I
now comprehended how this girl might attract men, and, strangely enough,
was sorry for it.

For it seemed plain that here was no coquette by intention or by any
knowledge of the art of pleasing men; but she was one, nevertheless, so
sweetly her dark eyes regarded you when you spoke; so lovely the glimmer
of her smile.

And it was, no doubt, something of these that men noticed--and her youth
and inexperience, which is tender tinder to hardened flint that is ever
eager to strike fire and start soft stuff blazing.




CHAPTER XII

THE SHAPE IN WHITE


We breakfasted on soupaan, new milk, johnnycake, and troutlings caught
by Colas, who had gone by canoe to the outlet of Hans' Creek by
daylight, after I had awakened him. Which showed me how easily one could
escape from the Summer House, in spite of guards patrolling the neck and
mainland road.

We were four at table; Lady Johnson, Claudia, Penelope, and I; and all
seemed to be in better humour, for Claudia's bright eyes were ever
roaming toward the Continental camp, where smart officers passed and
repassed in the bright sunlight; and Lady Johnson did not conceal her
increasing conviction that Sir John had got clean away; which,
naturally, pleased the poor child mightily;--and Penelope, who had
offered very simply to serve us at table, sat silent and contented by
the civil usage she received from Polly Johnson, who told her very
sweetly that her place was in a chair and not behind it.

"For," said my lady, "a parson's daughter may serve where her heart
directs, but is nowise or otherwise to be unclassed."

"Were I obliged by circumstances to labour for my bread," said Claudia,
"would you still entertain honourable though ardent sentiments toward
me, Jack?"

Which saucy question I smiled aside, though it irritated me, and oddly,
too, because Penelope Grant had heard--though why I should care a
farthing for that I myself could not understand.

Lady Johnson laid a hand on Penelope's, who looked up at her with that
shy, engaging smile I had already noticed. And,

"Penelope," said she, "if rumour does not lie, and if all our young
gallants do truly gather 'round when you take your knitting to the porch
of Cayadutta Lodge, then you should make it very plain to all that you
are a parson's daughter as well as servant to Douw Fonda."

"How should I conduct, my lady?"

"Firmly, child. And send any light o' love a-packing at the first
apropos!"

"Oh, lud!" says Claudia, "would you make a nun of her, Polly? Sure the
child must learn----"

"Learn to take care of herself," quoth Polly Johnson tartly. "You have
been schooled from childhood, Claudia, and heaven knows you have had
opportunities enough to study that beast called man!"

"I love him, too," said Claudia. "Do you, Penelope?"

"Men please me," said the Scotch girl shyly. "I do not think them
beasts."

"They bite," snapped Lady Johnson.

"Slap them," said Claudia,--"and that is all there is to it."

"You think any man ever has been tamed and the beast cast out of him,
even after marriage?" demanded Lady Johnson. She smiled, but I caught
the undertone of bitterness in her gaiety, poor girl!

"Before marriage," said Claudia coolly, "man is exactly as treacherous
as he is afterward;--no more so, no less. What about it? You take the
creature as he is fashioned by his Maker, or you drive him away and live
life like a cloistered nun. What is your choice, Penelope?"

"I have no passion for a cloister," replied the girl, so candidly that
all laughed, and she blushed prettily.

"That is best," nodded Claudia; "accept the creature as he is. We're
fools if we're bitten before we're married, and fortunate if we're not
nipped afterward. Anyway, I love men, and so God bless them, for they
can't help being what they are and it's our own fault if they play too
roughly and hurt us."

Lady Johnson laughed and laid her hand lightly on my shoulder.

"Dear Jack," said she, "we do not mean you, of course."

"Oho!" cried Claudia, "it's in 'em all and crops out one day. Jack
Drogue is no tamer than the next man. Nay, I know the sort--meek as a
mouse among petticoats----"

"Claudia!" protested Lady Johnson.

"I hear you, Polly. But when I solemnly swear to you that I have been
afraid of this young man----"

"Afraid of what?" said I, smiling at her audacity, but vexed, too.

"Afraid you might undo me, Jack----"

"What!"

"--And then refuse me an honest name----"

"What mad nonsense do you chatter!" exclaimed Lady Johnson, out of
countenance, yet laughing at Claudia's effrontery. And Penelope,
abashed, laughed a little, too. But Claudia's nonsense madded me, though
her speech had been no broader than was fashionable among a gentry so
closely in touch with London, where speech, and manners, too, were
broader still.

Vexed to be made her silly butt, I sat gazing out of the window, over
the great Vlaie, where, in the reeds, tall herons stood as stiff as
driven stakes, and the painted wood-ducks, gorgeous as tropic birds,
breasted Mayfield Creek, or whirred along the waterways to and fro
between the Stacking Ridge and the western bogs, where they nested among
trees that sloped low over the water.

Beyond, painted blue mountains ringed the vast wilderness of bog and
woods and water; and presently I was interested to see, on the blunt
nose of Maxon, a stain of smoke.

I watched it furtively, paying only a civil heed to the women's chatter
around me--watched it with sideway glance as I dipped my spoon into the
smoking soupaan and crumbled my johnnycake.

At first, on Maxon's nose there was only a slight blue tint of vapour,
like a spot of bloom on a blue plum. But now, above the mountain, a thin
streak of smoke mounted straight up; and presently I saw that it became
jetted, rising in rings for a few moments.

Suddenly it vanished.

Claudia was saying that one must assume all officers of either party to
be gentlemen; but Lady Johnson entertained the proposition coldly, and
seemed unwilling to invite Continental officers to a dish of tea.

"Not because they are my captors and have driven my husband out of his
own home," she said haughtily; "I could overlook that, because it is the
fortune of war. But it is said that the Continental officers are a
parcel of Yankee shop-keepers, and I have no desire to receive such
people on equal footing."

"But," said Claudia, "Jack is a rebel officer, and so is Billy
Alexander."

"I think Lord Stirling must be crazy," retorted Lady Johnson. Then she
looked at me, bit her lip and laughed, adding:

"You, too, Jack--and every gentleman among you must be mad to flout our
King!"

"Mad, indeed--and therefore to be pitied, not punished," says Claudia.
"Therefore, let us drink tea with our rebel officers, Polly--out of
sheer compassion for their common infirmity."

"We rebels don't drink tea, you know," said I, smiling.

"Oh, la! Wait till we invite your Continentals yonder. For, if Polly and
I are to be imprisoned here, I vow I mean to amuse myself with the
likeliest of these young men in blue and buff, whom I can see yonder,
stalking to and fro along the Johnstown Road. May I not send them a
civil invitation, Polly?"

"If you insist. I, however, decline to meet them," pouted Lady Johnson.

"I shall write a little letter to their commanding officer," quoth
Claudia. "Do as you like, Polly, but, as for me, I do not desire to
perish of dullness with only women to talk to, and only a swamp to gaze
upon!"

She sprang to her feet; Lady Johnson and Penelope also rose, as did I.

"Is it true, Jack, that you are under promise to take this young girl to
Douw Fonda's house in Caughnawaga?" asked Lady Johnson.

"Yes, madam."

She turned to Penelope: "When do you desire to set out?"

"As soon as may be, my lady."

"I like you. I wish you would remain and share my loneliness."

"I would, my lady, only I feel in honour bound to go to Mr. Fonda."

Claudia passed her arm around the Scottish girl's slim waist.

"Come," she coaxed, "be my companion! Be more friend than servant, more
sister than friend. For I, also, begin to love you, with your dark eyes
and yellow hair, and your fine hands and sweet, fresh skin, like a child
from a bath."

They both laughed, looking at each other with a gaze shy but friendly,
like two who seem to think they are, perhaps, destined to love each
other.

"I wish I might remain," said the Scottish girl, reluctantly turning
toward me.

"Are you for Caughnawaga?" I asked bluntly.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," said I. "Polly Johnson, may I take your carriage?"

"It is always at your command, Jack. But I am sorry that our little
Scottish lass must go."

However, she gave the order to black Colas, who must drive us, also,
because, excepting for Colas and poor Flora, and one slave left in
Johnstown, all servants, slaves, tenants, and officers of Sir John's
household had fled with the treacherous Baronet and were now God knows
where in the terrific wilderness and making, without doubt, for the
Canadas.

For personal reasons I was glad that the dishonoured man was gone. I
should have been ashamed to take him prisoner. But I was deeply troubled
on other accounts; for this man had gone northward with hundreds of my
old neighbors, for the purpose of forming an army of white men and
Indians, with which he promised to return and cut our throats and lay
our beautiful countryside in ashes.

We had scarce any force to oppose Sir John; no good forts except Stanwix
and a few block-houses; our newly-organized civil government was
chaotic; our militia untried, unreliable, poorly armed, and still rotten
with toryism.

To defend all this immense Tryon County frontier, including the river as
far as Albany, only one regular regiment had been sent to help us; for
what remained of the State Line was needed below, where His Excellency
was busy massing an army to face the impending thunder-clap from
England.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I stood by the window, looking out across the Vlaie at Maxon Ridge,
where I felt very sure that hostile eyes were watching the Sacandaga and
this very house, a hand touched my arm, and, turning, I saw Penelope
Grant beside me.

"May I have a word alone with you, Mr. Drogue?" she asked in her serious
and graver way--a way as winning as her lighter mood, I thought.

So we went out to the veranda and walked a little way among the apple
trees, slowly, I waiting to hear what she had for my ear alone.

Beyond, by the well, I saw my Rangers squatting cross-legged on the
grass in a little circle, playing at stick-knife. Beyond them a
Continental soldier paced his beat in front of the gate which closed the
mainland road.

Birds sang, sunshine glimmered on the water, the sky was softly blue.

The girl had paused under a fruit tree. Now, she pulled down an apple
branch and set her nose to the blossoms, breathing their fresh scent.

"Well," said I, quietly.

Her level eyes met mine across the flowering branch.

"I am sorry to disturb you," said she.

"How disturb me?"

"By obliging you to take me to Caughnawaga. It inconveniences you."

"I promised to see you safely there, and that is all about it," said I
drily.

"Yes, sir. But I ask your pardon for exacting your promise.... And--I
ask pardon for--for stealing your horse."

There seemed to ensue a longer silence than I intended, and I realized
that I had been looking at her without other thought than of her dark,
young eyes under her yellow hair.

"What did you say?" I asked absently.

She hesitated, then: "You do not like me, Mr. Drogue."

"Did I say so?" said I, startled.

"No.... I feel that you do not like me. Is it because I used you without
decency when I stole your horse?"

"Perhaps some trifling chagrin remains. But it is now over--because you
say you are sorry."

"I am so."

"Then--I am friendly--if you so desire, Penelope Grant."

"Yes, sir, I do desire your countenance."

I smiled at her gravity, and saw, dawning in return, that lovely,
child's smile I already knew and waited for.

"I wish to whisper to you," said she, bending the flowering bough lower.

So I inclined my ear across it, and felt her delicate breath against my
cheek.

"I wish to make known to you that I am of your party, Mr. Drogue," she
whispered.

I nodded approval.

"I wished you to know that I am a friend to liberty," she continued. "My
sentiment is very ardent, Mr. Drogue: I burn with desire to serve this
land, to which my father's wish has committed me. I am young, strong,
not afraid. I can load and shoot a pistol----"

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed, laughing, "do you wish to enlist and go for a
soldier?"

"Yes, sir."

I drew back in amazement and looked at her, and she blushed but made me
a firm countenance. And so sweetly solemn a face did this maid pull at
me that I could not forbear to laugh again.

"But how about Mr. Fonda?" I demanded, "if you don jack-boots and hanger
and go for a dragoon?"

"I shall ask his permission to serve my country."

"A-horse, Penelope? Or do you march with fire-lock and knapsack and a
well-floured queue?" I had meant to turn it lightly but not to ridicule;
but her lip quivered, though she still found courage to sustain my
laughing gaze.

"Come," said I, "we Tryon County men have as yet no need to call upon
our loyal women to shoulder rifle and fill out our ranks."

"No need of me, sir?"

"Surely, surely, but not yet to such a pass that we strap a bayonet on
your thigh. Sew for us. Knit for us----"

"Sir, for three years I have done so, foreseeing this hour. I have
knitted many, many score o' stockings; sewed many a shirt against this
day that is now arrived. I have them in Mr. Fonda's house, against my
country's needs. All, or a part, are at your requisition, Mr. Drogue."

But I remained mute, astonished that this girl had seen so clearly what
so few saw at all--that war must one day come between us and our King.
This foreseeing of hers amazed me even more than her practical provision
for the day of wrath--now breaking red on our horizon--that she had seen
so clearly what must happen--a poor refugee--a child.

"Sir," says she, "have you any use for the stockings and shirts among
your men?"

She stood resting both arms on the bent bough, her face among the
flowers. And I don't know how I thought of it, or remembered that in
Scotland there are some who have the gift of clear vision and who see
events before they arrive--nay, even foretell and forewarn.

And, looking at her, I asked her if that were true of her. And saw the
tint of pink apple bloom stain her face; and her dark eyes grow shy and
troubled.

"Is it that way with you?" I repeated. "Do you see more clearly than
ordinary folk?"

"Yes, sir--sometimes."

"Not always?"

"No, sir."

"But if you desire to penetrate the future and strive to do so----"

"No, sir, I can not if I try. Visions come unsought--even undesired."

"Is effort useless?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then this strange knowledge of the future comes of itself unbidden?"

"Unbidden--when it comes at all. It is like a flash--then darkness. But
the glimpse has convinced me, and I am forewarned."

I pondered this for a space, then:

"Could you tell me anything concerning how this war is to end?"

"I do not know, Mr. Drogue."

I considered. Then, again: "Have you any knowledge of what Fate intends
concerning yourself?"

"No, sir."

"Nothing regarding your own future? That is strange."

She shook her head, watching me. And then I laughed lightly:

"Nothing, by any chance, concerning me, Penelope?"

"Yes."

I was so startled that I found no word to question her.

"There is to be a battle," she said in a low voice. "Men will fight in
the North. I do not know when. But there will be strange uniforms in the
woods--not British red-coats.... And I know you, also, are to be there."
Her voice sank to a whisper.... "And there," she breathed, "you shall
meet Death ... or Love."

When presently my composure returned to me, and I saw her still
regarding me across the apple-bough, I felt inclined to laugh.

"When did this strange knowledge come to you?" I asked, smiling my
unbelief.

"The day I first heard your voice at my cousin Bowman's--waking me in my
bed--and I came out and saw you in the eye of the rising sun. _And you
were not alone._ And instantly I saw a strange battle that is not yet
fought--and I saw you--the way you stood--there--dark and straight in a
blinding sheet of yellow light made by cannon!... The world was aflame,
and I saw you, tall and dark, shadowed against the blaze--but you did
not fall.

"Then I came to my senses, and heard the bell ringing, and asked you
what it meant. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

She released the apple-bough and came under it toward me, through a snow
of falling blossoms.

"It will surely happen--this battle," she said. "I knew it when I saw
you, and that other figure near you, where I sat your stolen horse and
heard you shout at me in anger, and turned to look at you--then, also, I
caught a glimpse of that _other_ figure near you."

"What other figure?"

"The one which was wrapped in white--like a winding sheet--and
veiled.... Like Death.... Or a bride, perhaps."

A slight chill went over me, even in the warmth of the sun. But I
laughed and said I knew not which would be the less welcome, having no
stomach for Master Death, and even less, perhaps, for Mistress Bride.

"Doubtless," said I, "you saw some ghost of the morning mist afloat from
the wet earth where I stood."

She made no answer.

Now, as the carriage still tarried, though I had seen Colas taking out
the horses, I asked her indulgence for a few moments, and walked over to
the well, where my men still sat at stick-knife. And here I called Nick
aside and laid one hand on his shoulder:

"There was Indian smoke on Maxon an hour ago," said I. "Take Johnny
Silver and travel the war trail north, but do not cross the creek to the
east. I go as armed escort for a traveller to Caughnawaga, and shall
return as soon as may be. Learn what you can and meet me here by sunrise
tomorrow."

Nick grinned and cast a sidelong glance at Penelope Grant, where she
stood in the orchard, watching us.

"Scotched by the Scotch," said he. "Adam fell; and so I knew you'd fall
one day, John--in an apple orchard! Lord Harry! but she's a pretty
baggage, too! Only take care, John! for she's soft and young and likes
to be courted, and there's plenty to oblige her when you're away!"

"Let them oblige her then," said I, vexed, though I knew not why. "She
stole my horse and would not surrender him until I pledged my word to
give her escort back to Caughnawaga. And that is all my story--if it
interests you."

"It does so," said he, his tongue in his cheek. At which I turned away
in a temper, and encountered an officer, in militia regimentals of the
Caughnawaga Regiment, coming through the orchard toward me.

"Hallo, Jack!" he called out to me, and I saw he was a friend of mine,
Major Jelles Fonda, and hastened to offer him his officer's salute.

When he had rendered it, he gave me his honest hand, and we linked arms
and walked together toward the house, exchanging gossip concerning how
it went with our cause in Johnstown and Caughnawaga. For the Fonda clan
was respectable and strong among the landed gentry of Tryon, and it
meant much to the cause of liberty that all the Fondas, I think without
exception, had stood sturdily for their own people at a time when the
vast majority of the influential and well-to-do had stood for their
King.

When we drew near the house, Major Fonda perceived Penelope and went at
once to her.

She dropped him a curtsey, but he took her hands and kissed her on both
cheeks.

"I heard you were here," said he. "We sent old Douw Fonda to Albany for
safety, not knowing what is like to come upon us out o' that damned
Canada. And, knowing you had gone to your cousin Bowman's, I rode over
to my Bush, got news of you through a Mayfield militia man, and trailed
you here. And now, my girl, you may take your choice; go to Albany and
sit snug with the Patroon until this tempest breaks and blows over, or
go to Johnstown Fort with me."

"Does not Douw Fonda need me?" she asked.

"Only your pretty face and sweet presence to amuse him. But, until we
are certain that Sir John and Guy Johnson do not mean to return and
murder us in our beds, Douw Fonda will not live in Caughnawaga, and so
needs no housekeeper."

"Why not remain here with Lady Johnson and Mistress Swift," said I,
"until we learn what to expect from Sir John and his friends in Canada?
These ladies are alone and in great anxiety and sorrow. And you could be
of aid and service and comfort."

What made me say this I do not know. But, somehow, I did not seem to
wish this girl to go to Albany, where there were many gay young men and
much profligacy.

To sit on Douw Fonda's porch with her knitting was one thing, and the
sap-pan gallants had little opportunity to turn the head of this
inexperienced girl; but Albany was a very different matter; and this
maid, who said that she liked men, alone there with only an aged man to
stand between her and idle, fashionable youth, might very easily be led
into indiscretions. The mere thought of which caused me so lively a
vexation that I was surprised at myself.

And now I perceived the carriage, with horses harnessed, and Colas in a
red waistcoat and a red and green cockade on his beaver.

We walked together to the Summer House. Lady Johnson came out on the
veranda, and Claudia followed her.

When they saw Major Fonda, they bowed to him very coolly, and he made
them both a stately salute, shrugged his epaulettes, and took snuff.

Lady Johnson said to Penelope: "Are you decided on abandoning two lonely
women to their own devices, Penelope?"

"Do you really mean to leave me, who could love you very dearly?"
demanded Claudia, coming down and taking the girl by both hands.

"If you wish it, I am now at liberty to remain with you till Mr. Fonda
sends for me," replied Penelope. "But I have no clothes."

Claudia embraced her with rapture. "Come to my room, darling!" she
cried, "and you shall divide with me every stitch I own! And then we
shall dress each other's hair! Shall we not? And we shall be very fine
to drink a dish of tea with our friends, the enemy, yonder!"

She flung her arm around Penelope. Going, the girl looked around at me.
"Thank you for great kindness, my lord," she called back softly.

Lady Johnson said in a cold voice to Major Fonda: "If our misfortunes
have not made us contemptible to you, sir, we are at home to receive any
enemy officer who, like yourself, Major, chances to be also a
gentleman."

"Damnation, Polly!" says he with a short laugh, "don't treat an old beau
to such stiff-neck language! You know cursed well I'd go down on both
knees and kiss your shoes, though I'd kick the King's shins if I met
him!"

He passed his arm through mine; we both bowed very low, then went away
together, arm in arm, the Major fuming under his breath.

"Silly baggage," he muttered, "to treat an old friend so high and
mighty. Dash it, what's come over these Johnstown gentlemen and ladies.
Can't we fight one another politely but they must affect to treat us as
dirt beneath their feet, who once were welcome at their tables?"

At the well I called to my men, who got up from the grass and greeted
Major Fonda with unmilitary familiarity.

"Major," said I, "we're off to scout the Sacandaga trail and learn what
we can. It's cold sniffing, now, on Sir John's heels, but there was
Iroquois smoke on old Maxon this morning, and I should like at least to
poke the dead ashes of that same fire before moonrise."

"Certainly," said the Major, gravely; and we shook hands.

"Now, Nick," said I briskly.

"Ready," said he; and "Ready!" repeated every man.

So, rifle a-trail, I led the way out into the Fish House road.




CHAPTER XIII

THE DROWNED LANDS


For two weeks my small patrol of six remained in the vicinity of the
Sacandaga, scouting even as far as Stony Creek, Silver Lake, and West
River, covering Maxon, too, and the Drowned Lands, but ever hovering
about the Sacandaga, where the great Iroquois War Trail runs through the
dusk of primeval woods.

But never a glimpse of Sir John did we obtain. Which was scarcely
strange, inasmuch as the scent was already stone cold when we first
struck it. And though we could trace the Baronet's headlong flight for
three days' journey, by his dead fires and stinking camp débris, and,
plainer still, by the trampled path made by his men and horses and by
the wheel-marks of at least one cannon, our orders, which were to stop
the War Trail from Northern enemies, permitted no further pursuit.

Yet, given permission, I think I could have come up with him and his
motley forces, though what my six scouts could have accomplished against
nearly two hundred people is but idle surmise. And whether, indeed, we
could have contrived to surprise and capture Sir John, and bring him
back to justice, is a matter now fit only for idlest speculation.

At the end of the first week I sent Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew into
Johnstown to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what we had seen and what we
guessed concerning Sir John's probable route. De Luysnes and Johnny
Silver I stationed on Maxon's honest nose, where the valley of the
Sacandaga and the Drowned Lands lay like a vast map at their feet, while
Nick Stoner and I prowled the silent Iroquois trail or slid like a pair
of otters through the immense desolation of the Drowned Lands, from the
jungle-like recesses of which we could see the distant glitter of
muskets where our garrison was drilling at Fish House, and a white speck
to the southward, which marked the little white and green lodge at
Summer House Point.

We had found a damaged birch canoe near the Stacking Ridge, and I think
it was the property of John Howell, who lived on the opposite side of
the creek a mile above. But his log house stood bolted and empty; and,
as he was a very rabid Tory, we helped ourselves to his old canoe, and
Nick patched it with gum and made two paddles.

In this leaky craft we threaded the spectral Drowned Lands, penetrating
every hidden water-lead, every concealed creek, every lost pond which
glimmered unseen amid cranberry bogs, vast wastes of stunted willow,
pinxter shrubs in bloom, and the endless wilderness of reeds. Nesting
black-ducks rose on clattering wings in scores and scores at our
stealthy invasion; herons and bitterns flapped heavily skyward; great
chain-pike, as long as a young boy, slid like shadows under our dipping
paddles. But we saw no Indians.

Nor was there a sign of any canoe amid the Drowned Lands; not a moccasin
print in swamp-moss or mud; no trace of Iroquois on the Stacking Ridge,
where already wild pigeons were flying among the beech and oak trees,
busy with courtship and nesting.

It was now near the middle of June, but Nick thought that Sir John had
not yet reached Canada, nor was like to accomplish that terrible journey
through a pathless wilderness under a full month.

We know now that he did accomplish it in nineteen days, and arrived with
his starving people in a terrible plight.[4] But nobody then supposed it
possible that he could travel so quickly. Even his own Mohawks never
dreamed he was already so far advanced on his flight; and this was their
vital mistake; for there had been sent from Canada a war party to meet
and aid Sir John; and, by hazard, I was to learn of this alarming
business in a manner I had neither expected nor desired.

[Footnote 4: One of his abandoned brass cannon is--or recently
was--lying embedded in a swamp in the North Woods.]

       *       *       *       *       *

I was sitting on a great, smooth bowlder, where the little trout stream,
which tumbles down Maxon from the east, falls into Hans Creek. It was a
still afternoon and very warm in the sun, but pleasant there, where the
confluence of the waters made a cool and silvery clashing-noise among
the trees in full new leaf.

Nick had cooked dinner--parched corn and trout, which we caught in the
brook with one of my fish hooks and a red wampum bead from my moccasins
tied above the barb.

And now, dinner ended, Nick lay asleep with a mat of moss over his face
to keep off black flies, and I mounted guard, not because I apprehended
danger, but desired not to break a military rule which had become
already a habit among my handful of men.

I was seated, as I say, on a bowlder, with my legs hanging over the
swirling water and my rifle across both knees. And I was thinking those
vague and dreamy thoughts which float ghost-like through young men's
minds when skies are blue in early summer and life seems but an endless
vista through unnumbered æons to come.

Through a pleasant and reflective haze which possessed my mind moved
figures of those I knew or had known--my honoured father, grave,
dark-eyed, deliberate in all things, living for intellectual pleasure
alone;--my dear mother, ardent yet timid, thrilled ever by what was most
beautiful and best in the world, and loving all things made by God.

I thought, too, of my silly kinsman in Paris, Lord Stormont, and how I
had declined his pompous patronage, to carve for myself a career, aided
by the slender means afforded me; and how Billy Alexander did use me
very kindly--a raw youth in a New York school, left suddenly orphaned
and alone.

I thought of Stevie Watts, of Polly, of the DeLancys, Crugers, and other
King's people who had made me welcome, doubtless for the sake of my Lord
Stormont. And how I finally came to know Sir William Johnson, and his
great kindness to me.

All these things I thought of in the golden afternoon, seated by Hans
Creek, my eyes on duty, my thoughts a-gypsying far afield, where I saw,
in my mind's eye, my log house in Fonda's Bush, my new-cleared land, my
neighbors' houses, the dark walls of the forest.

Yet, drifting between each separate memory, glided ever a slender shape
with yellow hair, and young, unfathomed eyes as dark as the velvet on
the wings of that earliest of all our butterflies, which we call the
Beauty of Camberwell.

Think of whom I might, or of what scenes, always this slim phantom
drifted in between the sequences of thought, and vaguely I seemed to see
her yellow hair, and that glimmer which sometimes came into her eyes,
and which was the lovely dawning of her smile.

War seemed very far away, death but a fireside story half forgotten. For
my thoughts were growing faintly fragrant with the scent of apple
blossoms--white and pink bloom--sweet as her breath when she had
whispered to me.

A strange young thing to haunt me with her fragrance--this girl
Penelope--her smooth hands and snowy skin--and her little naked feet,
like whitest silver there in the dew at Bowman's----

Suddenly, thought froze; from the foliage across the creek, scarce
twenty feet from where I sat, and without the slightest sound, stepped
an Indian in his paint.

Like a shot squirrel I dropped behind my bowlder and lay flat among the
shore ferns, my heart so wild that my levelled rifle shook with the
shock of palsy.

The roar of the waters was loud in my ears, but his calm voice came
through it distinctly:

"Peace, brother!" he said in the soft, Oneida dialect, and lifted his
right hand high in the sunshine, the open palm turned toward me.

"Don't move!" I called across the stream. "Lay your blanket on the
ground and place your gun across it!"

Calmly he obeyed, then straightened up and stood there empty handed,
naked in his paint, except for the beaded breadth of deer-skin that fell
from belt to knee.

"Nick!" I called cautiously.

"I am awake and I have laid him over my rifle-sight," came Nick's voice
from the woods behind me. "Look sharp, John, that there be not others
ambuscaded along the bank."

"He could have killed me," said I, "without showing himself. By his
paint I take him for an Oneida."

"That's Oneida paint," replied Nick, cautiously, "but it's war paint,
all the same. Shall I let him have it?"

"Not yet. The Oneidas, so far, have been friendly. For God's sake, be
careful what you do."

"Best parley quick then," returned Nick, "for I trust no Iroquois. You
know his lingo. Speak to him."

I called across the stream to the Indian: "Who are you, brother? What is
your nation and what is your clan, and what are you doing on the
Sacandaga, with your face painted in black and yellow bars, and fresh
oil on your limbs and lock?"

He said, in his quiet but distinct voice: "My nation is Oneida; my clan
is the Tortoise; I am Tahioni. I am a young and inexperienced warrior.
No scalp yet hangs from my girdle. I come as a friend. I come as my
brother's ally. This is the reason that I seek my brother on the
Sacandaga. Hiero! Tahioni has spoken."

And he quietly folded his arms.

He was a magnificent youth, quite perfect in limb and body, and as light
of skin as the Mohawks, who are often nearly white, even when pure
breed.

He stood unarmed, except for the knife and war-axe swinging from
crimson-beaded sheaths at his cincture. Still, I did not rise or show
myself, and my rifle lay level with his belly.

I said, in as good Oneida as I could muster:

"Young Oneida warrior, I have listened to what you have had to say. I
have heard you patiently, oh Tahioni, my brother of the great Oneida
nation who wears an _Onondaga name_!" For Tahioni means _The Wolf_ in
Onondaga dialect.

There was a silence, broken by Nick's low voice from somewhere behind
me: "Shall I shoot the Onondaga dog?"

"Will you mind your business?" I retorted sharply.

The Oneida had smiled slightly at my sarcasm concerning his name; his
eyes rested on the rock behind which I lay snug, stock against cheek.

"I am Tahioni," he repeated simply. "My mother's clan is the Onondaga
Tortoise."

Which explained his clan and name, of course, if his father was Oneida.

"I continue to listen," said I warily.

"Tahioni has spoken," he said; and calmly seated himself.

For a moment I remained silent, yet still dared not show myself.

"Is my brother alone?" I asked at last.

"Two Oneida youths and my adopted sister are with me, brother."

"Where are they?"

"They are here."

"Let them show themselves," said I, instantly bitten by suspicion.

Two young men and a girl came calmly from the thicket and stood on the
bank. All carried blanket and rifle. At a sign from Tahioni, all three
laid their blankets at their feet and placed their rifles across them.

One, a stocky, powerful youth, spoke first:

"I am Kwiyeh.[5] My clan is the Oneida Tortoise."

The other young fellow said: "Brother, I am Hanatoh,[6] of the Oneida
Tortoise."

[Footnote 5: The Screech-Owl.]

[Footnote 6: The Water-Snake.]

Then they calmly seated themselves.

I rose from my cover, my rifle in the hollow of my left arm. Nick came
from his bed of juniper and stood looking very hard at the Oneidas
across the stream.

Save for the girl, all were naked except for breech-clout, sporran, and
ankle moccasins; all were oiled and in their paint, and their heads
shaven, leaving only the lock. There could be no doubt that this was a
war party. No doubt, also, that they could have slain me very easily
where I sat, had they wished to do so.

There was, just below us, a string of rocks crossing the stream. I
sprang from one to another and came out on their bank of the creek; and
Nick followed, leaping the boulders like a lithe tree-cat.

The Oneidas, who had been seated, rose as I came up to them. I gave my
hand to each of them in turn, until I faced the girl. And then I
hesitated.

For never anywhere, among any nation of the Iroquois Confederacy, had I
seen any woman so costumed, painted, and accoutred.

For this girl looked more like a warrior than a woman; and, save for her
slim and hard young body's shape, and her full hair, must have passed
for an adolescent wearing his first hatchet and his first touch of war
paint.

She, also, was naked to the waist, her breasts scarce formed. Two braids
of hair lay on her shoulders, and her skin was palely bronzed and smooth
in its oil, as amber without a flaw.

But she wore leggins of doe-skin, deeply fringed with pale green and
cinctured in at her waist, where war-axe and knife hung on her left
thigh, and powder horn and bullet pouch on her right. And over these she
wore knee moccasins of green snake-skin, the feet of which were
deer-hide sewn thick with scarlet, purple, and greenish wampum, which
glistened like a humming-bird's throat.

I said, wondering: "Who is this girl in a young warrior's dress, who
wears a disk of blue war-paint on her forehead?"

But Nick pulled my arm and said in my ear:

"Have you heard of the little maid of Askalege? Yonder she stands, thank
God! For the Oneida follow their prophetess; and the Oneida are with us
in this war if she becomes our friend!"

I had heard of the little Athabasca girl, found in the forest by
Skenandoa and Spencer, and how she grew up like a boy at Askalege, with
the brave half-breed interpreter, Thomas Spencer; and how it was her
delight to roam the forests and talk--they said--to trees and beasts by
moonlight; how she knew the language of all things living, and could
hear the tiny voices of the growing grass! Legends and fairy tales, but
by many believed.

Yet, Sir William had seen the child at Askalege dancing in the stream of
sparks that poured from Spencer's smithy when the Oneida blacksmith
pumped his home-made bellows or struck fire-flakes from the cherry-red
iron.

I said: "Are you sure, Nick? For never have I seen an Indian maid play
boy in earnest."

"She is the little witch-maid of Askalege--their prophetess," he
repeated. "I saw her once at Oneida Lake, dancing on the shore amid a
whirl of yellow butterflies at their strawberry feast. God send she
favours our party, for the Oneidas will follow her."

I turned to the girl, who was standing quietly beside a young silver
birch-tree.

"Who are you, my sister, who wear a little blue moon on your brow, and
the dress and weapons of an adolescent?"

"Brother," she said in her soft Oneida tongue, "I am an Athabascan of
the Heron Clan, adopted into the Oneida nation. My name is Thiohero,[7]
and my privilege is Oyaneh.[8] Brother, I come as a friend to liberty,
and to help you fight your great war against your King.

[Footnote 7: The River-reed.]

[Footnote 8: The noble or honourable one. The feminine of Royaneh, or
Sachem, in the Algonquin.]

"Brother, I have spoken," she concluded, with lowered eyes.

Surprised and charmed by this young girl's modesty and quiet speech, but
not knowing how to act, I thanked her as I had the young men, and
offered her my hand.

She took it, lifted her deep, wide eyes unabashed, looked me calmly and
intelligently in the face, and said in English:

"My adopted father is Thomas Spencer, the friend to liberty, and Oneida
interpreter to your General Schuyler. My adopted uncle is the great
war-chief Skenandoa, also your ally. The Oneida are my people. And are
now become your brothers in this new war."

"Your words make our hearts light, my sister."

"Your words brighten our sky, my elder brother."

Our clasped hands fell apart. I turned to Tahioni:

"Brother, why are you in battle-paint?" I demanded.

At that the eyes of the Oneida youths began to sparkle and burn; and
Tahioni straightened up and struck the knife-hilt at his belt with a
quick, fierce gesture.

"Give me a name that I may know my brother," he said bluntly. "Even a
tree has a name." And I flushed at this merited rebuke.

"My name is John Drogue, and I am lieutenant of our new State Rangers,"
said I. "And this is my comrade, Nicholas Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, and
first sergeant in my little company."

"Brother John," said he, "then listen to this news we Oneidas bring from
the North: a Canada war-party is now on the Iroquois trail, looking for
Sir John to guide them to the Canadas!"

Taken aback, I stared at the young warrior for a moment, then,
recovering composure, I translated for Nick what he had just told me.

Then I turned again to Tahioni, the Wolf:

"Where is this same war-party?" I demanded, still scarce convinced.

"At West River, near the Big Eddy," said he. "_They have taken scalps._"

"Why--why, then, it _is_ war!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And what people
are these who have taken scalps in the North? Are they Caniengas?"

"Mohawks!" He fairly spat out the insulting term, which no friendly
Iroquois would dream of using to a Canienga; and the contemptuous word
seemed to inflame the other Oneidas, for they all picked up their rifles
and crowded around me, watching my face with gleaming eyes.

"How many?" I asked, still a little stunned by this reality, though I
had long foreseen the probability.

"Thirty," said the girl Thiohero, turning from Nick, to whom she had
been translating what was being said in the Oneida tongue.

Now, in a twinkling, I found myself faced with an instant crisis, and
must act as instantly.

I had two good men on Maxon, the French trapper, Johnny Silver and
Benjamin De Luysnes; Nick and I counted two more. With four Oneida, and
perhaps Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew--if we could pick them up on the
Vlaie--we would be ten stout men to stop this Mohawk war-party until the
garrisons at Summer House Point and Fish House could drive the impudent
marauders North again.

Turning to Thiohero, I said as much in English. She nodded and spoke to
the others in Oneida; and I saw their eager and brilliant eyes begin to
glitter.

Now, I carried always with me in the bosom of my buckskin shirt a
_carnet_, or tablet of good paper, and a pencil given me years ago by
Sir William.

And now I seated myself on a rock and took my instruments and wrote:

     "Hans Creek, near
     Maxon Brook,
     June 13th, 1776.

     "To the Officer comm{d'ng} ye
     Garrison at ye Summer House
     on Vlaie,

     "Sir:

     "I am to acquaint you that this day, about two o'clock, afternoon,
     arrived in my camp four Oneidas who give an account that a Mohawk
     War Party is now at ye Big Eddy on West River, headed south.

     "By the same intelligence I am to understand that this War Party
     _has taken scalps_.

     "Sir, anybody familiar with the laws and customs of the Iroquois
     Confederacy understands what this means.

     "Murder, or mere slaying, when not accompanied by such mutilation,
     need not constitute an act of war involving nation and Confederacy
     in formal declaration.

     "But the taking of a single scalp means only one thing: that the
     nation whose warrior scalps an enemy approves the trophy and
     declares itself at war with the nation of the victim.

     "I am aware, sir, that General Schuyler and Mr. Kirkland and others
     are striving mightily in Albany to placate the Iroquois, and that
     they still entertain such hope, although the upper Mohawks are gone
     off with Brant, and Guy Johnson holds in his grasp the fighting men
     of the Confederacy, save only the Oneida, and also in spite of
     news, known to be certain, that Mohawk Indians were in battle-paint
     at St. John's.

     "Now, therefore, conscious of my responsibility, and asking God's
     guidance in this supreme moment, lest I commit error or permit hot
     blood to confuse my clearer mind, I propose to travel instantly to
     the West River with my scout of four Rangers, and four Oneidas, and
     ask of this Mohawk War Party an explanation in the name of the
     Continental Congress and His Excellency, our Com{'nder} in Chief.

     "Sir, I doubt not that you will order your two garrisons to prepare
     for immediate defense, and also to support my scout on the
     Sacandaga; and to send an express to Johnstown as soon as may be,
     to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what measures I propose to take to
     carry out my orders which are _to stop the Sacandaga trail_.

     "This, sir, it is my present endeavour to do.

     "I am, sir, with all respect,

     "Yr most obedient

     "John Drogue, L{ieut} Rangers."

When I finished, I discovered that Nick and the Oneidas had fastened on
their blanket-packs and were gathered a little distance away in animated
conversation, the little maid of Askalege translating.

Nick had fetched my pack; I strapped it, picked up my rifle, and walked
swiftly into the woods; and without any word from me they fell into file
at my heels, headed west for Fish House and the fateful river.

My scout of six moved very swiftly and without noise; and it was not an
hour before I caught sight of a Continental soldier on bullock guard,
and saw cattle among low willows.

The soldier was scared and bawled lustily for his mates; but among them
was one of the Sammons, who knew me; and they let us through with little
delay.

Fish House was full o' soldiers a-sunning in every window, and under
them, on the grass; and here headquarters guards stopped us until the
captain in command could be found, whilst the gaping Continentals
crowded around us for news, and stared at our Oneidas, whose quiet
dignity and war paint astonished our men, I think. To the west and
south, and along the river, I saw many soldiers in their shirts,
a-digging to make an earthwork; and presently from this redoubt came a
Continental Captain, out o' breath, who listened anxiously to what news
I had gathered, and who took my letter and promised to send it by an
express to Summer House Point.

A quartermaster's sergeant asked very civilly if I desired to draw
rations for my scout; and I drew parched corn, salt, dried fish, jerked
venison, and pork from the brine, for ten men; and Nick and I and my
Oneidas did divide between us the burthen.

"The dogs!" he kept repeating in a confused way--"the dirty dogs, to
take our scalps! And I pray God your painted Oneidas yonder may do the
like for them!"

I saw a horse saddled and a soldier mount and gallop off with my letter.
That was sufficient for me; I gave the Continental Captain the officers'
salute, and looked around at my men, who had made a green fire for me on
the grass in front of the house.

It was smoking thickly, now, so I took a soldier's watch-coat by the
skirts, glanced up at Maxon Ridge, then, flinging wide the garment above
the fire, kept it a-flutter there and moved it up and down till the
jetted smoke mounted upward in great clots, three together, then one,
then three, then one.

Presently, high on Maxon, I saw smoke, and knew that Johnny Silver
understood. So I flung the watch-coat to the soldier, turned, and walked
swiftly along the river bank, where sheep grazed, then entered the
forest with Nick at my heels and the four Oneidas a-padding in his
tracks.




CHAPTER XIV

THE LITTLE RED FOOT


By dusk we were ten rifles; for an hour after we left Fish House Johnny
Silver and Luysnes joined us on the Sacandaga trail; and, just as the
sun set behind the Mayfield mountains, comes rushing down stream a canoe
with Godfrey Shew's bow-paddle flashing red in the last rays and Joe de
Golyer steering amid the rattling rapids, nigh buried in a mountain of
silvery spray.

And here, by the river, we ate, but lighted no fire, though it seemed
safe to do so.

I sent Godfrey Shew and the Water-snake far up the Iroquois trail to
watch it. The others gathered in a friendly circle to munch their corn
and jerked meat, and the Frenchmen were merry, laughing and jesting and
casting sly, amorous eyes toward Thiohero, who laughed, too, in friendly
fashion and was at her ease and plainly not displeased with gallantry.

It had proved a swift comradery between us and our young Oneidas, and I
marvelled at the rapid accomplishment of such friendly accord in so
brief a time, yet understood it came through the perfect faith of these
Oneidas in their young Athabasca witch; and that what their prophetess
found good they did not even think of questioning.

Her voice was soft, her smile bewitching; she ate with the healthy
appetite of an animal, yet was polite to those who offered meat. And her
sweet "neah-wennah"[9] never failed any courtesy offered by these rough
Forest Runners, who now, for the first time in their reckless lives, I
think, were afforded a glimpse of the forest Indian as he really is when
at his ease and among friends.

[Footnote 9: Thank you.]

For it is not true that the Iroquois live perpetually in their paint;
that they are cruel by nature, brutal, stern, and masters of silence; or
that they stalk gloomily through life with hatchet ever loosened and no
pursuit except war in their ferocious minds.

White men who have mistreated them see them so; but the real Iroquois,
except the Senecas, who are different, are naturally a kindly, merry,
and trustful people among themselves, not quarrelsome, not fierce, but
like children, loving laughter and all things gay and bright and
mischievous.

Their women, though sometimes broad in speech and jests, are more truly
chaste in conduct than the women of any nation I ever heard of, except
the Irish.

They have their fixed and honourable places in clan, nation, and Federal
affairs.

Rank follows the female line; the son of a chief does not succeed to the
antlers, but any of his mother's relatives may. And in the Great Rite of
the Iroquois, which is as sacred to them as is our religion to us, and
couched in poetry as beautiful as ever Homer sang, the most moving part
of the ceremony concerns the Iroquois women,--the women of the Six
Nations of the Long House, respected, honoured, and beloved.

       *       *       *       *       *

We ate leisurely, feeling perfectly secure there in the starlight of the
soft June night.

The Iroquois war-trail ran at our elbows, trodden a foot deep, hard as a
sheep path, and from eighteen inches to two feet in width--a clean,
firm, unbroken trail through a primeval wilderness, running mile after
mile, mile after mile, over mountains, through valleys, by lonely lakes,
along lost rivers, to the distant Canadas in the North.

On this trail, above us, two of my men lay watching, as I have said,
which was merely a customary precaution, for we were far out of earshot
of the Big Eddy, and even of our own sentries.

We were like one family eating together, and Silver and Luysnes jested
and played pranks on each other, and de Golyer and Nick entered into
gayest conversation with the Oneidas through their interpreter, the
River-reed.

As for Nick, I saw him making calf's eyes at the lithe young sorceress,
which I perceived displeased her not at all; yet she gaily divided
herself between translating for the others and keeping up a lively
repartee with Nick.

The Oneidas, now, had begun to shine up their war-hatchets, sitting
cross-legged and contentedly rubbing up knife, axe, and rifle; and I was
glad to see them so at home and so confident of our friendship.

Older men might not have been so easily won, but these untried young
warriors seemed very children, and possessing the lovable qualities of
children, being alternately grave and gay, serious and laughing, frank
and impatient, yet caressing in speech and gesture.

From Kwiyeh, the Screech-owl, I had an account of how, burning for
glory, these four youngsters had stolen away from Oneida Lake, and,
painting themselves, had gone North of their own accord, to win fame for
the Oneida nation, which for the greater part had espoused our cause.

He told me that they had seen Sir John pass, floundering madly northward
and dragging three brass cannon; but explained naïvely that four Oneidas
considered it unsafe to give battle to two hundred white men.

For a week, however, it appeared, they had hung on Sir John's flanks,
skulking for a stray scalp; but it was evident that the Baronet's people
were thoroughly frightened, and the heavy flank guards and the triple
line of sentries by night made any hope of a stray scalp futile.

Then, it appeared, these four Oneidas gave up the quest and struck out
for the Iroquois trail. And suddenly came upon nearly two score Mohawks,
silently passing southward, painted for war, oiled, shaved, and
stripped, and evidently searching for Sir John, to aid and guide him in
his flight to Canada.

Which proved to me the Baronet's baseness, because his flight was
plainly a premeditated one, and the Mohawks could not have known of it
unless Sir John had been in constant communication with Canada--a thing
he had pledged his honour not to do.

Others around me, now, were listening to the burly young Oneida's
account of their first war-path; and presently their young sorceress
took up the tale in English and in Oneida, explaining with lively
gestures to both red men and white.

"Not one of the Mohawks saw us," she said scornfully, "and when they
made a camp and had sent their hunters out to kill game, we came so near
that we could see their warriors curing and hooping the scalps they had
taken and painting on every scalp the Little Red Foot[10]--even on the
scalps of two little boys."

[Footnote 10: To show that the late owner of the scalp had died fighting
bravely.]

Nick turned pale, but said nothing. A sickness came to my stomach and I
spoke with difficulty.

"What were these scalps, little sister, which you saw the Mohawks
curing?"

"White people's. Three were of men,--one very thin and gray; two were
the glossy hair of women; and two the scalps of children----"

She flung back her blanket with a peculiarly graceful gesture:

"Be honoured, O white brothers, that these Mohawk dogs were forced to
paint upon every scalp the Little Red Foot!"

After a silence: "Some poor settler's family," muttered Nick; and fell
a-fiddling with his hatchet.

"All died fighting," I added in a dull voice.

Thiohero snapped her fingers and her dark eyes flamed.

"What are the Mohawks, after all!" she said in a tense voice. "Who are
they, to paint for war without fire-right given them at Onondaga? What
do they amount to, these Keepers of the Eastern Gate, since Sir William
died?

"They have become outlaws and there is no honour among them!

"Their clan-right is destroyed and neither Wolf, Bear, nor Tortoise know
them any longer. Nor does any ensign of my own clan of the Heron know
these mad yellow wolves that howl and tear the Long House with their
teeth to destroy it! Like carcajoux, they defile the Iroquois League and
smother its fire in their filth! Dig up the ashes of Onondaga for any
living ember, O you Oneidas! You shall find not one live spark! And this
is what the Canienga have done to the Great Confederacy!"

Tahioni said, looking straight ahead of him: "The Great League of the
Iroquois is broken. Skenandoa has said it, and he has painted his face
scarlet! The Long House crumbles slowly to its fall.

"Those who should have guarded the Eastern Gate have broken it down.
Death to the Canienga!"

Kwiyeh lifted his right hand high in the starlight:

"Death to the Canienga! They have defiled Thendara. Spencer has said it.
They have spat upon the Fire at the Wood's Edge. They have hewn down the
Great Tree. They have uncovered the war-axe which lay deep buried under
the roots.

"Death to the Canienga!"

I turned to Thiohero: "O River-reed, my little sister! Oyaneh! Is it
true that your great chief, Skenandoa, has put on red paint?"

She said calmly: "It is true, my brother. Skenandoa has painted himself
in red. And when your General Herkimer rides into battle, on his right
hand rides Skenandoa; and on his left hand rides Thomas Spencer, the
Oneida interpreter!"[11]

[Footnote 11: This was a true prophecy for it happened later at
Oriskany.]

Tahioni said solemnly: "And before them rides the Holder of Heaven. We
Oneidas can not doubt it. Is it true, my sister?"

The girl answered: "The Holder of Heaven has flung a red wampum belt
between Oneida and Canienga! Five more red belts remain in his hand.
They are so brightly red that even the Senecas can see the colour of
these belts from the Western Gate of the Long House."

There was a silence; then I chose De Luysnes and Kwiyeh to relieve our
sentinels, and went north with them along the starlit trail.

When I returned with Hanoteh and Godfrey Shew, the Oneidas were still
sitting up in their blankets, and the Frenchmen lay on theirs, listening
to Nick, who had pulled his fife from his hunting shirt and was trilling
the air of the Little Red Foot while Joe de Golyer sang the words of the
endless and dreary ballad--old-time verses, concerning bloody deeds of
the Shawanese, Western Lenape, and French in '56, when blood ran from
every creek and man, woman and child went down to death fighting.

I hated the words, but the song had ever haunted me with its quaint and
sad refrain:

      "Lord Loudon he weareth a fine red coat,
    And red is his ladye's foot-mantelle;
      Red flyeth ye flagge from his pleasure-boat,
    And red is the wine he loves so well:
      But, oh! for the dead at Minden Town,--
    Naked and bloody and black with soot,
      Where the Lenni-Lenape and the French came down
    To paint them all with the Little Red Foot!"

"For God's sake, quit thy piping, Nick," said I, "and let us sleep while
we may, for we move again at dawn."

At which Nick obediently tucked away his fife, and de Golyer, who had a
thin voice like a tree-cat, held his songful tongue; and presently we
all lay flat and rolled us in our blankets.

The night was still, save for a love-sick panther somewhere on the
mountain, a-caterwauling under the June stars. But the distant and
melancholy love-song and the golden melody of the stream pouring through
its bowlders blended not unpleasantly in my ears, and presently
conspired to lull me into slumber.

       *       *       *       *       *

The mountain peaks were red when I awoke and spoke aloud to rouse my
people. One by one they sat up, owlish with sleep, yet soon clearing
their eyes and minds with remembering the business that lay before us.

I sent Joe de Golyer and Tahioni to relieve our sentinels, Luysnes and
the Screech-owl.

When these came in with report that all was still as death on the
Iroquois trail, we ate breakfast and drank at the river, where some
among us also washed our bodies,--among others the River-reed, who
stripped unabashed, innocent of any shame, and cleansed herself
knee-deep in a crystal green pool under the Indian willows.

When she came back, the disk of blue paint was gone from her brow, and I
saw her a-fishing in her beaded wallet and presently bring forth blue
and red paint and a trader's mirror about two inches in diameter.

Then the little maid of Askalege sat down cross-legged and began to
paint herself for battle.

At the root of her hair, where it made a point above her forehead, she
painted a little crescent moon in blue. And touched no more her face;
but on her belly she made a blue picture of a heron--her clan being the
Heron, which is an ensign unknown among Iroquois.

Now she took red paint, and upon her chest she made a tiny human foot.

I was surprised, for neither for war nor for any ceremony I ever heard
of had I seen that dread symbol on any Indian.

The Oneidas, also, were looking at her in curiosity and astonishment,
pausing in their own painting to discover what she was about.

Then, as it struck me, so, apparently, it came to them at the same
instant what their sorceress meant,--what pledge to friend and foe alike
this tiny red foot embodied, shining above her breast. And the two young
warriors who had painted the tortoise in blue upon their bellies, now
made each a little red foot upon their chests.

"By gar!" exclaimed Silver, "ees it onlee ze gens-du-bois who shall made
a boast to die fighting? Nom de dieu, non!" And he unrolled his blanket
and pulled out a packet of red cloth and thread and needle--which is
like a Frenchman, who lacks for nothing, even in the wilderness.

He made a pattern very deftly out of his cloth, using the keen point of
his hunting knife; and, as we all, now, wished to sew a little red foot
upon the breasts of our buckskin shirts, and as he had cloth enough for
all, and for Joe de Golyer, too, when we should come up with him, I and
my men were presently marked with the dread device, which was our
pledge and our defiance.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sun had painted scarlet the lower Adirondack peaks when we started
north on the Sacandaga trail.

When we came up with our sentinels, I gave Joe time to sew on his
symbol, and the Oneida time to paint it upon his person. Then we
examined flint and priming, tightened girth and cincture, tested knife,
hatchet, and the stoppers of our powder horns; and I went from one to
another to inspect all, and to make my dispositions for the march to the
Big Eddy on West River.

We marched in the following fashion: Tahioni and Nick as left flankers,
two hundred yards in advance of us, and in sight of the trail. On the
right flank, the Water-snake and Johnny Silver at the same intervals.

Then, on the trail itself, I leading, Luysnes next, then the River-reed.
Then a hundred yards interval, and Joe de Golyer on the left rear,
Kwiyeh on the right rear, and Godfrey on the trail.

"And," I said, "if you catch a roving Tree-eater, slay him not, but
bring him to me, for if there be any of these wild rovers, the
Montagnais, in our vicinity, they should know something of what is now
happening in the Canadas, and they shall tell us what they know, or I'm
a Tory! Forward! Our alarm signal is the long call-note of the Canada
sparrow!"




CHAPTER XV

WEST RIVER


The Water-snake caught an Adirondack just before ten o'clock, and was
holding him on the trail as I came up, followed by Luysnes and Thiohero.

The Indian was a poor, starved-looking creature in ragged buckskins and
long hair, from which a few wild-turkey quills fell to his scrawny neck.

He wore no paint, had been armed with a trade-rifle, the hammer of which
was badly loosened and mended with copper wire, and otherwise he carried
arrows in a quiver and a greasy bow.

Like a fierce, lean forest thing, made abject by fear, the Adirondack's
sloe-black eyes now flickered at me, now avoided my gaze. I looked down
at the rags which served him for a blanket, and on which lay his
wretched arms, including knife and hatchet.

"Let him loose," said I to the Water-snake; "here is no Mengwe but a
poor brother, who sees us armed and in our paint and is afraid."

And I went to the man and offered my hand. Which he touched as though I
were a rattlesnake.

"Brother," said I, "we white men and Oneidas have no quarrel with any
Saguenay that I know about. Our quarrel is with the Canienga, and that
is the reason we wear paint on this trail. And we have stopped our
Saguenay brother in the forest on his lawful journey, to say to him, and
to all Saguenays, that we mean them no harm."

There was an absolute silence; Luysnes and Thiohero drew closer around
the Tree-eater; the Water-snake gazed at his captive in slight disgust,
yet, I noticed, held his rifle in a position for instant use.

The Saguenay's slitted eyes travelled from one to another, then he
looked at me.

"Brother," I said, "how many Maquas are there camped near the Big
Eddy?"

His low, thick voice answered in a dialect or language I did not
comprehend.

"Can you speak Iroquois?" I demanded.

He muttered something in his jargon. Thiohero touched my arm:

"The Saguenay says he understands the Iroquois tongue, but can speak it
only with difficulty. He says that he is a hunter and not a warrior."

"Ask him to answer me concerning the Maqua."

A burst of volubility spurted from the prisoner.

Again the girl translated the guttural reply:

"He says he saw painted Mohawks fishing in the Big Eddy, and others
watching the trail. He does not know how many, because he can not count
above five numbers. He says the Mohawks stoned him and mocked him,
calling him Tree-eater and Woodpecker; and they drove him away from the
Big Eddy, saying that no Saguenay was at liberty to fish in Canienga
territory until permitted by the Canienga; and that unless he started
back to Canada, where he belonged, the Iroquois women would catch him
and beat him with nettles."

As Thiohero uttered the dread name, Canienga, I could see our captive
shrink with the deep fear that the name inspired. And I think any
Iroquois terrified him, for it seemed as though he dared not sustain the
half-contemptuous, half-indifferent glances of my Oneidas, but his eyes
shifted to mine in dumb appeal for refuge.

"What is my brother's name?" I asked.

"Yellow Leaf," translated the girl.

"His clan?"

"The Hawk," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Nevertheless," said I, very quietly, "my Saguenay brother is a man, and
not an animal to be mocked by the Maqua!"

And I stooped and picked up his blanket and weapons, and gave them to
him.

"The Saguenays are free people," said I. "The Yellow Leaf is free as is
his clan ensign, the Hawk. Brother, go in peace!"

And I motioned my people forward.

Our flankers, who, keeping stations, had waited, now started on again,
the Water-snake running swiftly to his post on the extreme right flank.

After ten minutes' silent and swift advance, Thiohero came lightly to my
side on the trail.

"Brother," she whispered, "was it well considered to let loose that
Tree-eating rover in our rear?"

"Would the Oneida take such a wretched trophy as that poor hunter's
tangled scalp?"

"_Neah._ Yet, I ask again, was it wisdom to let him loose, who, for a
mouthful of parched corn, might betray us to the Mengwe?"

"Poor devil, he means no harm to anybody."

"_Then why does he skulk after us?_"

Startled, I turned and caught a glimpse of something slinking on the
ridge between our flankers; but was instantly reassured because no
living thing could dog us without discovery from the rear. And presently
I did see the Screech-owl run forward and hurl a clod of moss into the
thicket; and the Saguenay broke cover like a scared dog, running perdue
so that he came close to Hanatoh, who flung a stick at him.

That was too much for me; and, as the Tree-eater bolted past me, I
seized him.

"Come," said I, dragging him along, "what the devil do you want of us?
Did I not bid you go in peace?"

Thiohero caught him by the other arm, and he panted some jargon at her.

"Koué!" she exclaimed, and her long, sweet whistle of the Canada sparrow
instantly halted us in our tracks, flankers, rearguard, and all.

Thiohero, still holding the Saguenay by his lean, muscular arm, spoke
sharply to him in his jargon; then, at his reply, looked up at me with
the flaming eyes of a lynx.

"Brother," said she, "this Montagnais hunter has given an account that
the Maquas have prepared an ambuscade, knowing we are on the Great
Trail."

I said, coolly: "What reason does the Saguenay give for returning to us
with such a tale?"

"He says," she replied, "that we only, of all Iroquois or white men he
has ever encountered, have treated him like a man and not as an unclean
beast.

"He says that my white brother has told him he is a man, and that if
this is true he will act as real men act.

"He says he desires to be painted upon the breast with a little red
foot, and wishes to go into battle with us. And," she added naïvely, "to
an Oneida this seems very strange that a Saguenay can be a real man!"

"Paint him," said I, smiling at the Saguenay.

But no Oneida would touch him. So, while he stripped to the clout and
began to oil himself from the flask of gun-oil I offered, I got from
him, through Thiohero, all he had noticed of the ambuscade prepared for
us, and into which he himself had run headlong in his flight from the
stones and insults of the Mohawks at the Big Eddy.

While he was thus oiling himself, Luysnes shaved his head with his
hunting blade, leaving a lock to be braided. Then, very quickly, I took
blue paint from Thiohero and made on the fellow's chest a hawk. And,
with red paint, under this I made a little red foot, then painted his
fierce, thin features as the girl directed, moving a dainty finger
hither and thither but never touching the Saguenay.

To me she said disdainfully, in English: "My brother John, this is a
wild wolf you take hunting with you, and not a hound. The Saguenays are
real wolves and not to be tamed by white men or Iroquois. And like a
lone wolf he will run away in battle. You shall see, brother John."

"I hope not, little sister."

"You shall see," she repeated, her pretty lip curling as Luysnes began
to braid the man's scalp-lock. "You think him a warrior, now, because he
is oiled and wears war paint and lock. But I tell you he is only a wild
Montagnais hunter. Warriors are not made with a word."

"Sometimes men are," said I pleasantly.

The girl came closer to me, looked up into my face with unfeigned
curiosity.

"What manner of white man are you, John?" she asked. "For you speak like
a preacher, yet you wear no skirt and cross, as do the priests of the
Praying Indians."

"Little sister," said I, taking both her hands, "I am only a young man
going into battle for the first time; and I have yet to fire my first
shot in anger. If my white and red brothers--and if you, little
sister--do full duty this day, then we shall be happy, living or dead.
For only those who do their best can look the Holder of Heaven in the
face."

She gave me a strange glance; our hands parted. I gave the
Canada-sparrow call in the minor key--as often the bird whistles--and,
at the signal, all my scouts came creeping in.

"We cross West River here," said I, "and go by the left bank in the same
order of march, crossing the shoulder of the mountain by the Big Eddy,
then fording the river once more, so as to take their ambuscade from the
north and in the rear."

They seemed to understand. The Montagnais, in his new paint, came around
behind me like some savage dog that trusts only his owner. And I saw my
Oneidas eyeing him as though of two minds whether to ignore him or sink
a hatchet into his narrow skull.

"Who first sights a Mohawk," said I, "shall not fire or try to take a
scalp to satisfy his own vanity and his desire for glory. No. He shall
return to me and report what he sees. For it is my business to order the
conduct of this battle.... March!"

       *       *       *       *       *

We had forded West River, crept over the mountain's shoulder, recrossed
the river roaring between its rounded and giant bowlders, and now were
creeping southward toward the Big Eddy.

Already I saw ahead of me the brook that dashes into that great
crystal-green pool, where, in happier days, I have angled for those huge
trout that always lurk there.

And now I caught a glimpse of the pool itself, spreading out between
forested shores. But the place was still as death; not a living thing
nor any sign of one was to be seen there--not a trace of a fire, nor of
any camp filth, nor a canoe, nor even a broken fern.

Moment after moment, I studied the place, shore and slope and hollow.

Tahioni, flat on his belly in the Great Trail, lay listening and looking
up the slope, where our Saguenay had warned us Death lay waiting.

The Water-snake slowly shook his head and cast a glance of fierce
suspicion at the Montagnais, who lay beside me, grasping his sorry
trade-rifle, his slitted gaze of a snake fixed on the forest depths
ahead.

Suddenly, Nick caught my arm in a nervous grasp, and "My God!" says he,
"what is that in the tree--in the great hemlock yonder?"

And now we began to see their sharpshooters as we crawled forward,
standing upright on limbs amid the foliage of great evergreens, to scan
the trail ahead and the forest aisles below--these Mohawk panthers that
would slay from above.

Under them, hidden close to the ground, lay their comrades on either
side of the little ravine, through which the trail ran. We could not see
them, but we never doubted they were there.

Four of their tree-cat scouts were visible: I made the sign; our rifles
crashed out. And, thump! slap! thud! crash! down came their dead
a-sprawling and bouncing on the dead leaves. And up rose their astounded
comrades from every hollow, bush and windfall, only to drop flat at our
rifles' crack, and no knowing if we had hit any among them.

A veil of smoke lay low among the ferns in front of us. There was a
terrible silence in the forest, then screech on screech rent the air, as
the panther slogan rang out from our unseen foes; and, like a dreadful
echo, my Oneidas hurled their war cry back at them; and we all sprang to
our feet and moved swiftly forward, crouching low in our own rifle
smoke.

There came a shot, and a cloud spread among the boughs of a tall
hemlock; but the fellow left his tree and slid down on t'other side,
like a squirrel, and my wild Saguenay was after him in a flash.

I saw the Oneidas looking on as though stupefied; saw the Saguenay,
shoulder deep in witch-hopple, seize something, heard the mad struggle,
and ran forward with Tahioni, only to hear the yelping scalp-cry of the
Montagnais, and see him in the tangle of witch-hopple, both knees on his
victim's shoulders, ripping off the scalp, his arms and body spattered
with blood.

The stupefaction of the Oneidas lasted but a second, then their battle
yell burst out in jealous fury indescribable.

I saw Tahioni chasing a strange Indian through a little hollow full of
ferns; saw Godfrey Shew raise his rifle and kill the fugitive as coolly
as though he were a running buck.

Nick, his shoulder against a beech tree, stood firing with great
deliberation at something I could not see.

The three Frenchmen, de Golyer, Luysnes, and Johnny, had gone around, as
though deer driving, and were converging upon a little wooded knoll,
from which a hard-wood hogback ran east.

Over this distant ridge, like shadows, I could see somebody's light feet
running, checkered against the sunshine beyond, and I fired, judging a
man's height, if stooping. And saw something dark fall and roll down
into a gully full o' last year's damp and rotting leaves.

Re-charging my rifle, I strove to realize that I had slain, but could
not, so fierce the flame in me was burning at the thought of the
children's scalps these Iroquois had taken.

"Is he down, Johnny Silver?" I bawled.

"Fairly paunched!" shouted Luysnes. "Tell your Oneidas they can take his
hair, for I shan't touch it."

But Johnny Silver, in no wise averse, did that office very cheerfully.

"Nom de Dieu!" he panted, tugging at the oiled lock and wrenching free
the scalp; "I have one veree fine jou-jou, sacré garce! I take two; mek
for me one fine wallet!"

Down by the river the rifles were cracking fast and a smoke mist filled
the woods. Ranging widely eastward we had turned their left flank--now
their right--and were forcing them to a choice between the Sacandaga
trail southward or the bee-line back to Canada by the left bank of West
River.

How many there were of them I never have truly learned; but that
scarcely matters to the bravest Indian, when ambuscaded and taken so
completely by surprise from the rear.

No Indians can stand that, and but few white men are able to rally under
such circumstances.

The Screech-owl, locked in a death struggle with a young Mohawk, broke
his arm, stabbed him, and took his scalp before I could run to his aid.

And there on the ground lay four other scalps, two of white children,
with the Little Red Foot painted on all.

I looked down at the dead murderer. He was a handsome boy, not twenty,
and wore a white mask of war paint and two bars of scarlet on his chin,
I thought--then realized that they were two thick streaks of running
blood.

"May his clan bewail him!" shouted the burly Screech-owl. "Let the
Mohawk women mourn their dead who died this day at West River! The
Oneida mock them! Koué!" And his terrific scalp-yell pierced the racket
of the rifles.

I heard a gruffling sound and thick breathing from behind a pine, where
the Water-snake was scalping one of the tree-cat scouts--grunting and
panting as he tugged at the tough and shaven skin, which he had grasped
in his teeth, plying his knife at the same time because the circular
incision had not been continuous.

Suddenly I felt sick, and leaned against a tree, fighting nausea and a
great dizziness. And was aware of an arm around my shoulder.

Whereupon I straightened up and saw the little maid of Askalege beside
me, looking at me very strangely.

At the same instant I heard a great roaring and cursing and a crash
among the river-side willows, and was horrified to see Nick down on his
back a-clawing and tearing and cuffing a Mohawk warrior, who was
clinging to him and striving to use his hatchet.

We made but a dozen leaps of it, Thiohero and I, and were in a wasp-nest
of Mohawks ere we knew it.

I heard Nick roar again with pain and fury, but had my hands too full to
succor him, for a wild beast painted yellow was choking me and wrestling
me off my feet, and little Thiohero was fighting like a demon with her
knife, on the water's edge.

The naked warrior I clutched was so vilely oiled that my fingers slipped
over him as though it were an eel I plucked at, and his foul and
stinking breath in my face was like a full fed bear's.

Then, as he strangled me, out of darkening eyes I saw his arm
lifted--glimpsed the hatchet's sparkle--saw an arm seize his, saw a
broad knife pass into his belly as though it had been butter--pass
thrice, slowly, ripping upward so that he stood there, already
gralloched, yet still breathing horribly and no bowels in him.... His
falling hatchet clinked among the stones. Then he sank like a stricken
bull, bellowed, and died.

And, as he fell, I heard my Saguenay gabbling, "Brother! brother!" in my
ears, and felt his hand timidly seeking mine.

Breath came back, and eyesight, too, in time to see Nick and his Mohawk
enemy on their feet again, and the Indian strike my comrade with clubbed
rifle, turn, and dart into the willows.

My God, what a crack! And down went Nick, like a felled pine in the
thicket.

But now in my ears rang a distressful crying, like a gentle wild thing
wounded to the death; and I saw two Mohawks had got the little maid of
Askalege between them, and were drowning her in the Big Eddy.

I ran out into the water, but Tahioni, her brother, came in a flying
leap from the bank above me, and all four went down under water as I
reached them.

They came up blinded, staggering, one by one, and I got Thiohero by the
hair, where she lay in shallow water, and dragged her ashore behind me.

Then I saw her brother clear his eyes of water and swing his hatchet
like swift lightning, and heard the smashing skull stroke.

The other Mohawk dived like an otter between us, and I strove to spear
him with my knife, but only slashed him and saw the long, thin string of
blood follow where he swam under water.

My powder-pan was wet and flashed when I tried to shoot him, where I
stood shoulder deep in the Big Eddy.

Then came a thrashing, splashing roar like a deer herd crossing a marshy
creek, and, below us, I saw a dozen Mohawks leap into the water and
thrash their way over. And not a rifle among us that was dry enough to
take a toll of our enemies crossing the West River plain in sight!

Lord, what a day! And not fought as I had pictured battles. No! For it
was blind combat, and neither managed as planned nor in any kind of
order or discipline. Nor did we ever, as I have said, discover how many
enemies were opposed to us. And I am certain they believed that a full
regiment had struck their rear; otherwise, I think it had proven a very
bloody business for me and my people. Because the Mohawks are brave
warriors, and only the volley at their backs and the stupefying
down-crash of their tree-scouts demoralized them and left them capable
only of fighting like cornered wild things in a maddened effort to get
away.

Lord, Lord! What a battle! For all were filthy with blood, and there
were brains and hair and guts sticking to knives and hatchets, and
bodies and limbs all smeared. Good God! Was this war? And the green
flies already whirling around us in the sunshine, and settling on the
faces of the dead!--

       *       *       *       *       *

The little maid of Askalege, leaning on her brother's shoulder, was
coughing up water she had swallowed.

Nick, with a bloody sconce, but no worse damage, sat upon a rock and
washed out his clotted hair.

"Hell!" quoth he, when he beheld me. "Here be I with a broken poll, and
yonder goes the Indian who gave it me."

"Sit still, idiot!" said I, and set the ranger's whistle to my lips.

White and red, my men came running from their ferocious hunting. Not a
man was missing, which was another lesson in war to me, for I thought
always that death dealt hard with both sides, and I could not understand
how so many guns could be fired with no corpse to mourn among us.

We had taken ten scalps; and, as only Johnny Silver among my white
people fancied such trophies, my Oneidas skinned the noddles of our
quarry, and, like all Indians, counted any scalp a glory, no matter
whose knife or bullet dropped the game.

We all bore scratches, and some among us were stiff, so that the scratch
might, perhaps, be called a wound. A bullet had barked de Golyer,
another had burned Tahioni; Silver proudly wore a knife wound; the
Screech-owl had been beaten and somewhat badly bitten. As for Nick, his
head was cracked, and the little maid of Askalege still spewed water.

As for me, my throat was so swollen and bruised I could scarce speak or
swallow.

However, there was work still to be done, so I took Godfrey and Luysnes,
the Screech-owl, and the Water-snake; motioned Yellow Leaf, the
Montagnais to follow, and set off across West River, determined to drive
our enemies so deep into the wilderness that they would never forget the
Big Eddy as long as they survived on earth.




CHAPTER XVI

A TROUBLED MIND


That was a wild brant chase indeed! And although there were good
trackers among us, the fleeing Canienga took to the mountain streams and
travelled so, wading northward mile after mile, which very perfectly
covered their tracks, and finally left us travelling in circles near
Silver Lake.

I now think St. Sacrament must have mirrored their canoes--God and they
alone know the truth!--for I never heard of any other Mohawks, or any
Englishmen at all, or Frenchmen for that matter, who ever have heard of
this Mohawk war party coming south to meet and rescue Sir John.[12] Nor
do our own records, except generally, mention our measures taken to stop
the Sacandaga trail, or speak of the fight at the Big Eddy as a separate
and distinct combat.

[Footnote 12: Years later, Thayendanegea made a reference to this
attempt, but the inference was that he himself led the war party, which
is not true, because Brant was then in England.]

It may be that this fight at the Big Eddy remained unnoticed because we
sustained no losses. Also, we were losing our people all along the
wilderness, from the ashes of Falmouth to the Ohio. I do not know. But
my chiefest concern, then and later, was that the survivors among these
Caniengas got clean away, which misfortune troubled my mind, although my
Oneidas had a Dutch dozen of their scalps, all hooped and curing, when
we limped into the Drowned Lands from our wild brant chase above.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, my orders being to stop the Sacandaga Trail, there seemed no better
way than to cut this same trail with a ditch and plant in it a
chevaux-de-frise; and then so dispose my men that even a scout might
remain in touch by signal and be prepared to fall back behind this
barrier if Sir John crept upon our settlements by stealth.

Fish House could provision us, or the Point, if necessary; and any scout
of ours in the Drowned Lands ought to see smoke by day or fire by night
from Maxon's nose to Mayfield.

My scout of four and I passed in wearily between the rough, low redoubts
at Fish House, after sunset, and gave an account to Peter Wayland, the
captain commanding the post, that the northward war-trail was now clean
as far as Silver Lake, and that I proposed to block it and watch it
above and below.

Twilight was deepening when we came to John Howell's deserted log-house
on the Vlaie, and heard the owls very mournful in the tamarack forests
eastward.

A few rods farther on the hard ridge and one of my men challenged
smartly. In thick darkness he led us over hard ground along the vast
wastes of bushes and reeds, to where a new ditch had been dug down to
the Vlaie Water.

Thence he guided us through our chevaux-de-frise; and I saw my own
people lying in the shadowy gleam of a watch-fire; and an Oneida slowly
moving around the smouldering coals, chanting the refrain of his first
scalp-dance:

             SCALP SONG

    "Chiefs in your white plumes!
    When your Tall Cloud glooms,
    And we Oneidas wonder
    To hear your thunder--
    And the moon pales,
    And the Seven Dancers wear veils,
    Is it your rain that wails?
    Is it the noise of hail?
    Is it the rush of frightened deer
    That we Oneidas hear?"

And the others chanted in sombre answer:

    "It is the weeping of the Mohawk Nation,
    Mourning amid their desolation,
    For the scalpless head
    Of each young warrior dead.

    _A Voice from the Dark_

    "It is the cry of their women, who bewail
    Their warriors dead,
    Not the east wind we hear!
    It is the noise of their women, who rail
    At those who fled,
    Not whistling hail we hear!
    It is the rush of feet that are afraid,
    Not the swift flight of deer!"

    _Another Voice_

    "Let them flee,--the East Gate Keepers--
    Whose dead lie still as sleepers!
    Let the Canienga fly before our wrath,
    Scatter like chaff,
    When we Oneidas laugh!
                         Koué!"


    _Tahioni_

    "Holder of Heaven,
    And every Chief named in the Great Rite!
    Dancers Seven!
    And the Eight Thunders plumed in white!
    At dawn I was a young man,
    Who had seen no enemy die.
    But my foe was a deer who ran,
    And I struck; and let him lie."


    _The Screech-owl Dances_

    "The Mohawk Nation has fled,
    But my war-axe sticks in its head!
                            Koué!"


    _The Water-snake Dances_

    "Let the Wild Goose keep to the skies!
    Where the Brant alights, he dies!
                              Koué!"


    _Thiohero, their Prophetess_

    "The Lodge poles crack in the East!
    The Long House falls.
    Who calls the Condolence Feast?
    Who calls?"


    _She Dances Very Slowly_

    "Who calls the Roll of the Dead?
    Who opens the door?
    The Fire in the West burns red,
    But our fire-place burns no more!
    Thendara--Thendara no more!"

It was plain to me that my Indians meant to make a night of it--even
those who, dog weary, had but now returned with me from the futile brant
chase and sat eating their samp.

The French trappers squatted in a row, smoking their pipes and looking
on with that odd sympathy for any savage rite, which, I think, partly
explains French success among all Indians.

Firelight glimmered red on their weather-ravaged faces, on their gaudy
fringes and moccasins.

Near them, lolling in the warm young grass, sprawled Nick and Godfrey. I
sat down by them, my back against a log. My Saguenay crept to my side. I
gave him to eat, and, for my own supper, ate slowly a handful of parched
corn, watching my young Oneidas around the fire, where they moved in
their slow dance, singing and boasting of their first scalps taken.

The little maid of Askalege came and seated herself close to me on my
right.

"I am weary," she murmured, letting her head fall back against the log.

"Tell me," said I in English, "is there any reason why this Saguenay,
who has proved himself a real man and no wolf, should not sing his own
scalp-song among our Oneidas?"

"None," she repeated. "The Yellow Leaf is a real man."

"Tell him so."

The girl turned her head and spoke to the Saguenay in his own gutturals.
I also watched to see what effect such praise might have.

For a few minutes he sat motionless and without any expression upon his
narrow visage, yet I knew he must be bursting with pride.

"Tahioni!" I called out. "Here, also, is a real man who has taken scalps
in battle. Shall not our _brother_, Yellow Leaf, of the Montagnais, sing
his first scalp-song at an Oneida fire?"

There was a pause, then every Oneida hatchet flashed high in the
firelight.

"Koué!" they shouted. "We give fire right to our brother of the
Montagnais, who is a real man and no wolf!"

At that the Saguenay hunter, who, in a single day, had became a warrior,
leaped lightly to his feet, and began to trot like a timber wolf around
the fire, running hither and thither as an eager, wild thing runs when
searching.

Then he shouted something I did not understand; but Thiohero
interpreted, watching him: "He looks in vain for the tracks of a poor
Saguenay hunter, which once he was, but he can find only the footprints
of a proud Saguenay warrior, which now he has become!"

Now, in dumb show, this fierce and homeless rover enacted all that had
passed,--how he had encountered the Canienga, how they had mocked and
stoned him, how we had captured him, proved kind to him, released him;
how he had returned to warn us of ambuscade.

He drew his war-axe and shouted his snarling battle-cry; and all the
Oneidas became excited and answered like panthers on a dark mountain.

Then Yellow Leaf began to dance an erratic, weird dance--and, somehow, I
thought of dead leaves eddying in a raw wind as he whirled around the
fire, singing his first scalp-song:

    "Who are the Yanyengi,[13] that a
    Saguenay should fear them?
    They are but Mowaks,[14] and
    Real men jeer them!
    I am a warrior; I wear the lock!
    I am brother to the People of the Rock![15]
    Red is my hatchet; my knife is red;
    Woe to the Mengwe, who wail their dead!
    I wear the Little Red Foot and the Hawk;
    Death to the Maquas who stone and mock!
                        Koué! Haï!"


    _An Oneida_

    "Hah!
    Hawasahsai!
    Hah!"


    _The Saguenay_

    "Who are the Yanyengi, that
    Real men should obey them?
    We People of the Dawn were
    Born to slay them!
    I eat twigs in winter when there is no game;
    What does he eat, the Maqua? What means his name?
    To each of us a Little Red Foot! To each his clan!
    Let the Mengwe flee when they scent a Man!
                        Koué! Haï!"

[Footnote 13: The Huron for Canienga.]

[Footnote 14: A Mohican term of insult, but generally used to express
contempt for the Canienga.]

[Footnote 15: Oneida.]

And

    "Hah! Hawasahsai!"

chanted the Oneidas, trotting to and fro in the uncertain red light,
while we white men sat, chin on fist, a-watching them; and the little
sorceress of Askalege beat her palms softly together, timing the rhythm
for lack of a drum.

An hour passed: my Indians still danced and sang and bragged of deeds
done and deeds to be accomplished; my young sorceress sat asleep, her
head fallen back against me, her lips just parted. At her feet a toad,
attracted by the insects which came into the fire-ring, jumped heavily
from time to time and snapped them up.

An intense silence brooded over that vast wilderness called the Drowned
Lands; not a bittern croaked, not a wild duck stirred among the reeds.

Very far away in the mist of the tamaracks I heard owls faintly
halooing, and it is a melancholy sound which ever renders me uneasy.

I was weary to the bones, yet did not desire sleep. A vague
presentiment, like a mist on some young peak, seemed to possess my
senses, making me feel as lonely as a mountain after the sun has set.

I had never before suffered from solitude, unless missing the beloved
dead means that.

I missed them now,--parents who seemed ages long absent,--or was it I,
their only son, who tarried here below too long, and beyond a reasonable
time?

       *       *       *       *       *

I was lonely. I looked at the scalps, all curing on their hoops, hanging
in a row near the fire. I glanced at Nick. He lay on his blanket,
sleeping.... The head of the little Athabasca Sorceress lay heavy on my
shoulder; she made no sound of breathing in her quiet sleep. Both her
hands were doubled into childish fists, thumbs inside.

Johnny Silver smoked and smoked, his keen, tireless eyes on the Scalp
Dancers; Luysnes, also, blinked at them in the ruddy glare, his powerful
hands clasping his knees; de Golyer was on guard.

I caught Godfrey's eye, motioned him to relieve Joe, then dropped my
head once more in sombre meditation, lonely, restless, weary, and
unsatisfied....

And now, again,--as it had been for perhaps a longer period of time than
I entirely comprehended,--I seemed to see darkly, and mirrored against
darkness, the face of the Scottish girl.... And her yellow hair and dark
eyes; ... and that little warning glimmer from which dawned that faint
smile of hers....

That I was lonely for lack of her I never dreamed then. I was content to
see her face grow vaguely; sweetly take shape from the darkness under my
absent gaze;--content to evoke the silent phantom out of the stuff that
ghosts are made of--those frail phantoms which haunt the secret recesses
of men's minds.

       *       *       *       *       *

I was asleep when Nick touched me. Thiohero still slept against my
shoulder; the Yellow Leaf and the Oneidas still danced and vaunted their
prowess, and they had set a post in the soft earth near the shore, and
had painted it red; and now all their hatchets were sticking in it,
while they trotted tirelessly in their scalping dance, and carved the
flame-shot darkness with naked knives.

Wearily I rose, took my rifle, re-primed it, and stumbled away to take
my turn on guard, relieving Nick, who, in turn, had replaced Godfrey,
whom I had sent after Joe de Golyer.

They had dug our ditch so well that the Vlaie water filled it, making,
with the pointed staves, an excellent abattis against any who came by
stealth along the Sacandaga trail.

Behind this I walked my post, watching the eastern stars, which seemed
paler, yet still remained clearly twinkling. And no birds had yet
awakened, though the owls had become quiet in the tamaracks, and neither
insect nor frog now chanted their endless runes of night.

Shouldering my rifle, I walked to and fro, listening, scanning the
darkness ahead.... And, presently, not lonely; for a slim phantom kept
silent pace with me as I walked my post--so near, at times, that my
nostrils seemed sweet with the scent of apple bloom.... And I felt her
breath against my cheek and heard her low whisper.

Which presently became louder among the reeds--a little breeze which
stirs before dawn and makes a thin ripple around each slender stem.

Tahioni came to relieve me, grave, not seeming fatigued, and, in his
eyes, the shining fire of triumph still unquenched.

I went back to the fire and lay down on my blanket, where now all were
asleep save my Saguenay.

When he saw me he came and squatted at my feet.

"Sleep you, also, brother," said I. "Day dawns and the sunset is far
away."

But the last time I looked before I slept I saw him still squatting at
my feet like a fierce, lean dog, and staring straight before him.

And I remember that the fresh, joyous chorus of waking birds was like
the loud singing of spirit-children. And to the sweet sound of that
blessed choir I surrendered mind and body, and so was borne on wings of
song into the halls of slumber-land.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sun was high when our sentinel hailed a detail from Fish House,
bringing us a sheep, three sacks of corn, and a keg of fresh milk.

I had bathed me in the Vlaie Water, had eaten soupaan, turned over my
command to Nick, and now was ready to report in person to the Commandant
at Summer House Point.

My Saguenay had slain a gorgeous wood-duck with his arrows; and now,
brave in fresh paint and brilliant plumage, he sat awaiting me in the
patched canoe which had belonged, no doubt, to John Howell.

I went down among the pinxter bushes and tall reeds to the shore; and so
we paddled away on the calm, deep current which makes a hundred
snake-like curls and bends to every mile, so that the mile itself
becomes doubled,--nay, tripled!--ere one attains his destination.

It was strange how I was not yet rid of that vague sense of impending
trouble, nor could account for the foreboding in any manner, being full
of health and now rested.

My mind, occupied by my report, which I was now reading where I had
written it in my _carnet_, nevertheless seemed crowded with other
thoughts,--how we would seem each to the other when we met
again,--Penelope Grant and I. And if she would seem to take a pleasure
in my return ... perhaps say as much ... smile, perhaps.... And we might
walk a little on the new grass under the apple bloom....

A troubled mind! And knew not the why and wherefore of its own
restlessness and apprehension. For the sky was softly blue, and the
water, too; and a gentle wind aided our paddles, which pierced the
stream so silently that scarce a diamond-drop fell from the sunlit
blades.

I could see the Summer House, and a striped jack flying in the sun. The
green and white lodge seemed very near across the marshes, yet it was
some little time before I first smelled the smoke of camp fires, and
then saw it rising above the bushes.

Presently a Continental on guard hailed our canoe. We landed. A corporal
came, then a sergeant,--one Caspar Quant, whom I knew,--and so we were
passed on, my Indian and I, until the gate-guard at the Point halted us
and an officer came from the roadside,--one Captain Van Pelt, whom I
knew in Albany.

Saluted, and the officer's salute rendered, he became curious to see the
fresh scalps flapping at my Saguenay's girdle, and the new war-paint and
the oil smelling rank in the sweet air.

But I told him nothing, asking only for the Commandant, who, he gave
account, was a certain Major Westfall, lodging at the Summer House, and
lately transferred from the Massachusetts Line, along with other Yankee
officers--why?--God and Massachusetts knew, perhaps.

So I passed the gate and walked toward the lodge. Sir John's blooded
cattle were grazing ahead, and I saw Flora at the well, and Colas busy
among beds of garden flowers, spading and weeding under the south porch.

And I saw something else that halted me. For, seated upon a low limb of
an apple tree, her two little feet hanging down, and garbed in
pink-flowered chintz and snowy fichu, I beheld Penelope Grant,
a-knitting.

And by all the pagan gods!--there in a ring around her strolled and
lolled a dozen Continental officers in buff and blue and gold!

There was no reason why, but the scene chilled me.

One o' these dandies had her ball of wool, and was a-winding of it as he
sat cross-legged on the turf, a silly, happy look on his beardless face.

Another was busy writing on a large sheet of paper,--verses, no
doubt!--for he seemed vastly pleased with his progress, and I saw her
look at him shyly under her dark lashes, and could have slain him for
the smirk he rendered. Also, it did not please me that her petticoat was
short and revealed her ankles and slim feet in silver-buckled shoon.

I was near; I could hear their voices, their light laughter; and,
rarely, her voice in reply to some pointed gallantry or jest.

None had perceived me advancing among the trees, nor now noticed me
where I was halted there in the checkered sunshine.

But, as I stirred and moved forward, the girl turned her head, caught a
glimpse of me and my painted Indian, stared in silence, then slid from
her perch and stood up on the grass, her needles motionless.

All the young popinjays got to their feet, and all stared as I offered
them the salute of rank; but all rendered it politely.

"Lieutenant of Rangers Drogue to report to Major Westfall," said I
bluntly, in reply to a Continental Captain's inquiry.

"Yonder, sir, on the porch with Lady Johnson," said he.

I bared my head, then, and walked to Penelope. She curtsied: I bent to
her hand.

"Are you well, my lord?" she asked in a colourless voice, which chilled
me again for its seeming lack of warmth.

"And you, Penelope?"

"I am well, I thank you."

"I am happy to learn so."

That was all. I bowed again. She curtsied. I replaced my mole-skin cap,
saluted the popinjays, and marched forward. My Indian stalked at my
heels.

God knew why, but mine had become a troubled mind that sunny morning.




CHAPTER XVII

DEEPER TROUBLE


I had been welcomed like a brother by Polly Johnson. Claudia, too, made
a little fête of my return, unscathed from my first war-trail. And after
I had completed my report to the Continental Major, who proved
complacent to the verge of flattery, I was free to spend the day at the
Summer House--or, rather, I was at liberty to remain as long a time as
it took a well-mounted express to ride to Johnstown with my report and
return with further orders from Colonel Dayton for me and my small
command.

A Continental battalion still garrisoned the Point; their officers as I
had been forced to notice in the orchard, were received decently by Lady
Johnson.

And, at that crisis in her career, I think I admired Polly Johnson as
entirely as I ever had admired any woman I ever knew.

For she was still only a child, and had been petted and spoiled always
by flattery and attentions: and she was not very well--her delicate
condition having now become touchingly apparent. She was all
alone,--save for Claudia,--among the soldiery of a new and hostile
nation; she was a fugitive from her own manor; and she must have been
constantly a prey to the most poignant anxieties concerning her husband,
whom she loved,--whatever were his fishy sentiments regarding her!--and
who, she knew, was now somewhere in the Northern and trackless
wilderness and fighting nature herself for his very life.

Her handsome and beloved brother, also, was roaming the woods,
somewhere, with Walter Butler and McDonald and a bloody horde of
Iroquois in their paint,--and, worse still, a horde of painted white
men, brutes in man's guise and Mohawk war-paint and feathers, who
already were known by the terrifying name of Blue-eyed Indians.

Yet this young girl, having resolved to face conditions with courage and
composure, after her first bitter and natural outburst, never whimpered,
never faltered.

Enemy officers, if gentlemen, she received with quiet, dignified
civility, and no mention of politics or war was suffered to embarrass
anybody at her table.

All, I noticed, paid her a deference both protective and tender, which,
in gentlemen, is instinctive when a woman is in so delicate a condition
and in straits so melancholy.

Claudia, however, I soon perceived, had been nothing tamed, and even
less daunted by the errant arrows of adversity; for her bright eyes were
ever on duty, and had plainly made a havoc of the Continental Major's
heart, to judge by his sheep's eyes and clumsy assiduities.

For when he left the veranda and went away noisily in his big spurs, she
whispered me that he had already offered himself thrice, and that she
meant to make it a round half-dozen ere he received his final quietus.

"A widower," quoth she, "and bald; and with seven hungry children in
Boston! Oh, Lord. Am I come to that? Only that it passes time to play
with men, I'd not trouble to glance askance at your Yankee gentlemen,
Jack Drogue."

"Some among them have not yet glanced askance at you," remarked Lady
Johnson, placid above her sewing.

"Do you mean those suckling babes in the orchard yonder? Oh, la! When
the Major leaves, I shall choose the likeliest among 'em to amuse me.
Not that I would cross Penelope," she added gaily, "or flout her. No.
But these boys perplex her. They are too ardent, and she too kind."

"What!" I exclaimed, feeling my face turn hot.

"Why, it is true enough," remarked Lady Johnson. "Yonder child has no
experience, and is too tender at heart to resent a gallantry over-bold.
Which is why I keep my eye upon these youngsters that they make not a
fool of a girl who is easily confused by flattery, and who remains
silent when dusk and the fleeting moment offer opportunities to impudent
young men, which they seldom fail to embrace."

"And seldom fail to embrace the lady, also," added Claudia, laughing.
"_You_ were different, Jack."

"I saw that ensign, Dudley, kiss her behind the lilacs," added Lady
Johnson, "and the girl seemed dumb, and never even upbraided the little
beast. Had she complained to me I should have made him certain
observations, but could not while she herself remained mute. Because I
do not choose to have anybody think I go about eavesdropping."

"Penelope Grant appears to find their company agreeable," said I, in a
voice not like my own, but a dry and sullen voice such as I never before
heard issue out o' my own mouth.

"Penelope likes men," observed Lady Johnson, sewing steadily upon her
baby's garments of fine linen.

"Penelope is not too averse to a stolen kiss, I fear," said Claudia,
smiling. "Lord! Nor is any pretty woman, if only she admit the truth!
No! However, there is a certain shock in a kiss which silences maiden
inexperience and sadly confuses the unaccustomed. Wait till the girl
gains confidence to box some impertinent's ear!"

I knew not why, yet never, I think, had any news sounded in my ears so
distastefully as the news I now had of this girl, I remembered Nick's
comment,--"Like flies around a sap-pan." And it added nothing to my
pleasure or content of mind to turn and gaze upon that disquieting scene
in the orchard yonder.

For here, it seemed, was another Claudia in the making,--still unlearned
in woman's wiles; not yet equipped for those subtle coquetries and
polished cruelties which destroy, yet naturally and innocently an
enchantress of men. And some day to be conscious of her power, and
certain to employ it!

       *       *       *       *       *

Flora came, wearing a blue and orange bandanna, and the great gold hoops
in her ears glittering in the sun.

Each day, now, it appeared, Lady Johnson retired for an hour's repose
whilst Claudia read to her; and that hour had arrived.

"You dine with us, of course," said Lady Johnson, going, and looking at
me earnestly. Then there was a sudden flash of tears; but none fell.

"My dear, dear Jack," she murmured, as I laid my lips against both her
hands.... And so she went into the house, Claudia lingering, having
shamelessly pressed my hand, and a devil laughing at me out of her two
eyes.

"Is there news of Sir John to comfort us?" she whispered, making a
caress of her voice as she knew so well how to do.

"And if I have any, I may not tell you, Claudia," said I.

"Oh, la! Aid and comfort to the enemy? Is it that, Jack? And if you but
wink me news that Sir John is safe?"

"I may not even wink," said I, smiling forlornly.

"Aye? So! That's it, is it! A wink from you at me, and pouf!--a
courtmartial! Bang! A squad of execution! Is that it, Jack?"

"I should deserve it."

"Lord! If men really got their deserts, procreation would cease, and the
world, depopulated, revert to the forest beasts. Well, then--so Sir John
is got away?"

"I did not say so."

"You wear upon your honest countenance all the news you contain, dear
Jack," said she gaily. "It was always so; any woman may read you like a
printed page--if she trouble to do it.... And so! Sir John is safe at
last! Well, thank God for that.... You may kiss my cheek if you ask me."

She drew too near me, but I had no mind for more trouble than now
possessed me, so let her pretty hand lie lightly on my arm, and endured
the melting danger of her gaze.

She said, while the smile died on her lips, "I jest with you, Jack. But
you _are_ dear to me."

"Dear as any trophy," said I. "No woman ever willingly lets any victim
entirely escape."

"You do not guess what you could do with me--if you would," she said.

"No. But I guess what you could do to me, again, if you had an
opportunity."

"Jack!" she sighed, looking up at me.

But the gentle protest alarmed me. And she was too near me; and the
fresh scent of her hair and skin were troubling me.

And, more than that, there persisted a dull soreness in my
breast,--something that had hurt me unperceived--an unease which was not
pain, yet, at times, seemed to start a faint, sick throbbing like a
wound.

Perhaps I assumed that it came from some old memory of her unkindness; I
do not remember now, only that I seemed to have no mind to stir up dying
embers. And so, looked at her without any belief in my gaze.

There was a silence, then a bright flush stained her face, and she
laughed, but as though unnerved, and drew her hand from my arm.

"If you think all the peril between us twain is yours alone, Jack
Drogue," she said, "you are a very dolt. And I think you _are_ one!"

And turned her back and walked swiftly into the house.

I took my rifle from where it stood against a veranda post, settled my
war-belt, with its sheathed knife and hatchet, readjusted powder-horn
and bullet pouch, and, picking up my cap of silver mole-skin, went out
into the orchard.

Behind me padded my Saguenay in his new paint, his hooped scalps
swinging from his cincture, and the old trade-rifle covered carefully by
his blanket, except the battered muzzle which stuck out.

I walked leisurely; my heart was unsteady, my mind confused, my
features, unless perhaps expressionless, were very likely grim.

I went straight to the group around the twisted apple-tree, where
Penelope sat knitting, and politely made myself a part of that same
group, giving courteous notice by my attitude and presence, that I,
also, had a right to be there as well as they.

All were monstrous civil; some offered snuff; some a pipe and pouch; and
a friendly captain man engaged me in conversation--gossip of Johnstown
and the Valley--so that, without any awkwardness, the gay and general
chatter around the girl suffered but a moment's pause.

The young officer who had writ verses, now read them aloud amid lively
approbation and some sly jesting:


        IN PRAISE

    "Flavilla's hair,
    Beyond compare,
    Like sunshine brightens all the earth!
    Old Sol, beware!
    She cheats you, there,
    And robs your rays of all their worth!

    "Impotent blaze!
    I shall not praise
    Your brazen ways,
    Nor dare compare
    Your flaming gaze
    To those sweet rays
    Which play around Flavilla's hair.

    "For lo, behold!
    No sunshine bold
    Can hope to gild or make more fair
    The living gold,
    Where, fold on fold,
    In glory shines Flavilla's hair!"


There was a merry tumult of praise for the poet, and some rallied him,
but he seemed complacent enough, and Penelope looked shyly at him over
lagging needles,--a smile her acknowledgment and thanks.

"Sir," says a cornet of horse, in helmet and jack-boots--though I
perceived none of his company about, and wondered where he came
from,--"will you consent to entertain our merry Council with some
account of the scout which, from your appearance, sir, I guess you have
but recently accomplished."

To this stilted and somewhat pompous speech I inclined my head with
civility, but replied that I did not yet feel at liberty to discuss any
journey I may have accomplished until my commanding officer gave me
permission. Which mild rebuke turned young Jack-boots red, and raised a
titter.

An officer said: "The dry blood on your hunting shirt, sir, and the
somewhat amazing appearance of your tame Indian, who squats yonder,
devouring the back of your head with his eyes, must plead excuse for our
natural curiosity. Also, we have not yet smelled powder, and it is plain
that you have had your nostrils full."

I laughed, feeling no mirth, however, but sensible of my dull pain and
my restlessness.

"Sir," said I, "if I have smelled gun-powder, I shall know that same
perfume again; and if I have not yet sniffed it, nevertheless I shall
know it when I come to scent it. So, gentlemen, I can not see that you
are any worse off in experience than I."

A subaltern, smiling, ventured to ask me what kind of Indian was that
who enquired me.

"Of Algonquin stock," said I, "but speaks an odd lingo, partly
Huron-Iroquois, partly the Loup tongue, I think. He is a Saguenay."

"One of those fierce wanderers of the mountains," nodded an older
officer. "I thought they were not to be tamed."

"I owned a tame tree-cat once," remarked another officer.

My friend, Jack-boots, now pulls out a bull's-eye watch with two fobs,
and tells the time with a sort of sulky satisfaction. For many of the
company arose, and made their several and gallant adieus to Penelope,
who suffered their salute on one little hand, while she held yarn and
needles in t'other.

But when half the plague of suitors and gallants had taken themselves
off to their several duties, there remained still too many to suit young
Jack-boots. Too many to suit me, either; and scarce knowing what I did
or why, I moved forward to the tree where she was seated on a low
swinging limb.

"Penelope," said I, "it is long since I have seen you. And if these
gentlemen will understand and pardon the desire of an old friend to
speak privately with you, and if you, also, are so inclined, give me a
little time with you alone before I leave."

"Yes," she said, "I am so inclined--if it seem agreeable to all."

I am sure it was not, but they conducted civilly enough, save young
Jack-boots, who got redder than ever and spoke not a word with his bow,
but clanked away pouting.

And there were also two militia officers, wrapped in great watch cloaks
over their Canajoharie regimentals, and who took their leave in silence.
One wore boots, the other black spatter-dashes that came above the knee
in French fashion, and were fastened under it, too, with leather straps.

Their faces were averted when they passed me, yet something about them
both seemed vaguely familiar to me. No wonder, either, for I should
know, by sight at least, many officers in our Tryon militia.

Whether they were careless, or unmannerly by reason of taking offense at
what I had done, I could not guess.

I looked after them, puzzled, almost sure I had seen them both before;
but where I could not recollect, nor what their names might be.

"Shall we stroll, Penelope?" I said.

"If it please you, sir."

Sir William had cut the alders all around the point, and a pretty lawn
of English grass spread down to the water north and west, and pleasant
shade trees grew there.

While she rolled her knitting and placed it in her silken reticule, I,
glancing around, noticed that all the apple bloom had fallen, and the
tiny green fruit-buds dotted every twig.

Then, as she was ready, and stood prettily awaiting me in her pink
chintz gown, and her kerchief and buckled shoon, I gave her my hand and
we walked slowly across the grass and down to the water.

Here was a great silvery iron-wood tree a-growing and spreading pleasant
shade; and here we sat us down.

But now that I had got this maid Penelope away from the pest of suitors,
it came suddenly to me that my pretenses were false, and I really had
nothing to say to her which might not be discussed in company with
others.

This knowledge presently embarrassed me to the point of feeling my face
grow hot. But when I ventured to glance at her she smiled.

"Have you been in battle?" she asked.

"Yes."

After a silence: "I am most happy that you returned in safety."

"Did you ever--ever think of me?" I asked.

"Why, yes," she replied in surprise.

"I thought," said I, "that being occupied--and so greatly sought after
by so many gallants--that you might easily have forgotten me."

She laughed and plucked a grass-blade.

"I did not forget you," she said.

"That is amazing," said I, "--a maid so run after and so courted."

She plucked another blade of grass, and so sat, pulling at the tender
verdure, her head bent so that I could not see what her eyes were
thinking, but her lips seemed graver.

"Well," said I, "is there news of Mr. Fonda?"

"None, sir."

"Tell me," said I, smiling, "why, when I speak, do you answer ever with
a 'sir'?"

At that she looked up: "Are you not Lord Stormont, Mr. Drogue?" she
asked innocently.

"Why, no! That is, nobody believes it any more than did the Lords in
their House so many years ago. Is that why you sometimes say 'my lord,'
and sometimes call me 'sir'?"

"But you still are the Laird of Northesk."

"Lord!" said I, laughing. "Is it that Scottish title bothers you? Pay it
no attention and call me John Drogue--or John.... Or Jack, if you
will.... Will you do so?"

"If it--pleases you."

She was still busy with the grass, and I watched her, waiting to see her
dark eyes lift again--and see that little tremor of her lips which
presaged the dawning smile.

It dawned, presently; and all the unrest left my breast--all that heavy
dullness which seemed like the flitting shadow of a pain.

"Tell me," said I, "are you happy?"

"I am contented. I love my Mistress Swift. I love and pity Lady
Johnson.... Yes, I am happy."

"I know they both love you," said I. "So you should be happy here....
And admired as you are by all men...."

Again she laughed in her enchanting little way, and bent her bright
head. And, presently:

"John Drogue?"

"I hear you, Penelope."

"Do you wish warm woolen stockings for your men?"

"Why--yes."

"I sent to Caydutta Lodge for the garments. They are in the house. You
shall choose for yourself and your men before the Continentals take
their share."

I was touched, and thanked her. And now, it being near the noon hour, we
walked together to the house.

The partition which Sir John had made for a gun-room, and which now
served to enclose Penelope's chamber, was all hung with stout woolen
stockings of her own knitting; and others lay on her trundle-bed. So I
admired and handled and praised these sober fruits of her diligence and
foresight, and we corded up some dozen pair for my white people; and I
stuffed them into my soldier's leather sack.

Then I took her hands and said my thanks; and she looked at me and
answered, "You are welcome, John Drogue."

I do not know what possessed me to put my arm around her. She flushed
deeply. I kissed her; and it went to my head.

The girl was dumb and scarlet, not resisting, nor defending her lips;
but there came a clatter of china dishes, and I released her as Flora
and Colas appeared from below, with dinner smoking, and clattering
platters.

And presently Lady Johnson's door opened, and she stepped out in her
silk levete, followed by Claudia.

"I invited no one else," said Lady Johnson, "--if that suits you, Jack."

I protested that it suited me, and that I desired to spend my few hours
from duty with them alone.

As we were seated, I ventured a side glance at Penelope and perceived
that she seemed nothing ruffled, though her colour was still high. For
she gave me that faint, enchanting smile that now began to send a thrill
through me, and she answered without confusion any remarks addressed to
her.

Remembering my Indian outside, I told Flora, and Colas took food to him
on the veranda.

And so we spent a very happy hour there--three old friends together once
more, and a young girl stranger whom we loved already. And I did not
know in what degree I loved her, but that I did love her now seemed
somewhat clear to my confused senses and excited mind,--though to love,
I knew, was one thing, and to be _in_ love was still another. Or so it
seemed to me.

My animation was presently noticed by Claudia; and she rested her eyes
on me. For I talked much and laughed more, and challenged her gay
conceits with a wit which seemed to me not wholly contemptible.

"One might think you had been drinking of good news," quoth she; "so
pray you share the draught, Jack, for we have none of our own to quench
our thirst."

"Unless none be good news, as they say," said Lady Johnson, wistfully.

"News!" said I. "Nenni! But the sun shines, Claudia, and life is young,
and 'tis a pretty world we live in after all."

"If you admire a marsh," says she, "there's a world o' mud and rushes to
admire out yonder."

"Or if you admire a cabinful o' lonely ladies," added Lady Johnson, "you
may gaze your fill upon us."

"I should never be done or have my fill of beauty if I sat here a
thousand years, Polly," said I.

"A thousand years and a dead fish outshines our beauty," smiled Lady
Johnson. "If you truly admire our beauty, Jack, best prove it now."

"To which of us the Golden Apple?" inquired Claudia, offering one of the
winter russets which had been picked at the Point.

"Ho!" said I, "you think to perplex and frighten me? _Non, pas!_ Polly
Johnson shall not have it, because, if she ever makes me wise, wisdom is
its own reward and needs no other. And you shall not have it, Claudia!"

"Why not?"

"Mere beauty cannot claim it."

"Why not? Venus received the apple cast by Eris."

"But only because Venus promised Love! Do you promise me the reward of
the shepherd?"

"Myself?" she asked impudently.

"Venus," said Lady Johnson, "made that personal exception, and so must
you, Claudia. The goddess promised beauty; but not herself."

"Then," said I, "Claudia has nothing to offer me. And so I give the
apple to Penelope!"

She refused it, shyly.

"Industry is the winner," said I. "Thrift triumphs. I already have her
gift. I have a dozen pair of woolen stockings for my men, knitted by
this fair Penelope of today. And, as she awaits no wandering lord,
though many suitors press her, then she should have at least this golden
apple of Eris to reward her. And so she shall."

And I offered it again.

"Take it, my dear," said Claudia, laughing, "for this young man has
given you a reason. Pallas offered military glory; you offer military
stockings! What chance have Hera and poor Aphrodite in such a contest?"

We all were laughing while the cloth was cleared, and Flora brought us a
great dish of wild strawberries.

These we sopped in our wine and tasted at our ease, there by the open
windows, where a soft wind blew the curtains and the far-spreading azure
waters sparkled in the sun.

How far away seemed death!

I looked out upon the mountains, now a pale cobalt tint, and their peaks
all denting the sky like blue waves on Lake Erie against the horizon.

Low over the Vlaie Water flapped a giant heron, which alighted not far
away and stood like a sentry, motionless at his post.

A fresh, wild breath of blossoms grew upon the breeze--the enchanting
scent of pinxters. From the mainland, high on a sugar-maple's spire,
came the sweet calling of a meadow-lark.

Truly, war seemed far away; and death farther still in this dear
Northland of ours. And I fell a-thinking there that if kings could only
see this land on such a day, and smell the pinxters, and hear the
sweetened whistle of our lark, there would be no war here, no slavery,
no strife where liberty and freedom were the very essence of the land
and sky.

       *       *       *       *       *

My Lady Johnson wished to rest; and there was a romance out of France
awaiting her in gilt binding in her chamber.

She went, when the board was cleared, linking her arm in Claudia's.

Penelope took up her knitting with a faint smile at me.

"Will you tell me a story to amuse me, sir?" she said in her shy way.

"You shall tell me one," said I.

"I? What story?"

"Some story you have lived."

"I told you all."

"No," said I, "not any story concerning this very pest of suitors which
plague you--or, if not you, then me!--as the suitors of the first
Penelope plagued Telemachus."

Now she was laughing, and, at one moment, hid her face in her yarn,
still laughing.

"Does this plague you, John Drogue?" she asked, still all rosy in her
mirth.

"Well," said I, "they all seem popinjays to me in their blue and gold
and buff. But it was once red-coats, too, at Caughnawaga, or so I hear."

"Oh. Did you hear that?"

"I did. They sat like flies around a sap-pan."

"Deary me!" she exclaimed, all dimples, "who hath gossiped of me at
Cayadutta Lodge?"

"Penelope?"

"I am attentive, sir."

"I suppose all maids enjoy admiration."

"I suppose so."

"Hum! And do you?"

"La, sir! I am a maid, also."

"And enjoy it?"

"Yes, sir.... Do not you?"

"What?"

"Do not you enjoy admiration? Is admiration displeasing to young men?"

"Well--no," I admitted. "Only it is well to be armed with
experience--hum-hum!--and discretion when one encounters the flattery of
admiration."

"Yes, sir.... Are you so armed, Mr. Drogue?"

At a loss to answer, her question being unexpected--as were many of her
questions--and answers also--I finally admitted that flattery was a
subtle foe and that perhaps experience had not wholly armed me against
that persuasive enemy.

"Nor me," said she, with serene candour. "And I fear that I lack as much
in knowledge and experience as I do in years, Mr. Drogue. For I think no
evil, nor perhaps even recognize it when I meet it, deeming the world
kind, and all folk unwilling to do me a wrong."

"I--kissed you."

"Was that a wrong you did me?"

"Have not others kissed you?" said I, turning red and feeling mean.

But she laughed outright, telling me that it concerned herself and not
me what she chose to let her lips endure. And I saw she was a very
child, all unaccustomed, yet shyly charmed by flatteries, and already
vaguely aware that men found her attractive, and that she also was not
disinclined toward men, nor averse to their admiration.

"How many write you verses?" I asked uneasily.

"Gentlemen are prone to verses. Is it unbecoming of me to encourage them
to verse?"

"Why, no...."

"Did you think the verses fine you heard in the orchard?"

"Oh, yes," said I, carelessly, "but smacking strong of Major André's
verses to his several Sacharissas."

"Oh. I thought them fine."

"And all men think you fine, I fear--from that soldier who pricked your
name on his powder-horn at Mayfield fort to Bully Jock Gallopaway of the
Border Horse at Caughnawaga, and our own little Jack-boots in the
orchard yonder."

"Only Jack Drogue dissents," she murmured, bending over her knitting.

At that I caught her white hand and kissed it; and she blushed and sat
smiling in absent fashion at the water, while I retained it.

"You use me sans façon," she murmured at last. "Do you use other women
so?"

Now, I had used some few maids as wilfully, but none worse, yet had no
mind to admit it, nor yet to lie.

"You ask me questions," said I, "but answer none o' mine."

At that her gay smile broke again. "What a very boy," quoth she, "to be
Laird o' Northesk! For it is cat's-cradle talk between us two, and give
and take to no advancement. Will you tell me, my lord, if it gives you
pleasure to touch my lips?"

"Yes," said I. "Does it please you, too?"

"I wonder," says she, and was laughing again out of half-shy eyes at me.

But, ere I could speak again, comes an express a-galloping; and we saw
him dismount at the mainland gate and come swiftly across the orchard.

"My orders," said I, and went to the edge of the veranda.

The letter he handed me was from Colonel Dayton. It commended me,
enjoined secrecy, approved my Oneidas and my Saguenay, but warned me to
remain discreetly silent concerning these red auxiliaries, because
General Schuyler did not approve our employing savages.

Further, he explained, several full companies of Rangers had now been
raised and were properly officered and distributed for employment.
Therefore, though I was to retain my commission, he preferred that I
command my present force as a scout, and not attempt to recruit a Ranger
company.

"For," said he, "we have great need of such a scout under an officer
who, like yourself, has been Brent-Meester in these forests."

However, the letter went on to say, I was ordered to remain on the
Sacandaga trail with my scout of ten until relieved, and in the
meanwhile a waggon with pay, provisions, and suitable clothing for my
men, and additional presents for my Indians, was already on its way.

I read the letter very carefully, then took my tinder-box and struck
fire with flint and steel, blowing the moss to a glow. To this I touched
the edge of my letter, and breathed on the coal till the paper flamed,
crinkled, fell in black flakes, and was destroyed.

For a few moments I stood there, considering, then dismissed the
express; but still stood a-thinking.

And it seemed to me that there was indecision in my commander's letter,
where positive and virile authority should have breathed action from
every line.

I know, now, that Colonel Dayton proved to be a most excellent officer
of Engineers, later in our great war for liberty. But I think now, and
thought then, that he lacked that energy and genius which meets with
vigour such a situation as was ours in Tryon County.... God knows to
what sublime heights Willett soared in the instant agony of black days
to come!... And comparisons are odious, they say.... So Colonel Dayton
occupied Johnstown, garrisoned Summer House Point and Fish House, and
was greatly embarrassed what to do with his prisoner, Lady Johnson.... A
fine, brave, loyal officer--who made us very good forts.

But, oh, for the dead of Tryon!--and the Valley in ashes from end to
end; and the whole sky afire!--Lord! Lord!--what sights I have lived to
see, and seeing, lived to tell!

       *       *       *       *       *

My memories outstrip my quill.

       *       *       *       *       *

So, when I came out of my revery, I turned and walked back slowly to
Penelope, who lifted her eyes in silence, clasping her fair hands over
idle needles.

"I go back tonight," said I.

"To the forest?"

"To the trail by the Drowned Lands."

"Will you come soon again?"

"Do you wish it?"

"Why, yes, John Drogue," she said; and I saw the smile glimmer ere it
dawned.

And now comes my Lady Johnson and her Abagail for a dish of tea on the
veranda, where a rustic table was soon spread by Colas, very fine in his
scarlet waistcoat and a new scratch-wig.

Now, to tea, comes sauntering our precious plague of suitors, one by
one, and two by two, from the camp on the mainland. And all around they
sit them down--with ceremony, it's true, but their manners found no
favour with me either. And I thought of Ulysses, and of the bow that
none save he could bend.

Well, there was ceremony, as I say, and some subdued gaiety, not too
marked, in deference to Lady Johnson's political condition.

There was tea, which our officers and I forbore to taste, making a civil
jest of refusal. But there was an eggnog for us, and a cooled punch, and
a syllabub and cakes.

Toward sundown a young officer brought his fiddle from camp and played
prettily enough.

Others sang in acceptable harmony a catch or two, and a romantic piece
for concerted voices, which I secretly thought silly, yet it pleased
Lady Johnson.

Then, at Claudia's request, Penelope sang a French song made in olden
days. And I thought it a little sad, but very sweet to hear there in the
gathering dusk.

Other officers came up in the growing darkness, paid their respects,
tasted the punch. Candles glimmered in the Summer House. Shadowy forms
arrived and departed or wandered over the grassy slope along the water.

I missed Claudia. Later, I saw Penelope rise and give her hand to a man
who came stalking up in a watch cloak; and presently they strolled away
over the lawn, with her arm resting on his.

Major Westfall and Lady Johnson were conversing gravely on the north
porch. Others, dimly visible, chatted around me or moved with sudden
clank of scabbard and spur.

Penelope did not come back. At first I waited calmly enough, then with
increasing impatience.

Where the devil had she gone with her Captain Spatter-dash? Claudia I
presently discovered with men a-plenty around her; but Penelope was not
visible. This troubled me.

So I went down to the orchard, carelessly sauntering, and not as though
in search of anybody. And so encountered Penelope.

She and her young man in the watch-cloak passed me, moving slowly under
the trees. He wore black spatter-dashes. And, as we saluted, it came to
me that this was one of the officers from the Canajoharie Regiment; but
in the starlight I knew him no better than I had by day.

"Strange," thought I, "that young Spatter-dashes seems so familiar to my
eyes, yet I can not think who he may be."

Then, looking after him, I saw his comrade walking toward me from the
well, and with him was Colas, with a lantern, which shined dimly on both
their faces.

And, suddenly: "Why, sir!" I blurted out in astonishment, "are you not
Captain Hare?"

"No, sir," said he, "my name is Sims, and I am captain in the
Canajoharie militia." And he bowed civilly and walked on, Colas
following with the lantern, leaving me there perplexed and still
standing with lifted cap in hand.

I put it on, pondered for a space, striving to rack my memory, for that
man's features monstrously resembled Lieutenant Hare's, as I saw him at
supper that last night at Johnson Hall, when he came there with Hiokatoo
and Stevie Watts, and that Captain Moucher, whom I knew a little and
trusted less, for all his mealy flatteries.

Well, then, I had been mistaken. It was merely a slight resemblance, if
it were even that. I had not thought of Hare since that evening, and
when I saw this man by lantern light, as I had seen him by candles, why,
I thought he seemed like Hare.... That was all.... That certainly was
all there could be to it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Near to the lilacs, where candle light fell from the south window of the
little lodge, I stumbled once again upon Penelope. And she was in
Spatter-dash's arms!

For a moment I stood frozen. Then a cold rage possessed me, and God
knows what a fool I had played, but suddenly a far whistle sounded from
the orchard; and young Spatter-dash kisses her and starts a-running
through the trees.

He had not noticed me, nor discovered my presence at all; but Penelope,
in his arms, had espied me over his shoulder; and I thought she seemed
not only flushed but frightened, whether by the fellow's rough ardour or
my sudden apparition I could not guess.

Still cold with a rage for which there was no sensible warrant, I walked
slowly to where she was standing and fumbling with her lace apron, which
the callow fool had torn.

"I came to say good-bye," said I in even tones.

She extended her hand; I laid grim and icy lips to it; released it.

There was a silence. Then: "I did not wish him to kiss me," said she in
an odd voice, yet steady enough.

"Your lips are your own."

"Yes.... They were yours, too, for an instant, Mr. Drogue."

"And they were Spatter-dash's, too," said I, almost stifled by my
jealous rage. "Whose else they may have been I know not, and do not ask
you. Good night."

She said nothing, and presently picked at her torn apron.

"Good night," I repeated.

"Good night, sir."

And so I left her, choked by I knew not what new and fierce
emotions--for I desired to seek out Spatter-dash, Jack-boots, and the
whole cursed crew of suitors, and presently break their assorted necks.
For now I was aware that I hated these popinjays who came philandering
here, as deeply as I hated to hear of the red-coat gallants at
Caughnawaga.

Still a-quiver with passion, I managed, nevertheless, to make my
compliments and adieux to Lady Johnson and to Claudia--felt their warm
and generous clasp, answered gaily I know not what, saluted all, took a
lantern that Flora fetched, and went away across the grass.

A shadow detached itself from darkness, and now my Saguenay was padding
at my heels once more.

As we two came to the mainland, young Spatter-dash suddenly crossed the
road in front of my lantern. Good God! Was I in my right mind! Was it
Stephen Watts on whose white, boyish face my lantern glimmered for an
instant? How could it be, when it meant death to catch him here?...
Besides, he was in Canada with Walter Butler. What possessed me, that in
young Spatter-dash I saw resemblance to Stevie Watts, and in another
respectable militia officer a countenance resembling Lieutenant Hare's?

Sure my mind was obsessed tonight by faces seen that last unhappy
evening at the Hall; and so I seemed to see a likeness to those men in
every face I met.... Something had sure upset me.... Something, too, had
suddenly awakened in me new and deep emotions, unsuspected, unfamiliar,
and unwelcome.

And for the first time in my life I knew that I hated men because a
woman favoured them.

We had passed through the Continental camp, my Indian and I, and were
now going down among the bushes to the Vlaie Water, where lay our canoe,
when, of a sudden, a man leaped from the reeds and started to run.

Instantly my Indian was on his shoulders like a tree-cat, and down went
both on the soft mud, my Saguenay atop.

I cocked my rifle and poked the muzzle into the prostrate stranger's
ribs, resting it so with one hand while I shined my lantern on his
upturned face.

He wore a captain's uniform in the Canajoharie Regiment; and, as he
stared up at me, his throat still clutched by the Saguenay, I found I
was gazing upon the blotched features of Captain Moucher!

"Take your hands from his neck-cloth, cut your thrums, and make a cord
to tie him," said I, in the Oneida dialect. "He will not move," I added.

It took the Indian a little while to accomplish this. I held my rifle
muzzle to Moucher's ribs. Until his arms were tied fast behind him, he
had not spoken to me nor I to him; but now, as he rose to his knees from
the mud and then staggered upright, I said to him:

"This is like to be a tragic business for you, Captain Moucher."

He winced but made no reply.

"I am sorry to see you here," I added.

"Do you mean to murder me?" he asked hoarsely.

"I mean to question you," said I. "Be good enough to step into that
canoe."

The Indian and I held the frail craft. Moucher stepped into it,
stumbling in the darkness and trembling all over.

"Sit down on the bottom, midway between bow and stern!"

He took the place as I directed.

"Take the bow paddle," said I to Yellow Leaf. "Also loosen your knife."

And when he was ready, I shoved off, straddled the stern, and, kneeling,
took the broad paddle.

"Captain Moucher," said I, "if you think to overturn the canoe, in hope
of escape, my Indian will kill you in the water."

The canoe slid out into darkness under the high stars.




CHAPTER XVIII

FIRELIGHT


Now, no sooner did I reach my camp with my prisoner than my people came
crowding around us from their watch-fire, which burned dull because they
had made a smudge of it, black flies being lively after dark.

I drew Nick aside and told him all.

"You shall take Johnny Silver," said I, "and set off instantly for
Summer House and the Continental camp. You shall deliver a letter to
Major Westfall, and then you shall search with your lanterns every face
you encounter; for I am beginning to believe that I truly saw Stephen
Watts and Lieutenant Hare in the orchard at Summer House Point this
night. And if I did, then they are a pair o' damned spies, and should be
taken; and suffer as such!"

"My God," says he, "Lady Johnson's brother!"

"And my one-time friend. Is it not horrible, Nick? But any hesitation
makes me a traitor to my own people."

I sat down in the dull firelight, a block of wood for a seat, fished out
my carnet, wrote a line to Major Westfall, and handed it to Nick.

Silver came with a lantern and both rifles.

"Use the canoe," said I, "and have a care that you reply clearly and
promptly when challenged, for yonder Continentals are prone to shoot."

They went off with their rifles and the lantern, and I waited until I
heard the dip of paddles in the dark.

"Throw a dry log on the fire, Godfrey," said I. And to Joe de Golyer:
"Bring that prisoner here."

Joe fetched him, and he stood before me, arms trussed up and head
hanging. Tahioni approached.

"Untie him," said I.

Whilst they were fumbling with the knotted rope of thrums, I said to
Tahioni:

"Luysnes is on guard, I take it?"

"My French brother watches."

"That is well. Now, tell my Oneida brothers that here we have taken a
very dangerous man; and that if he makes any move to escape from where
he stands beside that fire, they shall not attempt to take him _alive_!"

The young warrior turned calmly and translated. I saw my Oneidas loosen
their knives and hatchets. The Saguenay quietly strung his short, heavy
bow, and, laying an arrow across the string, notched it.

"Thiohero!" I called.

"I listen, my elder brother," said the little maid of Askalege.

"You shall take a trade-rifle, move out one hundred paces to the west,
and halt all who come. And fire on any who refuse to halt."

"I listen," she said coolly.

"You shall call to us if you need us."

"I continue to listen."

"And if there comes a wagon, then you shall take the horses by the head
and lead them this way until the fire shines on their heads. Go, little
sister."

She took a trade-rifle from the stack, primed it freshly, and crossed
the circle on light, swift feet.

When she had gone into the darkness, I bade de Golyer kick the fire. He
did so and it blazed ruddy, painting in sanguine colour the sombre,
unhealthy visage of my prisoner.

"Search him," said I briefly.

Joe and my Oneida rummaged him to the buff. It was in his boots they
discovered, at last, a sheaf of papers.

I could not read what was writ, for the writing was in strange signs and
figures; so presently I gave over trying and looked up at my prisoner,
who now had dressed again.

"You are Captain Moucher?"

He denied it hoarsely; but I, having now no vestige of doubt concerning
this miserable man's identity, ignored his answer.

"What is this paper which was taken from your boot?"

He seemed to find no word of explanation, but breathed harder and
watched my eyes.

"Is it writ in a military cipher?"

"I do not know."

"How came these papers in your boot?"

He stammered out that somebody who had cleansed his boots must have
dropped them in, and that, in pulling on his boots that morning, he had
neither seen nor felt the papers.

"Where did you dress this morning?"

"At the Johnson Arms in Johnstown."

"You wear the uniform of an officer in the Canajoharie Regiment. Are you
attached to that regiment?"

He said he was; then contradicted himself, saying he had been obliged to
borrow the clothing from an officer because, while bathing in the Mohawk
at Caughnawaga, his own clothing had been swept into the water and
engulfed.

Over this lie he was slow in speech, and stammered much, licking his dry
lips, and his reddish, furtive eyes travelling about him as though his
stealthy mind were elsewhere.

"Do you recollect that we supped in company at Johnson Hall--you and
I--and not so long ago?" I demanded.

He had no remembrance.

"And Lieutenant Hare and Captain Watts were of the company?"

He denied acquaintance with these gentlemen.

"Or Hiakatoo?"

Had never heard of him.

I bade Joe lay more dry wood on the fire and kick it well, for the
sphagnum moss still dulled it. And, when it flared redly, I rose and
walked close to the prisoner.

"What are you doing here?"

He had merely come out of curiosity to see the camp at Summer House.

"In disguise?"

He had no other clothing, and meant no harm. If we would let him go he
would engage to return to Albany and never again to wear any clothing to
which he was not entitled.

"Oh. Who was your mate there in the orchard, who also wore the
Canajoharie regimentals?" I demanded.

An acquaintance made en passant, nothing more. He did not even know his
name.

"I'll tell you his name," said I. "That man was Lieutenant Hare. And you
are Captain Moucher. You are spies in our camp. We've taken you; we
ought to take him before midnight.

"The paper I have of you is writ in British military cipher.

"Now, before I send you to Colonel Dayton, with my report of this
examination, what have you to confess that I might add to my report, in
extenuation?"

He made no answer. Presently a fit of ague seized him, so that he could
scarce stand. Then he reeled sideways and, by accident, set foot in the
live coals. And instantly went clean crazed with fright.

As the Oneida caught him by the shoulder, to steady him, he shrieked and
cowered, grasping Joe's arm in his terror.

"They mean to murder me!" he yelled. "Keep your savages away, I tell
you!"--struggling between Tahioni and Joe--"I'll say what you wish, if
they won't burn me!----"

"Be silent," I said. "We mean no bodily harm to you. Compose yourself,
Captain Moucher. Do you take me for a monster to threaten you with
torture?"

But the awful fear of fire was in this whimpering wretch, and I was
ashamed to have my Oneidas see a white man so stricken with cowardly
terrors.

His honour--what there was of it--he sold in stammering phrases to buy
mercy of us; and I listened in disgust and astonishment to his
confession, which came in a pell-mell of tumbling words, so that I was
put to it to write down what he babbled.

He had gone on his knees, held back from my feet by the Oneida; and his
poltroonery so sickened me that I could scarce see what I wrote down in
my _carnet_.

Every word was a betrayal of comrades; every whine a plea for his own
blotched skin.

To save his neck--if treachery might save it--he sold his King, his
cause, his comrades, and his own manhood.

And so I learned of him that Stevie Watts, disguised, had been that
night at Summer House with Lieutenant Hare; that they had brought news
to Lady Johnson of Sir John's safe arrival in Canada; that they had met
and talked to Claudia Swift; had counted our men and made a very
accurate report, which was writ in the military cipher which we
discovered, and a copy of which Captain Watts also carried upon his
proper person.

I learned that Walter Butler, now a captain of Royalist Rangers, also
had come into the Valley in disguise, for the purpose of spying and of
raising the Tory settlers against us.

I learned that Brant and Guy Johnson had been in England, but were on
their way hither.

I learned that our army in Canada, decimated by battle, by smallpox, by
fever, was giving ground and slowly retreating on Crown Point; and that
Arnold now commanded them.

I learned that we were to be invaded from the west, the north, and the
south by three armies, and thousands of savages; that Albany must burn,
and Tryon flame from Schenectady to Saint Sacrement.... And I wrote all
down.

"Is there more?" I asked, looking at him with utter loathing.

"Howell's house," he muttered, "the log house of John
Howell--tonight----"

"The cabin on the hard ridge yonder?"

"Yes.... A plot to massacre this post.... They meet there."

"Who?"

"King's people.... John Howell, Dries Bowman, the Cadys, the Helmers,
Girty, Dawling, Gene Grinnis, Balty Weed----"

"_Tonight!_"

"Yes."

"Where are they now?"

"Hid in the tamaracks--in the bush--God knows where!----"

"When do they rendezvous?"

"Toward midnight."

"At John Howell's cabin?"

He nodded, muttering.

I got up, took him by the arm and jerked him to his feet.

"Read this!" I said, and thrust the paper of cipher writing under his
nose.

But he could not, saying that Steve Watts had writ it, and that he was
to carry it express to Oswego.

Now, whilst I stood there, striving to think out what was best to do and
how most prudently to conduct in the instant necessity confronting me,
there came Thiohero's sweet, clear whistle of a Canada sparrow, warning
us to look sharp.

Then I heard the snort of a horse and the rattle and bump of a wagon.

"Tie the prisoner," said I to Godfrey; and turned to see the little maid
of Askalege, her rifle shouldered, leading in two horses, behind which
rumbled the wagon carrying our pay, food, arms, and clothing sent from
Johnstown.

Two armed Continental soldiers sat atop; one, a corporal, driving,
t'other on guard.

I spoke to them; called my Indians to unload the wagon, and bade
Thiohero sling our kettle and make soupaan for us all.

The Continentals were nothing loth to eat with us. Tahioni had killed
some wood-duck and three partridges; and these, with some dozen wild
pigeons from the Stacking Ridge, furnished our meat.

I heaped a wooden platter and Godfrey squatted by Captain Moucher to
feed him; but the prisoner refused food and sat with head hanging and
the shivers shaking him with coward's ague.

When the meal was ended, I took the Continentals aside, gave the
Corporal my report to Colonel Dayton, and charged them to deliver my
prisoner at Johnstown jail. This they promised to do; and, as all was
ready, horses fed, and a long, slow jog to Johnstown, the Corporal
climbed to his seat and took the reins, and the other soldier aided my
prisoner to mount.

"Will you speak for me at the court martial?" pleaded Moucher, in hoarse
and dreadful tones. "Remember, sir, as God sees me, my confession was
voluntary, and I swear by my mother's memory that I now see the error
and the wickedness of my ways! Say that I said this--in Christ's
name----"

The Corporal touched his cocked hat, swung his powerful horses. I am
sure they were of Sir William's stock and came from the Hall.

"Mr. Drogue!" wailed the doomed wretch, "let God curse me if I meant any
harm----"

I think the soldier beside him must have placed his hand over the poor
wretch's mouth, for I heard nothing more except the rattle of wheels and
the corporal-driver a-whistling "The Little Red Foot."

       *       *       *       *       *

In my absence that day my men had erected an open-face hut for our
stores.

Here we set lanterns, and here divided the clothing, including the
stockings given me by Penelope--which I distributed with a heavy heart.

There was laid aside new buckskin clothing and fresh underwear for
Luysnes, for Nick, and for Johnny Silver.

Then I paid the men, and gave a cash bonus to every Indian, and also a
new rifle each,--not the trade-gun, but good weapons carrying an ounce
ball.

To each, also, a new hatchet, new knife, blanket, leggins, tobacco,
paints, razor, mirror, ammunition, and a flask of sweet-smelling oil.

I think I never have seen any Iroquois so overjoyed as were mine. And as
for my Saguenay, he instantly squatted by the fire, fixed his mirror on
a crotched stick, and fell to adorning himself by the red glow of the
coals.

But I had scant leisure for watching them, where they moved about
laughing and gossiping excitedly, comparing rifles, trying locks and
pans, sorting out finery, or smearing themselves with gaudy symbols.

For, not a hundred rods east of us, across the ridge, stood that log hut
of Howell's; and the owl-haunted tamaracks stretched away behind it in
a misty wilderness. And in that swampy forest, at this very moment, were
hidden desperate men who designed our deaths--men I knew--neighbors at
Fonda's Bush, like the Cadys, Helmers, and Dries Bowman!--men who lately
served in my militia company, like Balty Weed and Gene Grinnis.

Now, as I paced the fire circle, listening and waiting for Nick and
Johnny Silver, I could scarce credit what the wretch, Moucher, had told
me, so horrid bloody did their enterprise appear to me.

That they should strive to kill us when facing us in proper battle, that
I could comprehend. But to plan in the darkness!--to come by stealth in
their farmer's clothes to surprise us in our sleep!--faugh!

"My God," says I to Godfrey, who paced beside me, "why have they not at
least embodied to do us such a filthy business? And if they were only a
company with some officer to make them respectable--militia, minute men,
rangers, anything!"

"They be bloody-minded folk," said he grimly. "No coureur-du-bois is
harder, craftier, or more heartless than John Howell; no forest runner
more merciless than Charlie Cady. These be rough and bloody men, John.
And I think we are like to have a rude fight of it before sun-up."

I thought so too, but did not admit as much. I had ten men. They
mustered ten--if Moucher's accounts were true. And I did not doubt it,
under the circumstances of his pusillanimous confession.

The River Reed came to me to show me her necklace of coloured glass. And
I drew her aside, told her as much as I cared to, and bade her prepare
her Oneidas for a midnight battle.

At that moment I heard the Canada sparrow. Thiohero answered, sweet and
clear. A few seconds later Nick and Silver came in, carrying the canoe
paddles.

"They've gone," said Nick, with an oath. "Two mounted men and a led
horse rode toward Johnstown two hours since. They wore Canajoharie
regimentals. Major Westfall sent a dozen riders after 'em; but men who
came so boldly to spy us out are like to get away as boldly, too."

He plucked my arm and I stepped apart with him.

"Westfall's in his dotage; Dayton is too slow. Why don't they send up
Willett or Herkimer?"

"I don't know," said I, troubled.

"Well," says Nick, "it's clear that Stevie Watts was there and has
spoken with Lady Johnson. But what more is to be done? She's our
prisoner. I wish to God they'd sent her to Albany or New York, where she
could contrive no mischief. And that other lady, too. Lord! but Major
Westfall is in a pother! And I wager Colonel Dayton will be in another,
and at his wit's ends."

The business distressed me beyond measure, and I remained silent.

"By the way," he added, "your yellow-haired inamorata sends you a
billet-doux. Here it is."

I took the bit of folded paper, stepped aside and read it by the
firelight:

     "Sir:

     "I venture to entertain a hope that some day it may please you to
     converse again with one whose offense--if any--remains a mystery to
     her still.

     "P. G."

I read it again, then crumpled it and dropped it on the coals. I had
seen Steve Watts kiss her. That was enough.

"There's a devil's nest of Tories gathering in Howell's house tonight to
cut our throats," said I coldly. "Should we take them with ten men, or
call in the Continentals?"

"Who be they?" asked Nick, astounded.

"The old pack--Cadys, Helmers, Bowman, Weed, Grinnis. They are ten
rifles."

He got very red.

"This is a domestic business," said I. "Shall we wash our bloody linen
for the world to see what filth chokes Fonda's Bush?"

"No," said he, slowly, with that faint flare in his eyes I had seen at
times, "let us clean our own house o' vermin, and make no brag of what
is only our proper shame."




CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE NORTH


It lacked still an hour to midnight, which time I had set for our
advance upon John Howell's house, and my Oneidas had not yet done
painting, when Johnny Silver, who was on guard, whistled from his post,
and I ran thither with Nick.

A man in leather was coming in through the _chevaux-de-frise_, and
Johnny dropped a tamarack log across the ditch for him, over which he
ran like a tree-martin, and so climbed up into the flare of Nick's
lantern.

The man in forest runner's dress was Dave Ellerson, known to us all as a
good neighbor and a staunch Whig; but we scarce recognized him in his
stringy buckskins and coon-skin cap, with the ringed tail a-bobbing.

On his hunting shirt there was a singular device of letters sewed there
in white cloth, which composed the stirring phrase, "Liberty or Death."
And we knew immediately that he had become a soldier in the 11th
Virginia Regiment, which is called Morgan's Rifles.

He seemed to have travelled far, though light, for he carried only rifle
and knife, ammunition, and a small sack which flapped flat and empty;
but his manner was lively and his merry gaze clear and untroubled as we
grasped his powerful hands.

"Why, Dave!" said I, "how come you here, out o' the North?"

"I travel express from Arnold to Schuyler," said he. "Have you a gill of
rum, John?"

Johnny Silver had not drunk his gill, and poured it into Dave's
pannikin.

Down it went, and he smacked his lips. Then we took him back to the
fire, where the Oneidas were still a-painting, and made him eat and
drink and dry him by the flames.

"Is there a horse to be had at Summer House?" he demanded, his mouth
full of parched corn.

"Surely," said I. And asked him news of the North, if he were at liberty
to give us any account.

"The news I can not give you is what I shall not," said he, laughing.
"But there's plenty besides, and damned bad."

"Bad?"

"Monstrous bad, John. For on my forest-running south from Chambly, I saw
Sir John and his crew as they gained the Canadas! They seemed near dead,
too, but they were full three hundred, and I but one, so I did not tarry
to mark 'em with a stealthy bullet, but pulled foot for Saint
Sacrement."

He grinned, bit a morsel from a cold pigeon, and sat chewing it
reflectively and watching the Indians at their painting.

"You know what is passing in Canada?" he demanded abruptly.

"Nothing definite," said I.

"Listen, then. We had taken Chambly, Montreal, and St. John's. Arnold
lay before Quebec. Sullivan commanded us. Six weeks ago he sent Hazen's
regiment to Arnold. Then the Canadians and Indians struck us at the
Cedars, and we lost five hundred men before we were out of it."

"What was the reason for such disaster?" I demanded, turning hot with
wrath.

"Cowardice and smallpox," said he carelessly. "They were new troops sent
up to reinforce us, and their general, Thomas, died o' the pox.

"And atop of that comes news of British transports in the St. Lawrence,
and of British regulars and Hessians.

"So Sullivan sends the Pennsylvania Line to strike 'em. St. Clair
marches, Wayne marches, Irving follows with his regiment. Lord, how they
were peppered, the Pennsylvania Line! And Thompson was taken, and
Colonel Irving, and they wounded Anthony Wayne; and the Line ran!"

"Ran!"

"By God, yes. And our poor little Northern Army is on the run today,
with thirteen thousand British on their heels.

"They drove us out o' Chambly. They took the Cedars. Montreal fell. St.
John's followed. Quebec is freed. We're clean kicked out o' Canada, and
marching up Lake Champlain, our rear in touch with the red-coats.

"If we stand and face about at Crown Point, we shall do more than I hope
for.

"Thomas is dead, Thompson and Irving taken, Arnold and Wayne wounded,
the army a skeleton, what with losses by death, wounds, disease, and in
prisoners.

"Had not Arnold broke into the Montreal shops and taken food and woolen
clothing, I think we had been naked now."

"Good heavens!" said I, burning with mortification, "I had not heard of
such a rout!"

"Oh, it was no rout, John," said he carelessly. "Sullivan marched us out
of that hell-hole in good order--whatever John Adams chooses to say
about our army."

"What does John Adams say?"

"Why, he says we are disgraced, defeated, dispirited, discontented,
undisciplined, diseased, eaten up with vermin."

"My God!" exclaimed Nick.

"It's true enough," said Dave, coolly. "And when John Adams also adds
that we have no clothing, no beds, no blankets, no medicines, and only
salt pork and flour to eat and little o' these, why, he's right, too.
Why not admit truth? Does it help to conceal it? Nenni, lads! It is best
always to face it and endeavour to turn into a falsehood tomorrow what
is disgracefully true today.

"So when I tell you that in three months our Northern Army has lost five
thousand men by smallpox, camp fever, bullets, and privation--that out
of five thousand who remain, two thousand are sick, why, it's the plain
and damnable truth.

"But any soldier who loses sleep or appetite over such cursed news
should be run through with a bayonet, for he's a rabbit and no man!"

After a silence: "Who commands them now?" I asked.

"Gates is to take them over at Crown Point, I hear."

This news chilled me, for Schuyler should have commanded. But the damned
Yankees, plotting their petty New England plots to discredit our dear
General, had plainly hoodwinked Congress; and now our generous and noble
Schuyler had again fallen a victim to nutmeg jealousy and cunning.

"Well," said I, "God help us all in Tryon, now; for a vain ass is in the
saddle, and the counsel of the brave and wise remains unheeded. Will Guy
Carleton drive us south of Crown Point?"

"I think so," said Ellerson, carelessly.

"Then the war will come among us here in Tryon!"

"Straight as a storm from the North, John."

"When?"

"Oh, that? God knows. We shall hold the lakes as long as we can. But
unless we are reinforced by Continentals--unless every Colony sends us a
regiment of their Lines--we can not hope to hold Crown Point, and that's
sure as shooting and plain as preaching."

"Very well," said I between clenched teeth, "then we here in Tryon had
best go about the purging of that same county, and physic this district
against a dose o' red-coats."

Ellerson laughed and rose with the lithe ease of a panther.

"I should be on my way to Albany," says he. "You tell me there are
horses at the Summer House, John?"

"Certainly."

We shook hands.

"You find Morgan's agreeable?" inquired Nick.

"A grand corps, lad! Tim Murphy is my mate. And I think there's not a
rifleman among us who can not shoot the whiskers off a porcupine at a
hundred yards." And to me, with a nod toward my Oneidas: "They are
painting. Do you march tonight, John?"

"A matter of cleaning out a Tory nest yonder," said I.

"A filthy business and not war," quoth he. "Well, God be with all
friends to liberty, for all hell is rising up against us. A thousand
Indians are stripped for battle on this frontier--and the tall ships
never cease arriving crammed with red-coats and Germans.

"So we should all do our duty now, whether that same duty lie in
emptying barrack slops, or in cleaning out a Tory nest, or in marching
to drum and fife, or guarding the still places of the wilderness--it's
all one business, John."

Again we shook hands all around, then, waving aside Joe de Golyer and
his proffered lantern, the celebrated rifleman passed lightly into the
shadows.

"Yonder goes the best shot in the North," said Nick.

"Saving only yourself and Jack Mount and Tim Murphy," remarked Godfrey
Shew.

"As for the whiskers of a porcupine," quoth Nick, with the wild flare
a-glimmering in his eyes, "why, I have never tried such a target. But I
should pick any button on a red coat at a hundred yards--that is, if I
cast and pare my own bullet, and load in my own fashion."

Silver swore that any rifle among us white men should shave an otter of
his whiskers, as a barber trims a Hessian.

"Sacré garce!" cried he, "why should we miss--we coureurs-du-bois, who
have learn to shoot by ze hardes' of all drill-masters--a empty belly!"

"We must not miss at Howell's house," said I, counting my people at a
glance.

The Saguenay, ghastly in scarlet and white, came and placed himself
behind me.

All the Oneidas were naked, painted from lock to ankle in terrific
symbols.

Thiohero was still oiling her supple, boyish body when I started a brief
description of the part each one of us was to act, speaking in the
Oneida dialect and in English.

"Take these bloody men alive," I added, "if it can be done. But if it
can not, then slay them. For every one of these that escapes tonight
shall return one day with a swarm of hornets to sting us all to death in
County Tryon!... Are you ready for the command?"

"Ready, John," says Nick.

"March!"

       *       *       *       *       *

At midnight we had surrounded Howell's house, save only the east
approach, which we still left open for tardy skulkers.

A shadowy form or two slinking out from the tamaracks, their guns
trailing, passed along the hard ridge, bent nearly double to avoid
observation.

We could not recognize them, for they were very shadows, vague as
frost-driven woodcock speeding at dusk to a sheltered swamp.

But, as they arrived, singly and in little groups, such a silent rage
possessed me that I could scarce control my rifle, which quivered to
take toll of these old neighbors who were returning by stealth at night
to murder us in our beds.

The Saguenay lay in the wild grasses on my left; the little maid of
Askalege, in her naked paint, lay on my right hand. Her forefinger
caressed the trigger of her new rifle; the stock lay close to her cheek.
And I could hear her singing her _Karenna_ in a mouse's whisper to
herself:

    "Listen, John Drogue,[16]
    Though we all die,
    You shall survive!
    Listen, John Drogue,
    This will happen,
    And it is well,
    Because I love you.

    "Why do I love you?
    Because you are a boy-chief,
    And we are both young,
    Thou and I.
    Why do I love you?
    Because you are my elder brother,
    And you speak to the Oneidas
    Very gently.

    "I am a prophetess;
    I see events beforehand;
    This is my Karenna:
    Though we all die tonight,
    You shall survive in Scarlet:
    And this is well,
    Because I love you."

[Footnote 16:

_The Karenna of Thiohero_

Yi-ya-thon-dek, _John Drogue_,
Da-ed-e-wenh-he-i,
Engh-si-tsko-dak-i!
Yi-ya-thon-dek, _John Drogue_,
Nenne-a-wenni
Yo-ya-neri
Kenonwes!]

So, crooning her prophecy, she lay flat in the wild grasses, cuddling
the rifle-stock close to her shoulder; and her song's low cadence was
like the burden of some cricket amid the herbage.

"Tharon alone knows all," I breathed in her ear.

"Neah!" she murmured; and touched her cheek against mine.

"Only God knows who shall survive tonight," I insisted.

"Onhteh. Ra-ko-wan-enh,"[17] she murmured. "But I have seen you,
_niare_,[18] through a mist, coming from this place,
O-ne-kwen-da-ri-en.[19] And dead bodies lay about. Do you believe me?"

[Footnote 17: Perhaps! He is Chief.]

[Footnote 18: Beforehand.]

[Footnote 19: Literally, in scarlet blood.]

I made no reply but lay motionless, watching the tamaracks, ghostly in
their cerements of silver fog. And I heard, through the low rhythm of
her song, owls howling far away amid those spectral wastes, and saw the
Oneida Dancers,[20] very small and pale above the void.

[Footnote 20: The Pleiades.]

I stared with fierce satisfaction at Howell's house. There was no gleam
of light visible behind the closed shutters; but I already had counted
nine men who came creeping to that silent rendezvous. And now there
arrived the tenth man, running and stooping low; and went in by the east
side of the house.

I waited a full minute longer, then whistled the whitethroat's call.

"Now!" said I to Thiohero; and we rose and walked forward through the
light mist which lay knee-deep over the ground.

We had not advanced ten paces when three men, whom I had not perceived,
rose up on the ridge to our right.

One of these shouted and fired a gun, and all three dropped flat again
before we could realize what they had been about.

But already, out of that shadowy house, armed men swarmed like black
hornets from their nest, and we ran to cut them from the tamaracks, but
could not mark their flight in the so great darkness.

Then Nick Stoner struck flint, and dropped his tinder upon the remnants
of a hay-stack, where wisps of last year's marsh grass still littered
the rick.

In the smoky glow which grew I saw that great villain, Simon Girty, fire
his gun at us, then turn and run toward the water; and Dries Bowman took
after him, shouting in his fear.

Very carefully I fired at Girty, but he was not scotched, and was lost
in the dark with Dries.

Then, in the increasing glow of the marsh-hay afire, I saw and
recognized Elias Cady, and his venomous son, Charlie; and called loudly
upon them to halt.

But they plunged into the shore reeds; and John and Phil Helmer at their
heels; and we fired our guns into the dark, but could not stop them or
again even hope to glimpse them in their flight.

But the Oneidas had now arrived between the tamaracks and the log house,
and my Rangers were swiftly closing in on the west and south, when
suddenly a couple of loud musket shots came from the crescents in the
bolted shutters, hiding the west window in a double cloud of smoke.

I called out, "Halt!" to my people, for it was death to cross that
circle of light ahead while the marsh-hay burned.

There were at least five men now barricaded in Howell's house. I called
to Tahioni, the Wolf, and he came crouching and all trembling with
excitement and impatience, like a fierce hound restrained.

"Take your people," said I, "and follow those dirty cowards who are
fleeing toward the tamaracks."

Instantly his terrific panther-cry shattered the silence, and the
Oneidas' wild answer to his slogan hung quavering over the Drowned Lands
like the melancholy pulsations of a bell.

The hay-rick burned less brightly now. I crept out to the dark edge of
the wavering glare and called across to those in the log-house:

"If you will surrender I promise to send you to Johnstown and let a
court judge you! If you refuse, we shall take you by storm, try you on
the spot, and execute sentence upon you in that house! I allow you five
minutes!"

At that, two of them fired in the direction from whence came my voice;
and I heard their bullets passing, aimed too high.

Then John Howell's voice bawls out, "I know you, Drogue; and so help me
God, I shall cut your throat before this business ends!--you dirty
renegade and traitor to your King!"

Such a rage possessed me that I scarce knew what I was about, and I ran
across the grass to the bolted door of the house, and fell to slashing
at it with my hatchet like a madman.

They were firing now so rapidly that the smoke of their guns made a
choking fog about the house; but the log cabin had no overhang, not
being built for defense, and so they over-shot me whilst my hatchet
battered splinters from the door and shook it almost from its hinges.

Some one was coughing in the thick, rifle-fog near me, and presently I
heard Nick swearing and hammering at the door with his gun butt.

The French trappers, not so rash as we, lay close in the darkness,
shooting steadily into the shutters at short range.

Shutters and door, though splintering, held; the defenders fired at my
men's rifle-flashes, or strove to shoot at Nick and me, where we
crouched low in the sheltered doorway; but they could not sufficiently
depress the muzzles of their guns to hit us.

Suddenly, from out of the night, came a fire-arrow, whistling, with dry
moss all aflame, and lodged on the roof of Howell's house.

Quoth Nick: "Your Tree-eater is in action, John. God send that the fire
catch!"

From the darkness, Silver called out to me that the marsh-hay had nearly
burned out, and what were he and Joe to do? Then came a-whizzing another
fire-arrow, and another, but whether the dew was too heavy on the roof
or the moss too damp, I do not know; only that when at length the roof
caught fire, it was but a tiny blaze and flickered feebly, eating a slow
way along the edges of the eaves.

Nick, who had been wrenching at the imbedded door stone, finally freed
and lifted it, and hurled it at the bolted shutters. In they crashed.
Then the door, too, burst open, and Tom Dawling rushed upon me with his
rifle clubbed high above me.

"You damned Whig!" he shouted, "I'll knock your brains all over the
grass!"

My hatchet in a measure fended the blow and eased its murderous force,
but I stumbled to my knees under it; and Baltus Weed came to the window
and shot me through the body.

At that, Gene Grinnis ran out o' the house to cut my throat, where like
a crippled wild beast I floundered, a-kicking and striving to find my
feet; and I saw Nick draw up and shoot Gene through the face, with a
load of buck, so that where were his features suddenly became but a vast
and raw hole.

Down he sprawled across my hurt legs; down tumbled John Howell, too, and
Silver, a-clinging to him tooth and nail, their broad knives flashing
and ripping and whipping into flesh.

Striving desperately to free me of Grinnis, and get up, I saw Tom
Dawling throw his axe at Godfrey; and saw Luysnes shoot him, then seize
him and cut his throat, even as he was falling.

Johnny Silver began bawling lustily for help, with John Howell atop of
him, cursing him for a rebel and striving to disembowel him. De Golyer
caught Howell by the throat, and Silver scrambled to his feet, his
clothing in bloody ribbons. Then Joe's hatchet flashed level with
terrific swiftness, crashing to its mark; and Howell pitched backward
with his head clean split from one eye to the other, making of the top
of his skull a lid which hung hinged only by the hairy skin.

Luysnes and the Saguenay were now somewhere inside the house a-chasing
of Balty Weed; and I could hear Balty screaming, and the thud and
clatter of loose logs as they dragged him down from the loft overhead.

Nick came panting to me where I sat on the bloody grass, feeling sick o'
my wound and now vomiting.

"Are you bad?" he asked breathlessly.

"Balty shot me.... I don't know----"

Somebody knelt down behind me, and I laid back my head, feeling very
sick and faint, but entirely conscious.

The awful screaming in the house had never ceased; Nick sat down on the
grass and fumbled at my shirt with trembling fingers.

Presently the screaming ceased. Luysnes came out o' the house with a
lighted lantern, followed by the Saguenay; and in the wavering radiance
I saw behind them the feet of a man twitching above the floor.

"We hung the louse to the rafters," said Luysnes, "and your Indian asks
your leave to scalp him as soon as he's done a-kicking."

"Let him have the scalp," said de Golyer, grimly. "He shot John Drogue
through the body. Shine your lantern on him, Ben."

They crowded around me. Nick opened my shirt and drew off my leggins. I
saw Johnny Silver, in tatters and all drenched with blood, come into the
lantern's rays.

"Are you bad hurt, John?" I gasped.

"Bah! Non, alors. Onlee has Howell slash my shirt into leetle rags and I
am scratch all raw. Zat ees nozzing, mon capitaine--a leetle cut like
wiz a Barlow--like zat! Pouf! Bah! I laugh. I make mock!"

"Your ribs are broken, John," says Nick, still squatting beside me. "I
think your bones turned the bullet, and it's not lodged in your belly at
all, but in your right thigh.... Fetch a sop o' wet moss, Joe!"

De Luysnes also got up and went away to chop some stout alders for a
litter. De Golyer was back in a moment, both hands full of dripping
sphagnum; and Nick washed away the mess of blood.

After that I was sick at my stomach again; and not clear in my mind what
they were about.

I gazed around out of fevered eyes, and saw dead men lying near me.
Suddenly the full horror of this civil war seemed to seize my
senses;--all the shame of such a conflict, a black disgrace upon us here
in County Tryon.

"Nick!" I cried, "in God's name give those men burial."

"Let them lie, damn them!" said Godfrey, sullenly.

"But they were our neighbors! I--I can't endure such a business.... And
there are wolves in the tamaracks."

"Let wolf eat wolf," muttered Luysnes. But he drew his knife and went
into the house. And I heard Balty's body drop when he cut it down.

Nick came over to me, where I lay on a frame of alders, over which a
blanket had been thrown, and he promised that a burial party should come
out here as soon as they got me into camp.

So two of my men lifted the litter, and, feeling sick and drowsy, I
closed my eyes and felt the slow waves of pain sweep me with every step
the litter-bearers took.

       *       *       *       *       *

I had been lying in a kind of stupor upon my blanket, aware of dark
figures passing to and fro before the lurid radiance of our watch fire,
yet not heeding what they said and did, save only when I saw Nick and
Luysnes go away carrying two ditch-spades. And was vaguely contented to
have the dead put safe from wolves.

Later, when I opened my burning eyes and asked for water, I saw Tahioni
in the flushed light of dawn, and knew that my Indians had returned.

Nick filled my pannikin. When I had drunk, I felt very ill and could
scarcely find voice to ask him how my Oneidas had made out in the
tamaracks.

He admitted that they had not come up with the fugitives; and added that
I was badly hurt and should be quiet and trouble my mind about nothing
for the present.

One by one my Indians came gravely to gaze upon me, and I tried to smile
and to speak to each, but my mind seemed confused, what with the burning
of my body and my great weariness.

       *       *       *       *       *

When again I unclosed my eyes and asked for water, I was lying under the
open-faced shed, and it was brilliant sunshine outside.

Somebody had stripped me and had heated water in the kettle, and was
bathing my body.

Then I saw it was the little maid of Askalege.

"Thiohero,--little sister?"

At the sound of my voice, she came and bent over me. La one hand she
held a great sponge of steaming sphagnum.

Then came Nick, who leaned closer above me.

"Their young sorceress," said he, "has washed your body with bitter-bark
and sumach, and has cleansed the wounds and stopped them with dry moss
and balsam, so that they have ceased bleeding."

I turned my heavy eyes on the Oneida girl.

"Truly," said I, "I have come back through the mist, returning in
scarlet.... My little sister is very wise."

She said nothing, but lifted a pannikin of cold water to my lips. It had
bitter herbs in it, and, I think, a little gin. I satisfied my thirst.

"Little sister," I gasped, "is the hole that Balty made in my body so
great that my soul shall presently escape?"

She answered calmly: "I have looked through the wound into your body;
and I saw your soul there, watching me. Then I conjured your soul, which
is very white, to remain within your body. And your soul, seeing that it
was not the Eye of Tharon looking in to discover it, went quietly to
sleep. And will abide within you."

She spoke in the Oneida dialect, and Nick listened impatiently, not
understanding.

"What does the little Oneida witch say?" he demanded.

Her brother, Tahioni, the Wolf, answered calmly: "The River-reed is a
witch and is as wise as the Woman of the Sounding Skies. The River-reed
sees events beforehand."

"She says John Drogue will live?" demanded Nick.

"He shall surely live," said Thiohero, drawing the blanket over me.

"Well, then," said Nick, "in God's name let us get him to the Summer
House, where the surgeon of the Continentals can treat him properly, and
the ladies there nurse him----"

That roused me, and I strove to sit up, but could not.

"I shall not go to Summer House!" I cried. "If I am in need of a
surgeon, bring him here; but I want no women near me!--I do not desire
any woman at Summer House to nurse me or aid or touch me----"

In my angry excitement at the very remembrance of Lady Johnson and
Claudia, and of Penelope, whom I had beheld in Steve Watts' arms--and of
that man himself, who had come spying,--I forced my body upright,
furious at the mere thought and swore I had rather die here in camp than
be taken thither.

Then, suddenly my elbow crumpled under me, and I fell back in an agony
of pain so great that presently the world grew swiftly black and I knew
no more.




CHAPTER XX

IN SHADOW-LAND


When I became conscious, I was lying under blankets upon a trundle-bed,
within the four walls of a very small room.

I wore a night-shift which was not mine, being finer and oddly ruffled;
and under it my naked body was as stiff as a pike pole, and bound up
like a mummy. My right thigh, too, was stiffly swathed and trussed, and
I thought I should stifle from the heat of the blankets.

My mind was clear; I was aware of no sharp pain, no fever; but felt very
weak, and could have slept again, only that perspiration drenched me and
made me restless even as I dozed.

Sometime afterward--the same day, I think--I awoke in some pain, and
realized that I was lying on my right side and that the wound in my
thigh was being dressed.

The place smelled rank, like a pharmacy, and slightly sickened me.

There were several people in the little room. I saw Nick kneeling beside
the bed, holding a pewter basin full of steaming water, and a
Continental officer with his wrist-bands tucked up, choosing forceps
from a battered leather case.

I could not move my body; my head seemed too heavy to lift; but I was
aware of a woman standing close to where my head rested. I could see her
two feet in their buckled shoes, and her petticoat of cotton stuff
printed in flowers.

When the surgeon had done a-packing my wound with lint, pain had left me
weak and indifferent, and I lay heavily, with lids closed.

Also, I had seen and heard enough to satisfy what languid curiosity I
might have possessed. For I was in the gun-room at Summer House,
whither, it appeared, they had taken me, despite my command to the
contrary.

But now I was too weary to resent it; too listless to worry; too
incurious to wonder who it might be that was at any pains to care for my
broken body at Summer House Point.

Nick came, later, and I opened my eyes, but made no effort to speak. He
seemed pleased, however, and gave me a filthy and bitter draught, which
I swallowed, but which so madded me that I swore at him.

Whereupon he smiled and wiped my lips and tucked in the accursed
blankets that had been stifling me and which now scraped my unshaven
chin.

"Damnation!" I whispered, "you smother me, drown me in sweat, and feed
me gall and wormwood!"

And I closed my eyes to sleep; but found my mind not so inclined, and
lay half dozing, conscious of the sunlight on the floor.

So I was awake when he arrived again with a pot o' broth.

"Can you not leave me in peace!" said I, so savagely that he laughed
outright and bent over, stirring the broth and grinning down at me.

Spoonful by spoonful I swallowed the broth. There was wine in it. This
made me drowsy.

To keep account of time, whether it were still this day or the next, or
how the hours were passing, had been a matter of indifference to me. Or
how the world wagged outside the golden dusk of this small room had
interested me not at all.

My Continental surgeon, whom they called Dr. Thatcher, came twice a day
and went smartly about his business.

Nick dosed me and fed me. I had asked no questions; but my mind had
become sullen and busy; and now I was groping backward and searching
memory to find the time and place when I had lost touch with the world
and with the business which had brought me into these parts.

All was clearly linked up to the time that Balty shot me. Afterward,
only fragments of the chain of events remained in my memory. I heard
again the thud of Balty's body on the puncheon floor, when Luysnes cut
him down from the rafters of Howell's house. I remember that I saw men
take ditch-spades to bury the dead. I remember that my body seemed all
afire and that I became enraged and forbade them to take me to Summer
House.

Further--and of the blank spaces between--I had no recollection save
that the whole world seemed burning up in darkness and that my body was
being consumed like a fagot in some hellish conflagration, where the
flames were black and gave no light.

This day Dr. Thatcher and Nick washed me and closed my wounds.

There had been, it appeared, some drains left in them. The stiff harness
on my ribs they left untouched. I breathed, now, without any pain, but
itched most damnably.

My closed wounds itched. I desired broth no longer and demanded meat.
But got none and swore at Nick.

A barber from the Continental camp arrived to trim me. He took a beard
from me that amazed me, and enough hair to awake the envy of a
school-girl--for I refused to wear a queue, and bade him trim my pol à
la Coureur-du-Bois.

Now this barber, who was a private soldier, seemed willing to gossip;
and of him I asked my first questions concerning the outside world and
train of events.

But I soon perceived that all he knew was the veriest camp gossip, and
that his budget of rumours and reports was of no value whatever. For he
said that our armies were everywhere victorious; that the British armies
were on the run; and that the war would be over in another month.
Everybody, quoth he, would become rich and happy, with General
Washington for our King, and every general a duke or marquis, and every
soldier a landed proprietor, with nothing to do save sit on his porch,
smoke his pipe, and watch his slaves plow his broad acres.

When this sorry ass took his leave, I had long since ceased to listen to
him.

I felt very well, except for the accursed itching where my flesh was
mending, and rib-bones knitting.

Dr. Thatcher came in. He was booted, spurred, wore pistols and sword,
and a military foot-mantle.

When he caught my eyes he smiled slightly and asked me how I did. And I
expressed my gratitude as suitably as I knew how, saying that I was well
and desired to rise and be about my business.

"In two weeks," he said, which took me aback.

"Do you know how long you have been here?" he asked, amused.

"Some three or four days, I suppose.

"A month today, Mr. Drogue."

This stunned me. He seated himself on the camp-stool beside my
trundle-bed.

"What preys upon your mind, Mr. Drogue?" he asked pleasantly.

"Sir?"

"I ask you what it is that troubles you."

I felt a slow heat in my cheeks:

"I have nothing on my mind, sir, save desire to return to duty."

He said in his kindly way: "You would mend more quickly, sir, if your
mind were tranquil."

I felt my face flush to my hair:

"Why do you suppose that my mind is uneasy, Doctor?"

"You have asked no questions. A sick man, when recovering, asks many.
You seem to remain incurious, indifferent. Yet, you are in the house of
old friends."

He looked at me out of his kind, grave eyes: "Also," he said, "you had
many days of fever."

My face burned: I feared to guess what he meant, but now I must ask.

"Did I babble?"

"A feverish patient often becomes loquacious."

"Of--of whom did I--rave?" I could scarce force myself to the question.
Then, as he also seemed embarrassed, I added: "You need not name her,
Doctor. But I beg you to tell me who besides yourself overheard me."

"Only your soldier, Nicholas Stoner, and a Saguenay Indian, who squats
outside your door day and night."

"Nobody else?"

"I think not."

"Has Lady Johnson heard me? Or Mistress Swift? Or--Mistress Grant?" I
stammered.

"Why, no," said he. "These ladies were most tender and attentive when
your soldiers brought you hither; but two days afterward, while you
still lay unconscious,--and your right lung filling solid,--there came a
flag from General Schuyler, and an escort of Albany Horse for the
ladies. And they departed as prisoners the following morning, with their
flag, to be delivered and set at liberty inside the British lines."

"They are gone?"

"Yes, sir. Lady Johnson, while happy in her prospective freedom, and
hopeful of meeting her husband in New York City, seemed very greatly
distressed to leave you here in such a plight. And Mistress Swift
offered to remain and care for you, but our military authorities would
not allow it."

I said nothing.

He added, with a faint smile: "Our authorities, I take it, were
impatient to be rid of responsibility for these fair prisoners, Mr.
Drogue. I know that Schuyler is vastly relieved."

"Has Stephen Watts been taken?" I asked abruptly. "Or Hare, or Butler?"

"Not that I have heard of."

So they had got clean away, that spying crew!--Watts and Hare and Walter
Butler! Well, that was better. God knows I had a million times rather
meet Steve Watts in battle than take him skulking here inside our lines
a-spying on our camp, exchanging information with his unhappy sister
and with Claudia, or slinking about the shrubbery by night to press his
sweetheart's waist and lips----

I turned my hot face on the pillow and lay a-thinking. The doctor laid
back my blanket, looked at my hurts, then covered me.

"You do well," he said. "In two weeks you shall be out o' bed. Bones
must knit and wounds scar before you carry pack again. And before your
lung is strong you shall need six months rest ere you take the field."

Aghast at such news, I asked him the true nature of my hurts, and
learned that Balty's bullet had broken three ribs into my right lung,
then, glancing, had made a hole clean through my thigh, but not
splintering the bone.

"That Oneida girl of Thomas Spencer's saved you," said he, "for she
picked out the burnt wadding and bits of cloth, cleaned and checked the
hemorrhage, and purged you. And there was no gangrene.

"She did all that anybody could have done; but the cold had already
seized your lung before she arrived, and it was that which involved you
so desperately."

After a silence: "Good God, doctor! _Six months_!"

"Six months before you take the field, sir."

"A half year of idleness? Why, that can not be, sir----"

"It is better than eternity in a coffin, sir," said he quietly.

Then he came and took my hand, saying that orders had come directing him
to join our Northern Army at Crown Point, and that he was to set off
within the hour.

"A little nursing and continued rest are all you now require," said he;
"and so I leave you without anxiety, Mr. Drogue."

I strove to express my deep gratitude for his service to me; he pressed
my hand, smilingly:

"If you would hasten convalescence," said he, "seek to recover that
serenity of mind which is a surer medicine than any in my phials."

At the door he turned and looked back to me:

"I think," said he in an embarrassed voice, "that you have really no
true reason for unhappiness, Mr. Drogue. If you have, then my experience
of men and women has taught me nothing."

With that he went; and I heard his sword and spurs through the hallway,
and the outer door close.

What had he meant?

For a long while I pondered this. Then into my mind came another and
inevitable question: _What_ had I said in my delirium?

I was hungry when Nick came.

"Well," says he, grinning at me, "our Continental saw-bones permits this
fat wild pigeon. And now I hope I shall have no more cursing to endure."

Tears came into my eyes and I held out my hand. It was blanched white,
and bony, and lay oddly in his great, brown paw.

"Lord," says he, "what a fright you have given us, John, what with
coughing all day and night like a sick bullock----"

"I am mending, Nick."

"So says Major Squills. Here, lad, eat thy pigeon. Does it smack? And
here is a little Spanish wine in this glass to nourish you. I had three
bottles of the Continentals ere they marched----"

"Marched! Have they departed?" I demanded in astonishment.

"Horse, foot, and baggage," said he cheerily. "When I say 'horse,' I
mean young Jack-boots, for he departed first with the flag that took my
Lady Johnson to New York."

"So everybody has gone," said I, blankly.

"Why, yes, John. The flag came from Schuyler and off went the ladies,
bag, baggage, and servants.

"Then come Colonels Van Schaick and Dayton from Johnstown to inspect our
works at this place and at Fish House. And two days later orders come to
abandon Fish House and Summer House Point.... You do not remember
hearing their drums?"

"No."

"You were very bad that day," he said soberly. "But when their music
played you opened your eyes and nothing would do but you must rise and
dress. Lord, how wild you talked, and I was heartily glad when their
drumming died away on the Johnstown road."

"You mean to tell me that there is no longer any garrison on the
Sacandaga?" I asked, amazed.

"None. And but a meagre one at Johnstown. It seems we need troops
everywhere and have none to send anywhere. They've even taken your scout
and your Oneidas."

"What!" I exclaimed.

"They left a week ago, John, to work on the new fort which is being
fashioned out of old Fort Stanwix. So Dayton sends your scout thither to
play with pick and mattock, and your Oneidas to prowl along Wood Creek
and guard the batteaux."

"You tell me that the Sacandaga is left destitute of garrison or
scouts!" I asked angrily. "And Tryon crawling alive with Tories!--and
the Cadys and Helmers and Bowmans and Reeds and Butlers and Hares and
Stephen Watts stirring the disloyal to violence in every settlement
betwixt Schenectady and Ballston!"

"I tell you we are too few for all our need, John,--too few to watch all
places threatened. Schuyler has but one regiment of Continentals now.
Gates commands at Crown Point and draws to him all available men. His
Excellency is pressed for men in the South, too. Albany is almost
defenceless, Schenectady practically unguarded, and only a handful of
our people guard Johnstown."

"Where are the militia?" I demanded.

"Farming--save when the district call sends a regiment on guard or to
work on the forts. But Herkimer has them in hand against a crisis, and I
have no doubt that those Palatines will turn out to a man if Sir John
comes hither with his murderous hordes."

I sat in silence, picking the bones of my pigeon. Nick said:

"Colonel Dayton came in here and looked at you. And when he left he said
to me that you had proven a valuable scout; and that, if you survived,
he desired you to remain here at the Summer House with me and with your
Saguenay."

"For what purpose?" I demanded, sullenly.

"On observation."

"A scout of three! To cover the Sacandaga! Do they think we have wings?
Or are a company of tree-cats with nine lives apiece?"

"Well," said Nick, scratching his ear in perplexity, "I know not what
our colonels and our generals are thinking; but the soldiers are gone,
and our doctor has now departed, so if Dayton leaves us four people
alone here in the Summer House it must be because there is nothing for
the present to apprehend, either from Sir John or from any Indian or
Tory marauders."

"_Four_ people?" I repeated. "I thought you said we were but three
here."

"Why," said he, "I mean that we are three men--three rifles!"

"Is there a servant woman, also?"

He looked at me oddly.

"The Caughnawaga girl came back."

"What!"

"The Scottish girl, Penelope."

"Came back! When?"

"Oh, that was long ago--after the flag left.... It seems she had meant
to travel only to Mayfield with them.... She had not said so to anybody.
But in the dark o' dawn she rides in on your mare, Kaya, having
travelled all night long."

"'Why,' says I, 'what do you here on John Drogue's horse in the dark o'
dawn?'

"'If there's danger,' says she calmly, 'this sick man should have a
horse to carry him to Mayfield fort.'

"Which was true enough; and I said so, and stabled your mare where Lady
Johnson's horses had left a warm and empty manger."

"Well," said I harshly, as he remained silent.

"Lord, Jack, that is all I know. She has cooked for you since, and has
kept this house in order, washed dishes, fed the chickens and ducks and
pig, groomed your horse, hoed the garden, sewed bandages, picked lint,
knitted stockings and soldiers' vests----"

"_Why?_" I demanded.

"I asked her that, John. And she answered that there was nobody here to
care for a sick man's comfort, and that Dr. Thatcher had told her you
would die if they moved you to Johnstown hospital.

"I thought she'd become frightened and leave when the Continentals
marched out; they all came--the officers--where she sat a-knitting by
the apple-tree; but she only laughed at their importunities, made light
of any dangers to be apprehended, and refused a seat on their camp
wagon. And it pleased me, John, to see how doleful and crestfallen were
some among those same young blue-and-buffs when they were obliged to
ride away that morning and leave here there a-sewing up your shirt where
Balty's bullet had rent it."

A slight thrill shot me through. But it died cold. And I thought of
Steve Watts, and of her in his embrace under the lilacs.

If she now remained here it was for no reason concerning me. It was
because she thought her lover might return some night and take her in
his arms again. That was the reason.

And with this miserable conclusion, a more dreadful doubt seized me.
What of the loyalty of a girl whose lover is a King's man?

I remembered how, in the blossoming orchard, she had whispered to me
that she was a friend to liberty.

Was that to be believed of a maid whose lover came into our camp a spy?

I lay back on my pillow and closed my eyes. What was this girl to me
that I should care one way or the other?

Nick took my platter and went away, leaving me to sleep as I seemed to
desire it.

But I had no desire to sleep. And as I lay there, I became sensible that
my entire and battered body was almost imperceptibly a-tremble.




CHAPTER XXI

THE DEMON


I think that summer was the strangest ever I have lived,--the most
unreal days of life,--so still, so golden, so strangely calm the
solitude that ringed me where I was slowly healing of my hurt.

Each dawn was heralded by gold fire, each evening by a rosy
conflagration in the west. It rained only at night; and all that crystal
clear mid-summer scarcely a shred of fleece dappled the empyrean.

Those winds which blow so frequently in our Northland seemed to have
become zephyrs, too; and there was but a reedy breeze along the Vlaie
Water, and scarce a ripple to rock the lily pads in shallow reach and
cove.

It was strange. And, only for the loveliness of night and day, there
might have seemed in this hushed tranquillity around me a sort of hidden
menace.

For all around about was war, where Tryon County lay so peacefully in
the sunshine, ringed within the outer tumult, and walled on all sides by
battle smoke.

Above us our fever-stricken Northern army, driven from Crown Point, now
lay and sickened at Ticonderoga, where General Gates did now command our
people, while poor Arnold, turned ship's carpenter, laboured to match
Guy Carleton's flotilla which the British were dragging piecemeal over
Chambly Rapids to blow us out o' the lake.

From south of us came news of the Long Island disaster where His
Excellency, driven from Brooklyn and New York, now lay along the Harlem
Heights.

And it was a sorry business; for Billy Alexander, who is Lord Stirling,
was taken a prisoner; and Sullivan also was taken; and their two
brigades were practically destroyed.

But worse happened at New York City, where the New York militia ran and
two New England brigades, seized with panic, fled in a shameful manner.
And so out o' town our people pulled foot, riotous and disorderly in
retreat, and losing all our heavy guns, nearly all our stores, and more
than three hundred prisoners.

This was the news I had of the Long Island battle, where I lay in
convalescence at Summer House that strange, still summer in the North.

And I thought very bitterly of what advantage was it that we had but
just rung bells and fired off our cannon to salute our new Declaration
of Independence, and had upset the prancing leaden King from his
pedestal on the Bowling Green, if our militia ran like rabbits at sight
of the red-coats, and general officers like Lord Stirling were
mouse-trapped in their first battle.

Alas for poor New York, where fire and explosion had laid a third of the
city in ruins; where the drums of the red-coats now rolled brazenly
along the Broadway; where Delancy's horsemen scoured the island for
friends to liberty; where that great wretch, Loring, lorded it like an
unclean devil of the pit.

God! to think on it when all had gone so well; and Boston clean o'
red-coats, and Canada all but in our grasp; and old Charleston shaking
with her dauntless cannonade, and our people's volleys pouring into
Dunmore's hirelings through the levelled cinders of Norfolk town!

What was the matter with us that these Southern gentlemen stood the
British fire while, if we faced it, we crumpled and gave ground; or, if
we shunned it, we ran disgracefully? Save only at Boston had we driven
the red-coats on land. The British flame had scorched us on Long Island,
singed us in New York, blasted us at Falmouth and Quebec, and left our
armies writhing in the ashes from Montreal to Norfolk.

And yet how tranquil, how fair, how ominously calm lay our Valley Land
in the sunshine, ringed here by our blue mountains where no slightest
cloud brooded in an unstained sky!

And more still, more strange even than the untroubled calm of Tryon, lay
the Summer House in its sunlit, soundless, and green desolation.

Where, through the long days, nothing moved on the waste of waters save
where a sun-burnished reed twinkled. Where, under star-powdered skies,
no wind stirred; and only the vague far cry of some wandering wild thing
ever disturbed that vast and velvet silence.

       *       *       *       *       *

Long before she came near me to speak to me, and even before she had
glanced at me from the west porch, whither she took her knitting in the
afternoons, I had seen Penelope.

From where I lay on my trundle in Sir William's old gun-room I could
see out across the hallway and through the door, where the west veranda
ran.

In the mornings either my Indian, Yellow-Leaf, or Nick Stoner mounted
guard there, watching the green and watery wastes to the northward,
while his comrade freshened my sheets and pillows and cleansed my room.

In the afternoons one o' them went a-fishing or prowling after meat for
our larder, or, sometimes, Nick went a-horse to Mayfield on observation,
or to Johnstown for news or a bag of flour. And t'other watched from the
veranda roof, which was railed, and ran all around the house, so that a
man might walk post there and face all points of the compass.

As for Penelope, I soon learned her routine; for in the morning she was
in the kitchen and about the house--save only she came not to my
room--but swept and dusted the rest, and cooked in the cellar-kitchen.

Sometimes I could see her in apron and pink print, drawing water from
the orchard well, and her skirt tucked up against the dew.

Sometimes I saw her early in the garden, where greens grew and beans and
peas; or sometimes she hoed weeds where potatoes and early corn stood in
rows along a small strip planted between orchard and posy-bed.

And sometimes I could see her a-milking our three Jersey cows, or, with
a sickle, cutting green fodder for my mare, Kaya, whose dainty hoofs I
often heard stamping the barn floor.

But after the dinner hour, and when the long, still afternoons lay
listlessly betwixt mid-summer sun and the pale, cool dusk, she came from
her chamber all freshened like a faint, sweet breeze in her rustling
petticoat of sheer, sprigged stuff, to seat herself on the west veranda
with her knitting.

Day after day I lay on my trundle where I could see her. She never
noticed me, though by turning her head she could have seen me where I
lay.

I do not now remember clearly what was my state of mind except that a
dull bitterness reigned there.

Which was, of course, against all common sense and decent reason.

I had no claim upon this girl. I had kissed her--through no fault of
hers, and by no warrant and no encouragement from her to so conduct in
her regard.

I had kissed her once. But other men had done that perhaps with no more
warrant. And I, though convinced that the girl knew not how to parry
such surprises, brooded sullenly upon mine own indiscretion with her;
and pondered upon the possible behaviour of other men with her. And I
silently damned their impudence, and her own imprudence which seemed to
have taught her little in regard to men.

But in my mind the chiefest and most sullen trouble lay in what I had
seen under the lilacs that night in June.

And when I closed my eyes I seemed to see her in Steve Watts' arms, and
the lad's ardent embrace of her throat and hair, and the flushed passion
marring his youthful face----

I often lay there, my eyes on her where I could see her through the
door, knitting, and strove to remember how I had first heard her name
spoken, and how at that last supper at the Hall her name was spoken and
her beauty praised by such dissolute young gallants as Steve Watts and
Lieutenant Hare; and how even Sir John had blurted out, in his cups,
enough to betray an idle dalliance with this yellow-haired girl, and
sufficient to affront his wife and his brother-in-law, and to disgust
me.

And Nick had said that men swarmed about her like forest-flies around a
pan o' syrup!

And all this, too, before ever I had laid eyes upon this slim and silent
girl who now sat out yonder within my sullen vision, knitting or winding
her wool in silence.

What, then, could be the sentiments of any honest man concerning her?
What, when I considered these things, were my own sentiments in her
regard?

And though report seemed clear, and what I had witnessed plainer still,
I seemed to be unable to come to any conclusion as to my true sentiments
in this business, or why, indeed, it was any business of mine, and why I
concerned myself at all.

Men found her young and soft and inexperienced; and so stole from her
the kiss that heaven sent them.

And Steve Watts, at least, was more wildly enamoured.... And, no doubt,
that reckless flame had not left her entirely cold.... Else how could
she have strolled away to meet him that same night when her lips must
still have felt the touch of mine?... And how endured his passion there
in the starlight?... And if she truly were a loyal friend to liberty,
how in God's name give secret tryst and countenance to a spy?

       *       *       *       *       *

One morning, when Nick had bathed me, I made him dress me in forest
leather. Lord, but I was weak o' the feet, and light in head as a blown
egg-shell!

Thus, dressed, I lay all morning on my trundle, and there, seated on the
edge, was given my noon dinner.

But I had no mind, now, to undress and rest. I desired to go to the
veranda, and did fume and curse and bully poor Nick until he picked me
up and carried me thither and did seat me within a large and cushioned
Windsor chair.

Then, madded, he went away to fish for a silver pike in our canoe,
saying with much viciousness that I might shout my throat raw and perish
there ere he would stir a foot to put me to bed again.

So I watched him go down to the shore where the canoe lay, lift in rod
and line and paddle, and take water in high dudgeon.

"Even an ass knows when he's sick!" he called out to me. But I laughed
at him and saw his broad paddle stab the water, and the birchen craft
shoot out among the reeds.

Now it was in my thoughts to see how Mistress Penelope would choose to
conduct, who had so long and so tranquilly ignored me.

For here was I established upon the spot where she had been accustomed
to sit through the long afternoons ... and think on Steve Watts, no
doubt!...

Comes Mistress Penelope in sprigged gown of lavender, and smelling fresh
of the herb itself or of some faint freshness.

I rested both hands upon the arms of my Windsor chair and so managed to
stand erect.

She turned rosy to her ear-tips at the sudden encounter, but her voice
was self-possessed and in nowise altered when she greeted me.

I offered my hand; she extended hers and I saluted it.

Then she seated herself at leisure in her Windsor reading-chair, laid
her basket of wool-skeins upon the polished book-rest, and calmly fell
to knitting.

"So, you are mending fast, sir," says she; and her smooth little fingers
travelling steadily with her shining needles, and her dark eyes intent
on both.

"Oh, for that," said I, "I am well enough, and shall soon be strong to
strap war-belt and sling pack and sack.... Are you in health, Mistress
Pen?"

She expressed thanks for the civil inquiry. And knitted on and on. And
silence fell between us.

If it was then that I first began to fear I was in love with her, I do
not surely remember now. For if such a doubt assailed me, then instantly
my mind resented so unwelcome a notion. And not only was there no
pleasure in the thought, but it stirred in me a kind of breathless
anger which seemed to have long slumbered in its own ashes within me and
now gave out a dull heat.

"Have you news of Lady Johnson and of Mistress Swift?" I asked at last.

She lifted her eyes in surprise.

"No, sir. How should news come to us here?"

"I thought there might be channels of communication."

"I know of none, sir. York is far, and the Canadas are farther still. No
runners have come to Summer House."

"Still," said I, "communication was possible when I got my hurt last
June."

"Sir?"

"Is that not true?"

She looked at me in troubled silence.

"Did not Lady Johnson's brother come here in secret to give her news,
and take as much away?"

She did not answer.

"Once," said I, "although I had not asked, you told me that you were a
friend to liberty."

"And am so," said she.

"And have a Tory lover."

At that her face flamed and her wool dropped into her lap. She did not
look at me but sat with gaze ahead of her as though considering.

At last: "Do you mean Captain Watts?" she asked.

"Yes, I mean him."

"He is not my lover."

"I ask your pardon. The inference was as natural as my error."

"Sir?"

"Appearances," said I, "are proverbially deceitful. Instead of saying
'your lover,' I should, perhaps, have said '_one_ of your lovers.' And
so again ask pardon."

"Are you my lover, sir?"

"I?" said I, taken aback at the direct shot so unexpected.

"Yes, you, my lord. Are you one of my lovers?"

"I think not. Why do you ask me that which never could be a question
that yes or no need answer?"

"I thought perhaps you might deem yourself my lover."

"Why?"

"Because you kissed me once,--as did Captain Watts.... And two other
gentlemen."

"Two other gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir. A cornet of horse,--his name escapes me--and Sir John."

"Who!" I blurted angrily.

"Sir John Johnson."

"The dissolute beast!" said I. "Had I known it that night at Johnson
Hall----" But here I checked my speech and waited till the hot blood in
my face was done burning.

And when again I was cool: "I am sorry for my heat," said I. "Your
conduct is your own affair."

"You once made it yours, sir,--for a moment."

Again I went hot and red; and how I had conducted with this maid plagued
me so that I found no word to answer.

She knitted for a little while. Then, lifting her dark young eyes:

"You have as secure a title to be my lover as has any man, Mr. Drogue.
Which is no title at all."

"Steve Watts took you in his arms near the lilacs."

"What was that to you, Mr. Drogue?"

"He was a spy in our uniform and in our camp!"

"Yes, sir."

"And you gave him your lips."

"He took what he took. I gave only what was in my heart to give to any
friend in peril."

"What was that?"

"Solicitude."

"Oh. You warned him to leave? And he an enemy and a spy?"

"I begged him to go, Mr. Drogue."

"Do you still call yourself a friend to liberty?" I asked angrily.

"Yes, sir. But I was his friend too. I did not know he had come here.
And when by accident I recognized him I was frightened, because I
thought he had come to carry news to Lady Johnson."

"And so he did! Did he not?"

"He said he came for me."

"To visit you?"

"Yes, sir. And I think that was true. For when he made himself known to
his sister, she came near to fainting; and so he spoke no more to her at
all but begged me for a tryst before he left."

"Oh. And you granted it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"I was in great fright, fearing he might be taken.... Also I pitied
him."

"Why so?" I sneered.

"Because he had courted me at Caughnawaga.... And at first I think he
made a sport of his courting,--like other young men of Tryon gentry who
hunt and court to a like purpose.... And so, one day at Caughnawaga, I
told him I was honest.... I thought he ought to know, lest folly assail
us in unfamiliar guise and do us a harm."

"Did you so speak to this young man?"

"Yes, sir. I told him that I am a maiden. I thought it best that he
should know as much.... And so he courted me no more. But every day he
came and glowered at other men.... I laughed secretly, so fiercely he
watched all who came to Cayadutta Lodge.... And then Sir John fled. And
war came.... Well, sir, there is no more to tell, save that Captain
Watts dared come hither."

"To take you in his arms?"

"He did so,--yes, sir,--for the first time ever."

"Then he is honestly in love with you?"

"But you, also, did the like to me. Is it a consequence of honest love,
Mr. Drogue, when a young man embraces a maiden's lips?"

Her questions had so disconcerted me that I found now no answer to this
one.

"I know nothing about love," said I, looking out at the sunlit waters.

"Nor I," said she.

"You seem willing to be schooled," I retorted.

"Not willing, not unwilling. I do not understand men, but am not averse
to learning something of their ways. No two seem similar, Mr. Drogue,
save in the one matter."

"Which?" I asked bluntly.

"The matter of paying court. All seem to do it naturally, though some
take fire quicker, and some seem to burn more ardently than others."

"It pleasures you to be courted? Gallantries suit you? And the flowery
phrases suitors use?"

"They pleasurably perplex me. Time passes more agreeably when one is
knitting. To be courted is not an unwelcome diversion to any woman, I
think. And flowery phrases are pleasant to notice,--like music suitably
played, and of which one is conscious though occupied with other
matters."

"If this be not coquetry," I thought, "then it is most perilously akin
to it."

Obscurely yet deeply disturbed by the blind stirring of emotions I could
not clearly analyze, I sat brooding there. Now I watched her fingers
playing with the steels, and her young face lowered; now I gazed afar
across the blue Vlaie Water to the bluer mountains beyond, which dented
the horizon as the great blue waves of Lake Ontario make molten
mountains against an azure sky.

So still was the world that the distant leap and splash of a great
silver pike sounded like a gun-shot in that breathless, sun-drenched
solitude.

Yet I found no solace now in all this golden peace; for, of the silence
between this maid and me, had been born a vague and malicious thing; and
like a subtle demon it had come, now, into my body to turn me sullen and
restless with the scarce-formed, scarce-comprehended thoughts it hatched
within me. And one of these had to do with Stevie Watts, and how he had
come here for the sake of this girl.... And had taken her into his arms
under the stars, near the lilacs.... And my lips still warm from
hers.... Yet she had gone to him in the dusk.... Was afeard for him....
Pitied him.... And doubtless loved him, whatever she might choose to say
to me.... Under any circumstances a coquette; and, innocent or wise, to
the manner born at any rate.... And some Tryon County gallant likely to
take her measure some day ere she awake from her soft bewilderment at
the ways and conducting of mankind.

Nick came at eventide, carrying a pike by the gills, and showed us his
fingers bleeding of the watery conflict.

"Is all calm on the Sacandaga?" I enquired.

"Calm as a roadside puddle, Jack. And every day I ask myself if there be
truly any war in North America or no, so placid shines God's sun on
Tryon.... You mend apace, old friend. Do you suffer fatigue?"

"None, Nick. I shall sit at table tonight with Mistress Grant and
you----"

My voice ceased, and, without warning, the demon that had entered into
me began a-whispering. Then the first ignoble and senseless pang of
jealousy assailed me to remember that this girl and my comrade had been
alone for weeks together--supped all alone at table--companioned each
the other while I lay ill!----

Senseless, miserable clod that I was to listen to that demon's
whispering till my very belly seemed sick-sore with the pain of it and
my heart hurt me under the ribs.

Now she rose and looked at Nick and laughed; and they said a word or two
I could not quite hear, but she laughed again as though with some
familiar understanding, and went lightly away to her evening milking.

"We shall be content indeed," said Nick, "that you sit at supper with
us, old friend."

But I had changed my mind, and said so.

"You will not sit with us tonight?" he asked, concerned.

I looked at him coldly:

"I shall go to bed," said I, "and desire no supper.... Nor any aid
whatever.... I am tired. The world wearies me.... And so do my own
kind."

And I got up and all alone walked to my little chamber.

So great an ass was I.




CHAPTER XXII

HAG-RIDDEN


So passed that unreal summer of '76; and so came autumn upon us with its
crimsons, purples, and russet-gold; its cherry-red suns a-swimming in
the flat marsh fogs; its spectral mists veiling Vlaie Water and
curtaining the Sacandaga from shore to shore.

Rumours of wars came to us, but no war; gossip of armies and of battles,
but no battles.

Armies of wild-fowl, however, came to us on the great Vlaie; duck and
geese and companies of snowy swans; and at night I could hear their
fairy trumpets in the sky heralding the white onset from the North.

And pigeons came to the beech-woods, millions and millions, so that
their flight was a windy roaring in the sky and darkened the sun.

Birches and elms and chestnuts and soft maples turned yellow; and so
turned the ghostly tamaracks ere their needles fell. Hard maples and
oaks grew crimson and scarlet and the blueberry bushes and sumachs
glowed like piles of fire.

But the world of pines darkened to a deeper emerald; spruce and hemlock
took on a more sober hue; and the flowing splendour of the evergreens
now robed plain and mountain in sombre magnificence, dully brocaded here
and there by an embroidery of silver balsam.

When I was strong enough to trail a rifle and walk my post on the
veranda roof, my Saguenay Indian took to the Drowned Lands, scouting the
meshed water-leads like a crested diving-duck; and his canoe nosed into
every creek from Mayfield to Fish House.

Nick foraged, netting pigeons on the Stacking Ridge, shooting partridge,
turkey, and squirrel as our need prompted, or dropping a fat doe at
evening on the clearing's edge beyond Howell's house.

Of fish we had our fill,--chain-pike and silver-pike from Vlaie Water;
trout out of Hans Creek and Frenchman's Creek.

Corn, milled grain, and pork we drew a-horse from Johnstown or Mayfield;
we had milk and butter of our own cows, and roasting ears and potatoes,
squash, beets, and beans, and a good pumpkin for our pies, all from
Summer House garden. And a great store of apples--for it was a year for
that fruit--and we had so many that Nick pitted scores of bushels; and
we used them to eat, also, and to cook.

Now, against first frost, Penelope had sewed for us sacks out o' tow
cloth; and when frost came to moss the world with spongy silver, we went
after nuts, Nick and I,--chestnuts from the Stacking Ridge, and gathered
beechnuts there, also. Butternuts we found, sticky and a-plenty, along
the Sacandaga; and hickory nuts on every ridge, and hazel filberts
bordering clearing and windfall in low, moist woods.

Sure we were well garnered if not well garrisoned at Summer House when
the first snow flakes came a-drifting like errant feathers floating from
a wild-fowl shot in mid-air.

The painted leaves dropped in November, settling earthward through still
sunshine in gold and crimson clouds.

"Mother Earth hath put on war-paint," quoth Penelope, knitting. She
spoke to Nick, turning her head slightly. She spoke chiefly to him in
these days, I having become, as I have said, a silent ass; and so
strange and of so infrequent speech that they did not even venture to
remark to me my reticence; and I think they thought my hurt had changed
me in my mind and nature. Yet I was but a simple ass, differing only
from other asses in that they brayed more frequently than I.

In silence I nursed a challenging in my breast, where love should have
lain secure and warm; and I wrapped the feverish, mewling thing in envy,
jealousy, and sullen pride,--fit rags to swaddle such a waif.

For once, coming upon Penelope unawares, I did see her gazing upon a
miniature picture of Steve Watts, done bravely in his red regimentals.

Which, perceiving me, she hid in her bosom and took her milk-pails to
the orchard without a word spoken, though the colour in her face was
eloquent enough.

And very soon, too, I had learned for sure what I already believed of
her, that she was a very jade; for it was plain that she had now
ensnared Nick, and that they were thick as a pair o' pup hounds, and had
confidences between them in low voices and with smiles. Which my coming
checked only so far. For it was mostly to him she spoke openly at table,
when, the smoking dishes set, she took her seat between us, out o'
breath and sweet as a sun-hot rose.

God knows they were not to blame; for in one hour I might prove glum
and silent as a stone; and in another I practiced carelessness and
indifference in my speech; and in another, still, I was like to be
garrulous and feverish, insisting upon any point raised; laughing
without decent provocation; moody and dull, loquacious and quarrelsome
by turns,--unstable, unhinged, out o' balance and incapable of any
decent equilibrium. Oh, the sorry spectacle a young man makes when that
sly snake, jealousy, hath fanged him!

And my disorder was such that I knew I was sick o' jealousy and sore
hurt of it to the bones, yet conducted like a mindless creature that,
trapped, falls to mutilating itself.

And so I was ever brooding how I might convince her of my indifference;
how I might pain her by coldness; how I might subtly acquaint her of my
own desirability and then punish her by a display of contempt and a
mortifying revelation of the unattainable. Which was to be my proper
self.

Jealousy is sure a strange malady and breaketh out in divers disorders
in different young men, according to their age and kind.

I was jealous because she had been courted by others; was jealous
because she had been caressed by other men; I was wildly jealous because
of Steve Watts, their tryst by the lilacs; his picture which I
discovered she wore in her bosom; I was madly jealous of her fellowship
with my old comrade, Nick, and because, chilled by my uncivil conduct
and by my silences, she conversed with him when she spoke at all.

And for all this silly grievance I had no warrant nor any atom of lucid
reason. For until I had seen her no woman had ever disturbed me. Until
that spring day in the flowering orchard I had never desired love; and
if I even desired it now I knew not. I had certainly no desire for
marriage or a wife, because I had no thought in my callow head of
either.

Only jealousy of others and a desire to be first in her mind possessed
me,--a fierce wish to clear out this rabble of suitors which seemed to
gather in a very swarm wherever she passed,--so that she should turn to
me alone, lean upon me, trust only me in the world to lend her
countenance, shelter her, and defend her. And, though God knows I meant
her no wrong, nor had passion, so far, played any rôle in this my
ridiculous behaviour, I had not so far any clear intention in her
regard. A fierce and selfish longing obsessed me to drive others off and
keep her for my own where in some calm security we could learn to know
each other.

And this--though I did not understand it--was merely the romantic
desire of a very young man to study, unhurried and untroubled, the first
female who ever had disturbed his peace of mind.

But all was vain and troubled and misty in my mind, and love--or its
fretful changeling--weighed on my heart heavily. But I carried double
weight: jealousy is a heavy hag, and I was hag-ridden morn and eve and
all the livelong day to boot.

All asses are made to be ridden.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first snow came, as I have said, like shot-scattered down from a
wild-duck's breast. Then days of golden stillness, with mornings growing
ever colder and the frost whitening shady spots long after sun-up.

I remember a bear swam Vlaie Water, but galloped so swiftly into the
bush that no rifle was ready to stop him.

We mangered our cattle o' nights; and, as frosty grazing checks milk
flow, Nick and I brought in hay from the stacks which the Continental
soldiers had cut against a long occupation of Summer House Point.

Nights had become very cold and we burned logs all day long in the
chimney place. My Indian was snug enough in the kitchen by the oven,
where he ate and slept when not on post; and we, above, did very well by
the blaze where we roasted nuts and apples and drank new cider from
Johnstown and had a cask of ale from the Johnson Arms by waggon.

Also, in the cellar, was some store of Sir William's--dusty bottles of
French and Spanish wines; but of these I took no toll, because they
belonged not to me.

But a strange circumstance presently placed these wines in my
possession; for, upon a day before the first deep snow fell, comes
galloping from Johnstown a man in caped riding coat, one Jerry Van
Rensselaer, to nail a printed placard upon our Summer House--notice of
sale by the Committee for Sequestration.

But who was to read this notice and attend the vendue save only the
birds and beasts of the wilderness I do not know; for on the day of the
sale, which was conducted by Commissioner Harry Outthout, only some half
dozen farmer folk rode hither from Johnstown, and only one man among 'em
bid in money--a sullen fellow named Jim Huetson, who had Tory friends, I
knew, if he himself were not of that complexion.

His bid was £5; which was but a beggarly offer, and angered me to see
Sir William's beloved Lodge come to so mean an end. So, having some
little money, I showed the Schoharie fellow a stern countenance, doubled
his bid, and took snuff which I do not love.

And Lord! Ere I realized it, Summer House Point, Lodge and contents, and
riparian rights as far as Howell's house were mine; and a clear deed
promised.

Bewildered, I signed and paid the Sequestration Commissioner out o' my
buckskin pouch in hard coin.

"You should buy the cattle, too," whispered Nick. "There be folk in
Johnstown would pay well for such a breed o' cow. And there's the pig,
Jack, and the sheep and the hens, and all that grain and hay so snug in
the barn."

So I asked very fiercely if any man desired to bid against me; and
neither Huetson nor his sulky comrade, Davis, having any such stomach, I
fetched ale and apples and nuts and made them eat and drink, and so drew
aside the Commissioner and bargained with him like a Jew or a shoe-peg
Yankee; and in the end bought all.[21]

[Footnote 21: The Commissioners for selling real estate in Tryon County
sold the personal property of Sir John Johnson some time before the Hall
and acreage were sold. The Commissioners appointed for selling
confiscated personal property in Tryon County were appointed later,
March 6, 1777.]

"Shall you move hither from Fonda's Bush and sell your house?" asked
Nick, who now was going out on watch.

But I made him no answer, for I had been bitten by an idea, the mere
thought of which fevered me with excitement. Oh, I was mad as a March
fox running his first vixen, in that first tide of romantic love,--clean
daft and lacking reason.

So when Commissioner Outthout and those who had come for the vendue had
drank as much of my new ale as they cared to carry home a-horse, and
were gone a-bumping down the Johnstown road like a flock of Gilpins all,
I took my parchment and went into my bed chamber; and there I sat upon
my trundle bed and read what was writ upon my deed, making me the owner
of Summer House and of all that appertained to the little hunting lodge.

But I had not purchased it selfishly; and the whole business began with
an impulse born of love for Sir William, who had loved this place so
well. But even as that impulse came, another notion took shape in my
love-addled sconce.

I sat on my trundle bed a-thinking and--God forgive me--admiring my own
lofty and romantic purpose.

The house was still, but on the veranda roof overhead I could hear the
moccasined tread of Nick pacing his post; and from below in the kitchen
came the distant thump and splash of Penelope's churn, where she was
making new butter for to salt it against our needs.

Now, as I rose my breath came quicker, but admiration for my resolve
abated nothing--no!--rather increased as I tasted the sad pleasures of
martyrdom and of noble renunciation. For I now meant to figure in this
girl's eyes in a manner which she never could forget and which, I
trusted, might sadden her with a wistful melancholy after I was gone and
she had awakened to the irreparable loss.

       *       *       *       *       *

When I came down into the kitchen where, bare of arms and throat, she
stood a-churning, she looked at me out of partly-lowered eyes, as though
doubting my mood--poor child. And I saw the sweat on her flushed cheeks,
and her yellow hair, in disorder from the labour, all curled into damp
little ringlets. But when I smiled I saw that lovely glimmer dawning,
and she asked me shyly what I did there--for never before had I come
into her kitchen.

So, still smiling, I gave an account of how I had bought Summer House;
and she listened, wide-eyed, wondering.

"But," continued I, "I have already my own glebe at Fonda's Bush, and a
house; but there be many with whom fortune has not been so complacent,
and who possess neither glebe nor roof, yet deserve both."

"Yes, sir," she said, smiling, "there be many such folk and always will
be in the world. Of such company am I, also, but it saddens me not at
all."

I went to her and showed her my deed, and she looked down on it, her
hands clasped on the churn handle.

"So that," said she, "is a lawful deed! I have never before been shown
such an instrument."

"You shall have leisure enough to study this one," said I, "for I convey
it to you."

"Sir?"

"I give Summer House to you," said I. "Here is the deed. When I go to
Johnstown again I will execute it so that this place shall be yours."

She gazed at me in dumb astonishment.

"Meanwhile," said I, "you shall keep the deed.... And now you are, in
fact, if not yet in title, mistress of Summer House. And I think, this
night, we should break a bottle of Sir William's Madeira to drink health
to our new châtelaine."

She came from her churn and caught my arm, where I had turned to ascend
the steps.

"You are jesting, are you not, my lord?"

"No! And do not use that term, 'lord,' to me."

"You--you offer to give me--me--this estate!"

"Yes. I do give it you."

There was a tense silence.

"Why do you offer this?" she burst out breathlessly.

"Why should I have two estates and you have none, Penelope?"

"But that is no reason!" she retorted, almost violently. "For what
reason, then, do you give me Summer House? It--it must be you are
jesting, my lord!----"

At that, displeasure made me redden, and I damned the title under my
breath.

"If you please," said I, "you will have done with all these 'sirs' and
'my lords,' for I am a plain yoeman of County Tryon and wear a buckskin
shirt. Not that I would criticise Lord Stirling or any such who still
care to wear by courtesy what I have long ago worn out," I added, "but
the gentry and nobility of Tryon travel one way and I the other; and my
friends should remember it when naming me."

She stood looking at me out of her brown eyes, and slowly their troubled
wonder changed to dumb perplexity. And, looking, took up her apron's
edge and stood twisting it between both hands.

"I give you Summer House," said I, "because you are orphaned and live
alone and have nothing. I give it because a maid ought to possess a
portion; and, thirdly, I give it because I have enough of my own, and
never desired more of anything than I need. So take the Summer House,
Penelope, with the cattle and fowl and land; for it gives you a station
and a security among men and women of this odd world of ours, and lends
to yourself a confidence and dignity which only sheerest folly can
overthrow."

She came, after a silence, slowly, and took me by the hand.

"John Drogue," says she in a voice not clear, "I can not take of you
this estate."

"You shall take it! And when again, where you sit a-knitting, the young
men gather round you like flies around a sap-pan--then, by God, you
shall know what countenance to give them, and they shall know what
colour to give their courting!--suitors, gallants, Whig or Tory--the
whole damned rabble----"

"Oh," she cried softly, "John Drogue!" And fell a-laughing--or was it a
quick sob that checked her throat?

But I heeded it not, having caught fire; and presently blazed noisily.

"Because you are servant to Douw Fonda!" I cried, "and because you are
alone, and because you are young and soft with a child's eyes and yellow
hair, they make nothing of schooling you to their pot-house
gallantries, and every damned man jack among them comes a-galloping to
the chase. Yes, even that pallid beast, Sir John!--and the tears of
Claire Putnam to haunt him if he were a man and not the dirty libertine
he is!"

I looked upon her whitened face in ever-rising passion:

"I tell you," said I, "that the backwoods aristocracy is the better and
safer caste, for the other is rotten under red coat or blue; and a
ring-tailed cap doffed by a gnarled hand is worth all your laced cocked
hats bound around with gold and trailed in the dust with fine, smooth
fingers!"

Sure I was in a proper phrensy now, nor dreamed myself a target for the
high gods' laughter, where I vapoured and strode and shouted aloud my
moral jeremiad.

"So," said I, "you shall have Summer House; and shall, as you sit
a-knitting, make your choice of honest suitors at your ease and not be
waylaid and hunted and used without ceremony by the first young hot-head
who entraps you in the starlight! No! Nor be the quarry of older
villains and subtler with persuasion. No!

"For today Penelope Grant, spinster, is a burgesse of Johnstown, and is
a person both respectable and taxed. And any man who would court her
must conduct suitably and in a customary manner, nor, like a wild
falcon, circle over head awaiting the opportunity to strike.

"No! All that sport--all that gay laxity and folly is at an end. And
here's the damned deed that ends it!" I added, thrusting the parchment
into her hands.

She seemed white and frightened. And, "Oh, Lord!" she breathed, "have I,
then, conducted so shamelessly? And did I so wholly lose your favour
when you kissed me?"

I had not meant that, and I winced and grew hot in the cheeks.

"I am not a loose woman," she said in her soft, bewildered way. "Unless
it be a fault that I find men somewhat to my liking, and their gay
manners pleasure me and divert me."

I said: "You have a way with men. None is insensible to your youth and
beauty."

"Is it so?" she asked innocently.

"Are you not aware of it?"

"I had thought that I pleased."

"You do so. Best tread discreetly. Best consider carefully now. Then
choose one and dismiss the rest."

"Choose?"

"Aye."

"Whom should I choose, John Drogue?"

"Why," said I, losing countenance, "there is the same ardent rabble like
that plague of suitors which importuned the Greek Penelope. There are
the sap-pan flies all buzzing."

"Oh. Should I make a choice if entreated?"

"A burgesse is free to choose."

"Oh. And to which suitor should I give my smile?"

"Well," said I, sullenly, "there is Nick. There also is your Cornet of
Horse--young Jack-boots. And there is the young gentleman whose picture
you wear in your bosom."

"Captain Watts?" she asked, so naïvely that jealousy stabbed me
instantly, so that my smile became a grimace.

"Sure," said I, "you think tenderly on Stephen Watts."

"Yes."

"In fact," I almost groaned, "you entertain for him those virtuous
sentiments not unbecoming to the maiden of his choice.... Do you not,
Penelope?"

"He has courted me a year. I find him agreeable. Also, I pity
him--although his impatience causes me concern and his ardour
inconveniences me.... The sentiments I entertain for him are virtuous,
as you say, sir. And so are my sentiments for any man."

"But is not your heart engaged in this affair?"

"With Captain Watts?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I thought you meant with you, sir."

I affected to smile, but my heart thumped my ribs.

"I have not pretended to your heart, Penelope."

"No, sir. Nor I to yours. And, for the matter, know nothing concerning
hearts and the deeper pretensions to secret passions of which one hears
so much in gossip and romance. No, sir; I am ignorant. Yet, I have
thought that kindness might please a woman more easily than sighs and
vapours.... Or so it seems to me.... And that impatient ardour only
perplexes.... And passion often chills the natural pity that a woman
entertains for any man who vows he is unhappy and must presently perish
of her indifference....

"Yet I am not indifferent to men.... And have used men gently.... And
forgiven them.... Being not hard but pitiful by disposition."

She made a movement of unconscious grace and drew from her bosom the
little picture of Steve Watts.

"You see," said she, "I guard it tenderly. But he went off in a passion
and rebuked me bitterly for my coquetry and because I refused to flee
with him to Canada.... He, being an enemy to liberty, I would not
consent.... I love my country.... And better than I love any man."

"He begged an elopement that night?"

"Yes."

"With marriage promised, doubtless."

"Lord," says she, "I had not thought so far."

"Did he not promise it?"

"No, sir."

"What? Nor mention it?"

"I did not hear him."

"But in his courtship of a year surely he conducted honestly!" I
insisted angrily.

"Should a man ask marriage when he asks love, Mr. Drogue?"

"If he means honestly he must speak of it."

"Oh.... I did not understand.... I thought that love, offered, meant
marriage also.... I thought they all meant that--save only Sir John."

We both fell silent. After a little while: "I shall some day ask Captain
Watts what he means," said she, thoughtfully. "Surely he must know I am
a maiden."

"Do you suppose such young men care!" I said sullenly.

But she seemed so white and distressed at the thought that the sneer
died on my lips and I made a great effort to do generously by my old
school-mate, Stevie Watts.

"Surely," said I, "he meant no disrespect and no harm. Stephen Watts is
not of the corrupt breed of Walter Butler nor debauched like Sir
John.... However, if he is to be your lover--perhaps it were convenient
to ask him something concerning his respectful designs upon you."

"Yes, sir, I shall do so--if he comes hither again."

So hope, which had fallen a-flickering, expired like a tiny flame. She
loved Steve Watts!

I turned and limped up the stairway.

And, at the stair-head, met Nick.

"Well," said I savagely, "you may not have her. For she loves Steve
Watts and dotes on his picture in her bosom. And as for you, you may go
to the devil!"

"Why, you sorry ass," says he, "have you thought I desired her?"

"Do you not?"

"Good God!" cried he, "because this poor and moon-smitten gentleman hath
rolled sheep's eyes upon a yellow-haired maid, then, in his mind, all
the world's aflame to woo her too and take her from his honest arms!
What the plague do I want of your sweetheart, Jack Drogue, when I've one
at Pigeon Wood and my eye on another, too!"

Then he fell a-laughing and smote his thighs with a loud slapping.

"Aha!" he cried, "did I not warn you? Did I not foresee, foretell, and
prophesy that you would one day sicken of a passion for this
yellow-haired girl from Caughnawaga!"

"Idiot," said I in a rage, "I do not love her!"

"Then you bear all the earmarks!" said he, and went off stamping his
moccasins and roaring with laughter.

And I went on watch to walk my post all a-tremble with fury, and fair
sick of jealousy and my first boyish passion.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, it is a strange thing how love undid me; but it is still stranger
how, of a sudden, my malady passed. And it came about in this way, that
toward sunset one day, when I came from walking my post on the veranda
roof to find why Nick had not relieved me, I descended the stairs and
looked into the kitchen, where was a pleasant smell of cinnamon crullers
fresh made and of johnnycake and of meat a-stewing.

And there I did see Nick push Penelope into a corner to kiss her, and
saw her fetch him a clout with her open hand.

Then again, and broad on his surprised and silly face, fell her little
hand like the clear crack of a drover's whip.

And, "There!" she falters, out o' breath, "there's for you, friend
Nicholas!"

"My God!" says he, in foolish amaze, "why do you that, Penelope!"

"I kiss whom I please and none other!" says she, fast breathing, and her
dark eyes wide and bright.

"Whom you please," quoth Nick, abashed but putting a bold face on
it--"well then, you please me, and therefore ought to kiss me----"

"No, I will not! John Drogue hath shown me what is my privilege in this
idle game of bussing which men seem so ready to play with me, whether I
will or no!... Have I hurt you, Nick?"

She came up to him, still flushed and her childish bosom still rising
and falling fast.

"You love Jack Drogue," said he, sulkily, "and therefore belabour me who
dote on you."

"I love you both," said she, "but I am enamoured of neither. Also, I
desire no kisses of you or of Mr. Drogue, but only kindness and good
will."

"You entertain a passion for Steve Watts!" he muttered sullenly, "and
there's the riddle read for you!"

But she laughed in his face and took up her pan of crullers and set them
on the shelf.

"I am châtelaine of Summer House," said she, "and need render no account
of my inclinations to you or to any man. Who would learn for himself
what is in my mind must court me civilly and in good order.... Do you
desire leave to court me, Nick?"

"Not I!--to be beaten by a besom and flouted and mocked to boot! Nenni,
my pretty lass! I have had my mouthful of blows."

"Oh. And your comrade? Is he, do you think, inclined to court me?"

"Jack Drogue?"

"The same."

"You have bedeviled him," said Nick sulkily, "as you have witched all
men who encounter you. He hath a fever and is sick of it."

She was slicing hot johnnycake with a knife in the pan; and now looked
up at him with eyes full of curiosity.

"Bewitched him? I?"

"Surely. Who else, then?"

"You are jesting, Nick."

"No. Like others he has taken the Caughnawaga fever. The very air you
breathe is full of it. But, with a man like my comrade, it is no more
than a fever. And it passes, pretty maid!--it passes."

"Does it so?"

"It does. It burns out folly and leaves him the healthier."

"Oh, then--with a gentleman like your comrade, Mr. Drogue--l'amour n'est
qu'une maladie légère qui se guérira sans médecin, n'est-ce pas?"

"Say that in Canada and doubtless the very dicky-birds will answer
wee-wee-wee!" he retorted. "But if you mean, does John Drogue mate below
his proper caste, then there's no wee-wee-wee about it; for that the
Laird of Northesk will never do!"

"I know that," said she coolly. And opened the pot to fork the steaming
stew, then set on the cover and passed her hand over her brow where a
slight dew glistened and where her hair curled paler gold and tighter,
like a child's.

"Friend Nick?"

"I hear thee, breeder of heart-troubles."

"Listen, then. No thought of me should trouble any man as yet. My heart
is not awake--not troublesome,--not engaged,--no, not even to poor
Stephen Watts. For the sentiment I entertain for him is only pity for a
boy, Nick, who is impetuous and rash and has been too much flattered by
the world.... Poor lad--in his play-hour regimentals!--and no beard on
his smooth cheek.... Just a fretful, idle, and self-indulgent boy!...
Who protests that he loves me.... Oh, no, Nick! Men sometimes bewilder
me; but I think it is our own passion that destroys us women--not
theirs.... And there is none in me,--only pity, and a great friendliness
to men.... And these only have ever moved me."

He was sitting on a pine table and munching of a cruller. "Penelope,"
says he, "your honesty and wholesome spirit should physic men of their
meaner passions. If you are servant to Douw Fonda, nevertheless you
think like a great lady. And I for one," he added, munching away, "shall
quarrel with any man who makes little of the mistress of Summer House
Point!"

And then--oh, Lord!--she turns from her oven, takes his silly head
between both hands, and gives him a smack on the lips!

"There," says she, "you have had of your sister what you never should
have had of the Scottish lass of Caughnawaga!"

He got off the table at that, looking mighty pleased but sheepish, and
muttered something concerning relieving me on post.

And so, lest I should be disgraced by my eavesdropping, and feeling mean
and degraded, yet oddly contented that Penelope loved no man with secret
passion, I slunk away, my moccasins making no sound.

So when Nick came to relieve me he discovered me still on post; and said
he pettishly: "Penelope Grant hath clouted me, mind and body; and I am
the better man by it, though somewhat sore; and I shall knock the head
of any popinjay who fails in the respect all owe this girl. And I wish
to God I had a hickory stick here, and Sir John Johnson across my knee!"

I went into my chamber and laid me down on my trundle bed.

I was contented. I no longer seemed to burn for the girl. Also, I knew
she burned for no man. A vast sense of relief spread over me like a soft
garment, warming and soothing me.

And so, pleasantly passed my sick passion for the Scottish girl; and
pleasantly I fell asleep.




CHAPTER XXIII

WINTER AND SPRING


Snow came as it comes to us in the Northland--a blinding fall, heavy and
monotonous--and in forty-eight hours the Johnstown Road was blocked.

Followed a day of dazzling sunshine and intense cold, which set our
timbers cracking; and the snow, like finest flour, creaked under our
snow-shoes.

All the universe had turned to blue and silver; and the Vlaie Water ran
fathomless purple between its unstained snows. But that night the clouds
returned and winds grew warmer, and soon the skies opened with feathery
white volleys, and the big, thick flakes stormed down again,
obliterating alike the work of nature and of man.

Summer House was covered to the veranda eaves. We made shovels and
cleared the roofs and broke paths to stable and well.

Here, between dazzling ramparts, we lived and moved and had our being,
week after week; and every new snow-storm piled higher our palisades and
buried the whole land under one vast white pall.

Vlaie Water froze three feet solid; fierce winds piled the ice with
gigantic drifts so that no man could mark the course of the creeks any
more; and a vast white desolation stretched away to the mountains,
broken only by naked hard-wood forests or by the interminable ocean of
the pines weighted deep with snow.

Only when a crust came were we at any pains to set a watch against a war
party from the Canadas. But none arrived; no signal smoke stained the
peaks; nothing living stirred on that dead white waste save those little
grey and whining birds which creep all day up and down tree-trunks, or a
sudden gusty flight of snow-birds, which suddenly arrive from nowhere
and are gone as suddenly.

Once a white owl with yellow eyes sat upon the ridge-pole of our barn;
but our pullets were safe within, and Penelope drove him away with
snowballs.

The deer yarded on Maxon; lynx-tracks circled our house and barn, and
we sometimes heard old tassel-ears a-miauling on the Stacking Ridge.

And, toward the end of February, there were two panthers that left huge
cat-prints across the drifts on the Johnstown Road; but they took no
toll of our sheep, which were safe in a stone fold, though the oaken
door to it bore marks of teeth and claws, where the pumas had striven
hard to break in and do murder.

Save when a crust formed and we took our turns on guard, my Indian
rolled himself in bear-furs by the kitchen oven, and like a bear he
slept there until hunger awoke him long enough to gorge for another
stretch of sleep.

Nick and I took axes to the woods and drew logs on a sledge to split for
fire use. Our tasks, too, kept us busy feeding our live creatures,
fetching water, keeping paths open, and fishing through the ice.

In idler intervals we carved devices upon our powder-horns, cured
deer-skins in the Oneida fashion, boiled pitch and mended our canoe,
fashioned paddles, poles, and shafts for fish-spears, strung snow-shoes,
built a fine sledge out of ash and hickory, and made Kaya draw us on the
crust.

So, all day, each was busy with tasks and duties, and had little leisure
left for that dull restlessness which, in idle people, is the root of
all the mischief they devise to do.

Penelope mended our clothing and knitted mittens and jerkins. All
house-work and cooking she accomplished, and milked and churned and
cared for the pullets. Also, she dipped candles and moulded bullets from
the lead bars I found in the gun-room. And when our deer-skins were
cured and softened, she made for us soft wallets, sacks, and pouches,
and sewed upon them bright beads in the Oneida fashion, from the pack of
trade beads in Sir William's gun-room. She sewed upon every accoutrement
a design done in scarlet beads, showing a picture of a little red foot.

Lord, but we meant to emerge from our snows in brave fashion, come
spring-tide; for now our deer-skin garments were splendid with beads,
and our fringes were green and purple. Also, Nick had trapped it some
when opportunity offered, setting his line from Summer House along Vlaie
Water to Howell's house, thence across the frozen Drowned Lands to the
Stacking Ridge, and from there back over the Spring Pool, and thence
down-creek to the Sacandaga, where Fish House stood with its glazed
windows empty as a blind man's eyes.

He had, by March, a fine pack of peltry; and of these we cured and used
sufficient muskrat to sew us blankets, and made a mantle of otter for
Penelope and a hood and muff to match.

For ourselves we made us caps out of black mink, and sewed all together
by our dip-lights in the red firelight, where apples slowly sizzled with
the rich, sweet perfume I love to smell.

Sometimes Nick played upon his fife; and sometimes we all told stories
and roasted chestnuts. Nick had more stories and more imagination than
had I, and a livelier wit in the telling of tales. But chiefly I was
willing to hear Penelope when she told us of her childhood in France,
and how folk lived in that warm and sweet country, and what were their
daily customs.

Also, she sang sometimes children's songs of France, and other pretty
ballads, mostly concerning love. For the French occupy themselves
chiefly with love and cooking and the fine arts, I judge, and know how
to make an art of eating, also. For there in France every meal is a
ceremony; but in this land we eat not for the pleasurable taste which,
in savory food, delights and tempts, but we eat swiftly and carelessly
and chiefly to stay our hunger.

Yet, at times, food smacks smartly to my tongue; as when at Christmas
tide I shot a great wild turkey on the Stacking Ridge; and when Penelope
basted it in the kitchen my mouth watered as I sniffed the door-crack.

And again, gone stale with soupaan and jerked meat and fish soused or
dried with salt, Nick shot a yearling buck near our barn at daylight;
and the savour of his cooking filled all with pleasure.

Upon the New Year we made a feast and had a bottle of Sir William's
port, another of Madeira, a punch of spirits, and three pewters of
buttery ale.

Lord! there was a New Year. And first, not daring to give drink to my
Saguenay, we fed him till he was gorged, and so rolled him in a pile of
furs till he slept by the oven below. Then we set twenty dips afire by
the chimney, and filled it up with dry logs.... I am sorry we had so
little sense; for I was something fuddled, and sang ballads--which I can
not--and Nick would dance, which he did by himself; and his hornpipes
and pigeon-wings and shuffles and war-dances made my head spin and my
heavy eyes desire to cross.

Penelope's cheeks burned, and she fanned and fanned her with a turkey
wing and laughed to see Nick caper and to hear the piteous squalling
which was my way of singing.

But she complained that the dip-lights danced and that the floor behaved
in strange fashion, running like ripples on Vlaie Water in a west wind.

She had sipped but one glass of Sir William's port, but I think it was a
glass too much; for the wine made her so hot, so she vowed, that her
body was all one ardent coal, and so presently she pulled the hair-pegs
from her hair and let it down and shook it out in the firelight till it
flashed like a golden scarf flung about her.

Her pannier basque of rose silk--gift of Claudia and made in France--she
presently slipped out of, leaving her in her petticoat and folded like a
Quakeress in her crossed foulard, and her white arms as bare as her
neck.

Which innocently concerned her not a whit, nor had she any more thought
of her throat's loveliness than she had of herself in her shift that
morning at Bowman's.

She sat cooling her face with the turkey-wing fan and watching Nick's
contre-dancing--his own candle-cast shadow on the wall dancing
vis-à-vis--and she laughed and laughed, a-fanning there, like a child
delighted by the antics of two older brothers, while Nick whirled on
moccasined feet in his mad career, and I fifed windily to time his
gambolading.

Then we played country games, but she would not kiss us as forfeit,
defending her lips and vowing that no man should ever again take that
toll of her.

Which contented me, though I remonstrated; and I was glad that Nick
should not cheapen her lips though it cost me the same privilege. For we
played "Swallow! Swallow!" and I guessed correctly how many apple pips
she held in her hand when she sang:

    "Who can count the swallow's eggs?
    Try it, Master Nimble-legs!
    Climb and find a swallow's nest,
    Count the eggs beneath her breast,
    Take an egg and leave the rest
    And kiss the maid you love the best!"

But it was her hand only we might kiss, and but one finger at that--the
smallest--for, says she, "John Drogue hath said it, and I am mistress of
Summer House! What I choose to give--or forgive--is of my proper
choice.... And I do not choose to be kissed by any man whether he wears
silk puce or deer-skin shirt!"

But the devil prompted me to remember Steve Watts, and my countenance
changed.

"Do you bar regimentals?" I asked, forcing a wry smile.

She knew what was in my mind, for jealousy grinned at her out of my
every feature; and she came toward me and laid her light hand upon my
arm.

"Or red coat or blue, my lord," she said, her smile fading to a glimmer,
"men have had of me my last complaisance. Are you not content? You
taught me, sir."

"If he taught you that a kiss is folly, he taught you more folly than is
in a thousand kisses!" cries Nick. "Why," said he, turning on me, "you
pitiful, sober-faced, broad-brimmed spoil-sport!" says he, "what are
lips made for, you meddlesome ass, and be damned to you!"

Instantly we were in clinch like two bears; and we wrestled and strained
and swayed there, panting and nigh stifled with our laughter, till we
fell with a crash that shook the house and set the bottles clinking; and
there thrashed like a pair o' pups till I got his shoulders flat.

But it was nothing--he being the younger--and he leaped up and fell to
treading an Oneida battle-dance, while Penelope and I did beat upon the
table, singing:

    "Ha-wa-sa-say!
    Hah!
    Ha-wa-sa-say--"

till the door opened and there stands my Saguenay, bleary-eyed,
sleep-muddled, but his benumbed brain responsive to the thumping cadence
of the old scalp-song.

But I pushed him down stairs ere he had sniffed a lung-full of our
punch, having no mind to face a drink-mad Indian that night or any
other.

So I went below and piled the furs upon him and waited till he snored
before I left him to his hibernation.

Such childishness! Who would believe it of us that were no longer
children! And all alone there in a little house amid a vast and wintry
wilderness, where no living thing stirred abroad save the white hare's
ghost in the starlight, and the shadow of the lean, weird beast that
tracked her.

Well, if we conducted like children we were as light-minded and as
innocent. There was in our behaviour no lesser levity; in our mirth no
grossness; in our jests and stories no license of the times nor any
country coarseness in our speech.

Nor, in me, now remained aught of that sick-heart jealousy nor
sentimental disorder which lately had seized me and upset my sense and
reason.

My sentiments concerning Penelope seemed very clear to me now;--a warm
liking; a chivalrous desire for her well-being and happiness; a pride
that I had been, in some measure, the instrument which had awakened her
to her own prerogatives in a world whose laws are made by men.

And if, on such an occasion as this, she gave us her countenance and
even frolicked with us, there was a new and clearer note in her
laughter, a swifter confidence in her smile, and, in voice and look and
movement, a subtle and shy authority which had not been there in the
inexperienced and candid child whose heart seemed bewildered when
assaulted, and whose lips, undefended, rendered them to the first
marauder.

I said as much, one day, to Nick.

"You've turned the child's head," said he, "with your kingly
benefactions. You have but to woo her if you want her to wife."

"Wife!" said I, scared o' the very word. "What the devil shall I do with
a wife, who am contented as I am? Also, it is not in her mind, nor in
mine, who now are pleasant friends and comrades.... Also," I added,
"love is a disorder and begets a brood of jealousies to plague a man to
death! I am calm and contented. I am enamoured of no woman, and do not
desire to be so.... Although, when I pass thirty, and possess estates,
doubtless I shall desire an heir."

"And go a-hunting a mother for this same heir among the gilt-hats of New
York," said Nick. "Which is your destiny, John Drogue, for like seeks
like, and a yeoman is born, not made;--and wears his rings in his
ears----"

"Have done!" said I impatiently. "I _am_ of the soil! I love it! I love
plowed land and corn and the smell of stables! I love my log house and
my glebe and the smell of English grass!"

"But a servant is a servant, John Drogue, and the mistress of your roof
shall have walked in silk before she ever puts on homespun and pattens
for love of you! Lord, man! I am I, and you are you! And we mate not
with the same breed o' birds. No! For mine shall be a ground-chick of
sober hue and feather; and your sweetheart shall have bright wings and
own the air for a home.

"That is already written: 'each after its kind.' So God send you your
rainbow lady from the clouds, and give you a pretty heir in due event;
and as for me, if I guess right, my mate to be hath never fluttered
higher than her garret nor worn a shred of silk till she sews her
wedding dress!"

       *       *       *       *       *

On the last day of March maple sap ran.

Nick and I set out that day to seek a sugar-bush for the new mistress of
Summer House.

Snow was soft and our snow-shoes scarce bore us, but we floundered along
the hard woods, and presently discovered a grove of stately maples.

All that day we were busy in the barn making buckets out o' staves
stored there; and on the first day of April we waded the softening snow
to the new sugar-bush, tapped the trees, set our spouts and buckets, and
also drew thither a kettle and dry wood against future need.

I remember that the day was clear and warm, where, in the sun, the barn
doors stood open and the chickens ventured out to scratch about, where
the sun had melted the snow.

All day long our cock was a-crowing and a-courting; the south wind came
warm with spring and fluttered the wash which Penelope was hanging out
to dry and whiten under soft, blue skies.

In pattens she tripped about the slushy yard, her thick, bright hair
pegged loosely, and her child's bosom and arms as white as the snow she
stepped on.

Save only for my Saguenay, who stood on the veranda roof, resting upon
his rifle, the scene was sweet and peaceful. Sheep bleated in yard and
fold; cattle lowed in their manger; our cock's full-throated challenge
rang out under sunny skies; and everywhere the blue air was murmurous
with the voice of rills running from the melting snows like mountain
brooks.

On Vlaie Water the ice rotted awash; and already black crows were
walking there, and I could see them busily searching the dead and yellow
sedge, from where I sat hooping my sap-buckets and softly whistling to
myself.

Nick made a snowball and flung it at me, but I dodged it. Then Penelope
made another and aimed it at me so truly that the soft lump covered my
cap and shoulders with snow.

But her quick peal of laughter was checked when I sprang up to chasten
her, and she fled on her pattens, but I caught her around the corner of
the house under the lilacs.

"You should be trussed up and trounced like any child," said I, holding
her with one hand whilst I scraped out snow from my neck with t'other.

At that she bent and flung a handful of snow over me; and I seized her,
bent her back, and scrubbed her face till it was pink.

Choked with snow and laughter, we swayed together, breathless, she still
defiant and snatching up snow to fling over me.

"_You_ truss _me_ up!" she panted. "Do you think you are more than a boy
to use me as a father or a husband only has the right?"

"You little minx!" said I, when I had spat out a mouthful of snow, "is
not anyone free to trounce a child!----"

At that I slipped, or she tripped me; into a drift I went, and she
pounced on me and sat astride with a cry of triumph.

"Now," says she, "I shall take your scalp, my fine friend"; and twisted
one hand in my hair.

"Hiu-u! Kou-ee!" she cried, "a scalp taken means war to the end! Do you
cry me mercy, John Drogue?"

I struggled, but the snow was soft and I sank the deeper, and could not
unseat her.

"I drown in snow," said I. "Get up, you jade!"

"Jade!" cries she, and stopped my mouth with snow.

I struggled in vain; under her clinging weight the soft snow engulfed
and held me like a very quicksand. I looked up at her and she laughed
down at me.

"Do you yield you, John Drogue?"

"It seems I must. But wait!----"

"You threaten!"

"No! Do you mean to drown me, you vixen!"

"You engage not to seek revenge?"

"I do so."

"Why? Because you love me tenderly?"

"Yes," said I, half choked. "Let me up, you plague of Egypt!"

"That is not a loving speech, John Drogue. Do you love me or no?"

"Yes, I do,--you little,----"

"Little what?"

"Object of my heart's desire!" I fairly yelled. "I am like to smother
here!----"

"This is All Fools' Day," says she, sick with laughter to see me mad and
at her mercy. "Therefore, you must tell me lies, not truths. Tell me a
pretty lie,--quickly!--else I scrub your features!"

After a helpless heave or two I lay still.

"You say you love me tenderly. That is a lie, John Drogue--it being All
Fools' Day. So you shall vow, instead, that you hate me. Come, then!"

"I hate you!" said I, licking the snow from my lips.

"Passionately?"

I looked up at her where deep in the snow, under the lilacs, I lay, my
arms spread and her two hands pinning my wrists. She was flushed with
laughter and I saw the devils o' mischief watching me deep in her dark
eyes.

"It was under these lilacs," said I, "that I had my first hurt of you.
You should heal that hurt now."

That confused her, and she blushed and swore to punish me for that
fling; but I grinned at her.

"Come," said I, "heal me of my ancient wound as you dealt it me--with
your lips!"

"I did not kiss Steve Watts!"

"But he kissed you. So do the like by me and I forgive you all."

"All?"

"Everything."

"Even what I have now done?"

"Even that."

"And you will not truss me up to chasten me when you go free? For it
would shame me and I could not endure it."

"I promise."

She looked down at me, smiling, uncertain.

"What will you do to me if I do not?" she asked.

"Drown you in snow three times every day."

"And I needs must kiss you to buy my safety?"

"Yes, and with hearty good will, too."

She glanced hastily around, perhaps to seek an avenue for escape,
perhaps to see who might spy us.

Then, looking down at me, a-blush now, yet laughing, she bent her head
slowly, very slowly to mine, and rested her lips on mine.

Then she was up and off like a young tree-lynx, fleeing, stumbling on
her pattens; but, like a white hare, I lay very still in my form,
unstirring, gazing up into the bluest, softest sky that my dazzled eyes
ever had unclosed upon.

There was a faint fragrance in the air. It may have been arbutus--or the
trace of her lips on mine.

In my ears trilled the pretty melody of a million little snow rills
running in the sunshine. I heard the gay cock-crow from the yard, the
restless lowing of cattle, the distant caw of a crow flying high over
the Drowned Lands.

When at last I got to my feet a strange, new soberness had come over me,
stilling exhilaration, quieting the rough and boyish spirits which had
possessed me.

Penelope, hanging out linen to sweeten, looked at me over her shoulder,
plainly uncertain concerning me. But I kept my word and did not offer to
molest her, and so went about my cooper's work again, where Nick also
squatted, matching bucket staves, whilst I fell to shaping sap-pans.

It was very still there in the sunshine. And, as I sat there, it seemed
to me that I was putting more behind me than the icy and unsullied
months of winter,--and that I should never be a boy any more, with a
boy's passionless and untroubled soul.

       *       *       *       *       *

And so came spring upon us in the Northland that fateful year of '77,
with blue skies and melting snow and the cock's clarion sounding clear.

But it was mid-April before the first Forest Runner, with pelts, passed
through the Sacandaga, twelve days out from Ty, and the woods nigh
impassable, he gave account, what with soft drifts choking the hills and
all streams over their banks.

And then, for the first, we learned something concerning the great war
that was waging everywhere around our outer borders,--how His Excellency
had surprised the Hessians at Trenton, and had tricked Cornwallis and
beat up the enemy at Princeton. It was amazing to realize that His
Excellency, with only the frozen fragments of a meagre and defeated
army, had recovered all the Jerseys. But this was so, thank God; and we
wondered to hear of it.

All this the Forest Runner told us as he ate and drank in the
kitchen,--and how Lord Stirling had been made a major-general, and that
we had now enlisted four fine regiments of horse to curb DeLancy's bold
riders; and how that great Tory, John Penn, who was lately Governor of
Pennsylvania, Thomas Wharton, and Benjamin Chew, had been packed off
with other villains as prisoners into Virginia. Which pleased me,
because of all that Quaker treachery in the proprietary; and I deemed
them mean and selfish and self-righteous dogs who whined all day of
peace and brotherhood and non-resistance, and did conduct most cruelly
by night for greed and sordid gain.

Not that I liked the New Englanders the better; but, of the two,
preferred them and had rather they settled the Pennsylvania wilds than
that the sly, smug proprietaries multiplied there and nursed treason at
the breast.

Well, our Coureur-du-Bois, in his greasy leather, quills, and scarlet
braid, had other news for us less palatable.

For it seemed that we had lost two thousand men and all their artillery
when Fort Washington fell; that we had lost a hundred more men and
eleven vessels to Sir Guy Carleton on Lake Champlain; that the garrison
at Ty was a slim one and sick for the most, and the relief regiments
were so slow in filling that three New England states were drafting
their soldiery by force.

There were rumours rife concerning the summer campaign, and how the
British had a plan to behead our new United States by lopping off all
New England.

It was to be done in this manner: Guy Carleton's army was to come down
from the North through the lakes, driving Gates, descend the Hudson to
Albany and there join Clinton and his British, who were to force the
Highlands, march up the river, and so hold all the Hudson, which would
cut the head--New England--from the body of the new nation.

And to make this more certain, there was now gathering in the West an
army under Butler and Brant, to strike the Mohawk Valley, sweep through
it to Schenectady, and there come in touch with Burgoyne.

To oppose this terrible invasion from three directions we had forts on
the Hudson and a few troops; but His Excellency was engaged south of
these points and must remain there.

We had, at Ty, a skeleton army, and Gates to lead it, with which to face
Burgoyne. We had, in the Mohawk Valley, to block the west and show a
bold front to Brant and Butler, only fragments of Van Schaick's and
Livingston's Continental line, now digging breastworks at Stanwix, a
company at Johnstown, and at a crisis, our Tryon County militia, now
drilling under Herkimer.

And, save for a handful of Rangers and Oneidas, these were all we had in
Tryon to resist the hordes that were gathering to march on us from
north, west and south,--British regulars with horse, foot, and
magnificent artillery; partizans and loyalists numbering 1200; a
thousand savages in their paint; Highlanders, Canadians, Hessians; Sir
John Johnson's regiment of Royal Greens; Colonel John Butler's regiment
of Rangers; McDonald's renegades and painted Tories--God! what a
murderous horde; and all to make their common tryst here in County
Tryon!

Our grim, lank Forest Runner sprawled on the settle by the kitchen
table, smoking his bitter Indian tobacco and drinking rum and water,
well sugared; and Penelope and Nick and I sat around him to listen, and
look gravely at one another as we learned more and more of what it
seemed that Fate had in storage for us.

The hot spiced rum loosened the Runner's tongue. His name was Dick
Jessup; and he was a hard, grim man whose business, from youth--which
was peltry--had led him through perilous ways.

He told us of wild and horrid doings, where solitary settlers and lone
trappers had been murdered by Guy Carleton's outlying Iroquois, from
Quebec to Crown Point.

Scores and scores of scalps had been taken; wretched prisoners had
suffered at the Iroquois stake under tortures indescribable--the mere
mention of which made Penelope turn sickly white and set Nick gnawing
his knuckles.

But what most infuriated me was the thought that in the regiments of old
John Butler and Sir John Johnson were scores of my old neighbors who now
boasted that they were coming back to cut our throats on our own
thresholds,--coming back with a thousand savages to murder women and
children and ravage all with fire so that only a blackened desert should
remain of the valleys and the humble homes we had made and loved.

Jessup said, puffing the acrid willow smoke from his clay: "Where I lay
hidden near Oneida Lake, I saw a Seneca war party pass on the crust; and
they had fresh scalps which dripped on the snow.

"And, near Niagara, I saw Butler's Rangers manoeuvring on snow-shoes,
with drums and curly bugle-horns."

"Did you know any among them?" I asked sombrely.

"Why, yes. There was Michael Reed, kin to Henry Stoner."

"My cousin, damn him!" quoth Nick, calmly.

"He was a drummer in the Rangers of John Butler," nodded Jessup. "And I
saw Philip Helmer there in a green uniform, and Charles Cady, too, of
Fonda's Bush."

"All I ask," says Nick, "is to get these two hands on them. I demand no
weapons; I want only to feel my fingers closing on them." He sat staring
into space with the blank glare of a panther. Then, "Were they painted?"
he demanded.

"No," said Jessup, "but Simon Girty was and Newberry, too. There were a
dozen painted Tories or blue-eyed Indians,--whatever you call 'em,--and
they sat at a Seneca fire where the red post stood, and all eating
half-raw venison, guts and all----"

Penelope averted her pallid face and leaned her head on her hand.

Jessup took no notice: "They burned a prisoner that day. I was sick,
where I lay hidden, to hear his shrieks. And the British in their
cantonments could hear as plainly as I, yet nobody interfered."

"There could have been no British officer there," said Penelope, in the
ghost of a voice.

"Well, there were, then," said Jessup bluntly. Turning to me he added:
"There's a gin'rall there at Niagara, called St. Leger, and he's a
drunken son of a slut! We should not be afeard of that puffed up
bladder, and I hope he comes against us. But Butler has some smart
officers, like his son Walter, and Lieutenant Hare, and young Stephen
Watts----"

"You saw _him_ there!" exclaimed Penelope.

"Yes, I saw him in a green uniform; and, with him also, a-horse, rode
Sir John Johnson, all in red, and Walter Butler in black and green, and
his long cloak a-trail to his spurs. By God, there is a motley crew for
you--what with Brant in the saddle, in paint and buckskins and fur robe,
and shaved like any dirty Mohawk; and Hiakatoo, like a blackened devil
out o' hell, all barred with scarlet and wearing the head of a great
wolf for a cap, as well as the pelt to cover his war-paint!--and
McDonald, with his kilt and dirk, and the damned black eyes of him and
the two buck-teeth shining on his lips!--God!" he breathed; and took a
long pull at his pannikin of spiced rum.

       *       *       *       *       *

That evening Jessup left for Johnstown on his way to Albany with his
peltry; and took with him a letter which I wrote to the Commandant at
Johnstown fort.

But it was past the first of May before I had any notice taken of my
letter; and on a Sunday came an Oneida runner, bearing two letters for
me; one from the Commandant, acquainting me that it was not his
intention to garrison Fish House or Summer House, that Nick and I were
sufficient to stand watch on the Mohawk Trail and Drowned Lands and
report any movement threatening the Valley from the North, and that what
few men he had must go to Stanwix, where the fort had not yet been
completed.

The other letter was writ me from Fonda's Bush by honest John Putman:

     "Friend Jack" (says he), "this Bush is a desert indeed and all run
     off,--the Tories to Canady,--such as the Helmers, Cadys, Bowmans,
     Reeds, and the likes,--save Adam Helmer, who is of our
     complexion,--and our own people who are friends to liberty have
     fled to Johnstown excepting me,--all the women and children,--Jean
     De Silver's family, De Luysnes' people, the Salisburys, Scotts,
     Barbara Stoner, who married Conrad Reed and has gone to New York
     now; and all the Putmans save myself, who shall go presently in
     fear of the savages and Sir John.

     "Sir, it is sad to see our housen empty and our fields fallow, and
     weeds growing in plowed land. There remain no longer any cattle or
     fowls or any beasts at all, only the wild poultry of the woods come
     to the deserted doorsteps, and the red fox runs along the fence.

     "Your house stands empty as it was when you marched away. Only
     squirrels inhabit it now, and porcupines gnaw the corn-crib.

     "Well, friend Jack, this is all I have to say. I shall drive my
     oxen to Johnstown Fort tomorrow, and give this letter to the first
     runner or express.

     "I learn that you have bought the Summer House of the Commission. I
     wish you joy of it, but it seems a perilous purchase, and I fear
     that you shall soon be obliged to leave it.

     "So, wishing you health, and beholden to you for many
     kindnesses--as are we all who come from Fonda's Bush--I close, sir,
     with respect and my obedience and duty to my brave young friend who
     serves liberty that we old folk and our women and children shall
     not perish or survive as British slaves.

     "Sir, awaiting the dread onset of Sir John with that firmness which
     becomes a good American, I am,

     "Your obliged and humble servant,

     "JOHN PUTMAN.

The Oneida left in an hour for Ty.

And it was, I think, an hour later when Nick comes a-running to find me.

"A fire at Fish House," he cries, "and a dense smoke mounting to the
sky!"

I flung aside my letter, ran to the kitchen, and called Penelope.

"Pack up and be ready to leave!" said I. And, to Nick: "Saddle Kaya and
be ready to take Penelope a-horse to Mayfield block-house. Call my
Indian!"

As I belted my shirt and stood ready, my Saguenay came swiftly, trailing
his rifle.

"Come," said I, "we must learn why that smoke towers yonder to the
sky."

Penelope took me by the sleeve:

"Do nothing rash, John Drogue," she said in a breathless way.

"Get you ready for flight," said I, fixing a fresh flint. "Nick shall
run at your stirrup if it comes to that pinch----"

"But _you_!"

"Why, I am well enough; and if the Iroquois are at Fish House then I
retreat through Varick's, and so by Fonda's Bush to Mayfield Fort."

She clasped her hands.

"I do not wish to leave Summer House," she said pitifully. "What is to
happen to our sheep and cattle--and to our fowls and all our stores--and
to Summer House itself?"

"God knows," said I impatiently. "Why do you stand there idle when you
must make ready for flight!"

"I--I can not bear to have you go to Fish House--all alone----"

"I have the Yellow Leaf, and can keep clear o' trouble. Come,
Penelope!----"

"When you move toward trouble I do not desire to flee the other way,
toward safety!----"

"Pack up, Penelope!" shouted Nick, leading Kaya into the orchard, all
saddled; and fell to making up his pack on the grass.

"At Mayfield Fort!" I called across to Nick. "And if I be not there by
night, then take Penelope to Johnstown, for it means that the Iroquois
are on the Sacandaga!"

"I mark you, Jack!" he replied. I turned to the girl:

"Farewell, Penelope," I said. "You shall be safe with Nick."

"But you, John Drogue?"

"Safe in the forest, always, and the devil himself could not catch me,"
said I cheerily.

She stretched out her hand. I took it, looked at her, then kissed her
fingers. And so went away swiftly, to where our canoe lay, troubled
because of this young girl whom I had no desire to fall truly in love
with, and yet knew I had been near to it many times that spring.

I got into the canoe and took the stern paddle; my Saguenay kneeled down
in the bow; and we shot out across the Vlaie Water.

Once I turned and looked back over my shoulder; and I saw Penelope
standing there on the grass, and Nick awaiting her with Kaya.

But I did not wish to feel as I felt at that moment. I did not desire to
fall in love. No!

"Au large!" I said to my Indian, and swept the birchen craft out into
the deep and steady current.




CHAPTER XXIV

GREEN-COATS


Nothing stirred on the Drowned Lands as we drove our canoe at top speed
between tall bronzed stalks of rushes and dead water-weeds. Vlaie Water
was intensely blue and patched with golden débris of floating
stuff--shreds of cranberry vine, rotting lily pads, and the like--and in
twenty minutes we floated silently into the Spring Pool, opposite the
Stacking Ridge, where hard earth bordered both shores and where maples
and willows were now in lusty bud.

Two miles away, against Maxon's sturdy bastion, a vast quantity of smoke
was writhing upward in dark and cloudy convolutions. I could not see
Fish House--that oblong, unpainted building a story and a half in
height, with its chimneys of stone and the painted fish weather vane
swimming in the sky. But I was convinced that it was afire.

We beached our canoe and drew it under the shore-reeds, and so passed
rapidly down the right bank of the stream along the quick water, holding
our guns cocked and primed, like hunters ready for a hazard shot at
sight.

There was no snow left; all frost was out of the ground along the
Drowned Lands; and the earth was sopping wet. Everywhere frail green
spears of new grass pricked the dead and matted herbage; and in
sheltered places tiny green leaves embroidered stems and twigs; and I
saw wind-flowers, and violets both yellow and blue, and the amber shoots
of skunk cabbage growing thickly in wet places. The shadbush, too, was
in exquisite white bloom along the stream, and I remember that I saw one
tree in full flower, and a dozen bluejays sitting amid the snowy
blossoms like so many lumps of sapphire.

Now, on the mainland, a clearing showed in the sunshine; and beyond it I
saw a rail fence bounding a field still black and wet from last autumn's
plowing.

We took to the brush and bore to the right, where on firm ground a grove
of ash and butternut forested the ridge, and a sandy path ran through.

I knew this path. Sir William often used it when hunting, and his cows,
kept at Fish House when his two daughters lived there, travelled this
way to and from pasture.

Between us and the Sacandaga lay one of those grassy gulleys where, in
time of flood, back-water from the Sacandaga spread deep.

My Indian and I now lay down and drew our bodies very stealthily toward
the woods' edge, where the setback from the river divided us from Fish
House.

Ahead of us, through the trees, dense volumes of smoke crowded upward
and unfolded into strange, cloudy shapes, and we could hear a loud and
steady crackling noise made by feeding flames.

Presently, through the trees, I saw Fish House all afire, and now only a
glowing skeleton in the sunshine. But the dense smoke came not now from
Fish House, but from three barracks of marsh-hay burning, which vomited
thick smoke into the sky. Near the house some tall piles of hewn logs
were blazing, also a corn-crib, a small barn, and a log farmhouse, where
I think that damned rascal, Wormwood, once lived. And it had been bought
by a tenant of Sir William,--one of the patriot Shews or Helmers, if I
mistake not, who was given favourable advantages to undertake such a
settlement, but now had fled to Johnstown.

Godfrey Shew's own house, just over the knoll to the eastward, was also
on fire: I could see the flames from it and a thin brownish smoke which
belched out black cinders and shreds of charred bark.

I did not see a living creature near these fires, but farther toward the
east clearing I heard voices and the sound of picks and axes; and my
Saguenay and I crept thither along the bank of the flooded hollow.

Very soon I perceived the new earthwork and log-stockade made the
previous summer by our Continentals; and there, to my astonishment, I
saw a motley company of white men and Indians, who were chopping down
the timbers of the palisades, levelling the earthwork with pick and
shovel.

So near were they across the flooded hollow that I recognized Elias
Beacraft, brother to Benjy, who had gone off with McDonald. Also, I saw
and knew Captain James Hare, brother to Lieutenant Henry Hare, of
Butler's regiment; and Henry, also, was there; and Captain Nellis, of
the forester service. Both the Hares and Nellis were dressed in green
uniforms, and there were two other green-coats whom I knew not, but all
busy with their work of destruction, and their axes flashing in the
sunshine.

The others I had, of course, taken for very savages, for they were
feathered and painted and wore Indian dress; but when one of these came
down to the flooded hollow to fill his tin cup and drink, to my horror I
saw that the eyes in that hideously-painted face were a _light blue_!

"Nai! Yengese!" whispered the Yellow Leaf.

The painted Tory was not ten yards from where we lay, and, as I gazed
intently at those hideously daubed features, all at once I knew the man.

For this horrid and grotesque figure, all besmeared with ochre and
indigo, and wearing Indian dress, was none other than an old neighbour
of mine in Tryon County, one George Cuck, who lived near Jan Zuyler and
his two buxom daughters, and who had gone off with Sir John last May.

As I stared at him in ever-rising astonishment and rage, comes another
_blue-eyed Indian_--Barney Cane,--wearing Iroquois paint and feathers,
and all gaudy in his beaded war-dress. And, at his belt, I saw a fresh
scalp hanging by its hair,--_the light brown hair of a white man_!

I could hear Cane speaking with Cuck in English. Beacraft came down to
the water; and Billy Newberry[22] and Hare[22] also came down, both
wearing the uniform of the forester service. And I was astounded to see
Henry Hare back again after his narrow escape at Summer House last
autumn, the night I got my hurt.

[Footnote 22: This same man, William Newberry, a sergeant in Butler's
regiment; and Henry Hare, lieutenant in the same regiment, were caught
inside the American lines, court-martialed, convicted of unspeakable
cruelties, and Were hung as spies by order of General Clinton, July 6th,
1779.]

But he wore no Valley militia disguise now; all these men were in
green-coats, openly flaunting the enemy uniform in County Tryon,--save
only those painted beasts Cuck and Cane.

It was a war party, and it had accomplished a clean job at Fish House;
and now they all were coming down to the flooded hollow and looking
across it where lay the short route west to Summer House.

Presently I heard a great splashing to our left, and saw a skiff and two
green-coats and two Mohawk Indians in it pulling across the back-water.

And these latter were real Mohawks, stripped, oiled, their heads shaved,
and in their battle-paint, who squatted there in the skiff, scanning
with glowing eyes the bank where my Saguenay and I lay concealed.

It was perfectly plain, now, what they meant to do. Beacraft, Cane, and
Cuck went back to the ruined redoubt, and presently returned loaded with
packs. Baggage and rifles were laid in the skiff.

I touched Yellow Leaf on the arm, and we wriggled backward out of sight.
Then, rising, we turned and pulled foot for our canoe.

Now my chiefest anxiety was whether Penelope and Nick had got clean away
and were already well on the road to the Mayfield Block House.

We found our canoe where we had hid it, and we made the still water boil
with our two paddles, so that, although it seemed an age to me, we came
very swiftly to our landing at Summer House Point.

Here we sprang out, seized the canoe, ran with it up the grassy slope,
then continued over the uncut lawn and down the western slope, where
again we launched it and let it swing on the water, held anchored by its
nose on shore.

House, barn, orchard, all were deathly still there in the brilliant
sunshine; I ran to the manger and found it empty of cattle. There were
no fowls to be seen or heard, either. Then I hastened to the sheep-fold.
That, also, was empty.

Perplexed, I ran down to the gates, found them open, and, in the mud of
the Johnstown Road, discovered sheep and cattle tracks, the imprint of
Kaya's sharp-shod hoofs, a waggon mark, and the plain imprint of Nick's
moccasins.

So it was clear enough what he and Penelope had done. A terrible anxiety
seized me, and I wondered how far they had got on the way to Mayfield,
with cattle and sheep to drive ahead of a loaded waggon and one horse.

And now, more than ever, it was certain that my Indian and I must make a
desperate stand here to hold back these marauders until our people were
safe in Mayfield without a shadow of doubt.

The Saguenay had gone to the veranda roof with his rifle, where he could
see any movement by land or water.

I called up to him that the destructives might come by both routes; then
I went to my room, gathered all the lead bars and bags of bullets,
seized our powder keg, and dragged all down to the water, where I stored
everything in the canoe.

That was all I could take, save a sack of ground corn mixed with maple
sugar, a flask of rum, and a bag of dry meat.

These articles, with our fur robes and blankets, a fish-spear, and a
spontoon which I discovered, were all I dared attempt to save.

I stood in the pretty house, gazing desperately about me, sad to leave
this place to flames, furious to realize that this little lodge must
perish, which once was endeared to me because Sir William loved it, and
now had become doubly dear because I had given it to a young girl whom I
loved--and tenderly--yet desired not to become enamoured with.

Sunshine fell through the glazed windows, where chintz curtains stirred
in the wind.

I looked around at the Windsor chairs, the table where we had supped
together so often. I went into Penelope's room and looked at her maple
bed, so white and fresh.

There was a skein of wool yarn on the table. I took it; gazed at it with
new and strange emotions a-fiddling at my throat and twitching eyes and
lips; and placed it in the breast of my hunting shirt.

Then I listened; but my Indian overhead remained silent. So I went on
through the house, and then down to the kitchen, where I saw all sweetly
in order, and pan and china bright; and soupaan still simmering where
Penelope had left it.

There was a bowl of milk there, and the cream thick on it. And she had
set a dozen red apples handy, with flour and spices and a crock of lard
for to fashion a pie, I think.

Slowly I went up stairs and then out the kitchen door, across the grass.
The Saguenay saw me from above and made a sign that all was still quiet
on the Drowned Lands.

So I went to the manger again, and thence to the barn and around the
house.

The lilacs had bursted their buds, and I could see tiny bunches pushing
out on every naked stem where the fragrant, grape-like bunches of bloom
should hang in May.

Then I looked down, and remembered where I had lain in the snow under
these same lilacs, and how there Penelope had bullied me and then
consented to kiss me on the mouth.... And, as I was thinking sadly of
these things,--bang! went my Indian's rifle from the veranda roof.

I sprang out upon the west lawn and saw the powder cloud drifting over
the house, and my Indian, sheltered by the roof, reloading his piece on
one knee.

"By water!" he called out softly, when he saw me.

At that I ran into the house by the front door, which faced south;
closed and bolted the four heavy green shutters in the two rooms on the
ground floor, barred the south door and the west, or kitchen door below;
and sprang up the ladder to the low loft chamber, from whence, stooping,
I crept out of the south-gable window upon the veranda.

This piazza promenade was nearly as high as the eaves. The gable ends of
the roof, in which were windows, faced north and south, but the
promenade ran all around the east end and sides, which, supported by
columns, afforded a fine rifle-platform for defense against a water
attack, and gave us a wide view out over the mysterious Drowned Lands.

It was a vast panorama that lay around us--a great misty amphitheatre
more than a hundred miles in circumference. At our feet lay that immense
marsh of fifteen thousand acres, called the Great Vlaie; mountains
walled the Drowned Lands north, east, west; and to the south stretched a
wilderness of pine and spectral tamaracks.

Lying flat on the roof, and peering cautiously between the spindles of
the railing, I saw, below on the Vlaie Water, the same skiff I had seen
at Fish House.

In the heavy skiff, the gunwales of which were barricaded with their
military packs, lay six green-coats,--Captains Hare and Nellis, Sergeant
Newberry, Beacraft, and two strangers in private's uniform.

They had a white flag set in the prow.

But the two blue-eyed Indians, Barney Cane and George Cuck, were not
with them, nor were the two Mohawks. And in a whisper I bade my Saguenay
go around to the south gable and keep his eye on the gate and the
Johnstown Road on the mainland.

Hare took the white flag from the prow and waved it, the two rowers
continuing up creek and heading toward our landing.

Then I called out to them to halt and back water; and, as they paid no
heed, I fired at their white flag, and knocked the staff and rag out of
Hare's hand without wounding him.

At that two or three cried out angrily, but their rowers ceased and
began to back water hastily; and I, reloading, kept an eye on them.

Then Hare stood up in the skiff and bawled through his hollowed hand:

"Will you parley? Or do you wish to violate a flag?"

"Keep your interval, Henry Hare!" I retorted. "If you have anything to
say, say it from where you are or I'll drill you clean!"

"Is that John Drogue, the Brent-Meester?" he shouted.

"None other," said I. "What brings you to Summer House in such fair
weather, Harry Hare?"

"I wish to land and parley," he replied. "You may blindfold me if you
like."

"When I put out your lights," said I, "it will be a quicker job than
that. What do you wish to do--count our garrison?"

Captain Nellis got up from his seat and replied that he knew how many
people occupied Summer House, and that, desiring to prevent the useless
effusion of blood, he demanded our surrender under promise of kind
treatment.

I laughed at him. "No," said I, "my hair suits my head and I like it
there rather than swinging all red and wet at the girdle of your
blue-eyed Indians."

As I spoke I saw Newberry and Beacraft bring the butts of their rifles
to their shoulders, and I shrank aside as their pieces cracked out
sharply across the water.

Splinters flew from the painted column on the corner of the house; the
green-coats all fell flat in their skiff and lay snug there, hidden by
their packs.

Presently, as I watched, I saw an oar poked out.

Very cautiously somebody was sculling the skiff down stream and across
in the direction of the reeds.

As the craft turned to enter the marsh, I had a fleeting view of the
sculler--only his head and arm--and saw it was Eli Beacraft.

I was perfectly cool when I fired on him. He let go his oar and fell
flat on the bottom of the boat. The echo of my shot died away in
wavering cadences among the shoreward woods; an intense stillness
possessed the place.

Then, of a sudden, Beacraft fell to kicking his legs and screeching, and
so flopped about in the bottom of the boat, like a stranded fish all
over blood.

The boat nosed in between the marsh-grasses and tall sedge, and I could
not see it clearly any more.

But the green-coats in it were no sooner hid than they began firing at
Summer House, and the storm of lead ripped and splintered the gallery
and eaves, tore off shingles, shattered chimney bricks, and rang out
loud on the iron hinges of door and shutter.

I fired a few shots into their rifle-smoke, then lay watching and
waiting, and listening ever for the loud explosion of my Indian's piece,
which would mean that the painted Tories and the Mohawks were stealing
upon us from the mainland.

Every twenty minutes or so the men in the batteau-skiff let off a rifle
shot at Summer House, and the powder-cloud rising among the dead weeds,
pinxters, and button-ball bushes, discovered the location of their
craft.

Sometimes, as I say, I took a shot at the smoke; but time was the
essence of my contract, and God knows it contented me to stand siege
whilst Penelope and Nick, with waggon and cattle, were plodding westward
toward Mayfield.

       *       *       *       *       *

About four o'clock in the afternoon I was hungry and went to get me a
piece in the pantry.

Then I took Yellow Leaf's place whilst he descended to appease his
hunger.

We ate our bread and meat together on the roof, our rifles lying cocked
across our knees.

"Brother," said I, munching away, "if, indeed, you be, as they say, a
tree-eater, and live on bark and buds when there is no game to kill,
then I think your stomach suffers nothing by such diet, for I want no
better comrade in a pinch, and shall always be ready to bear witness to
your bravery and fidelity."

He continued to eat in silence, scraping away at his hot soupaan with a
pewter spoon. After he had licked both spoon and pannikin as clean as a
cat licks a saucer, he pulled a piece of jerked deer meat in two and
gravely chewed the morsel, his small, brilliant eyes ever roving from
the water to the mainland.

Presently, without looking at me, he said quietly:

"When I was only a poor hunter of the Montagnais, I said to myself, 'I
am a man, yet hardly one.'[23] I learned that a Saguenay was a real man
when my brother told me.

[Footnote 23: Kon-kwe-ha. Literally, "I am a little of a real man."]

"My brother cleared my eyes and wiped away the ancient mist of tears. I
looked; and lo! I found that I was a real man. I was made like other men
and not like a beast to be kicked at and stoned and driven with sticks
flung at me in the forest."

"The Yellow Leaf is a warrior," I said. "The Oneida Anowara[24] bear
witness to scalps taken in battle by the Yellow Leaf. Tahioni, the Wolf,
took no more."

[Footnote 24: "Tortoise," or Noble Clan.]

"Ni-ha-ron-ta-kowa,"[25] said the Saguenay proudly, "onkwe honwe![26]
Yet it was my _white_ brother who cleared my eyes of mist. Therefore,
let him give me a new name--a warrior's name--meaning that my vision is
now clear."

[Footnote 25: He is an Oneida.]

[Footnote 26: "A real man," in Canienga dialect. The Saguenay's Iroquois
is mixed and imperfect.]

"Very well," said I, "your war name shall be Sak-yen-haton!"[27]--which
was as good Iroquois as I could pronounce, and good enough for the
Montagnais to comprehend, it seemed, for a gleam shot from his eyes, and
I heard him say to himself in a low voice: "Haiah-ya! I am a real
warrior now!... Onenh! at last!"

[Footnote 27: "Disappearing Mist"--Sakayen-gwaration.]

A shot came from the water; he looked around contemptuously and smiled.

"My elder brother," said he, "shall we two strip and set our knives
between our teeth, and swim out to scalp those muskrats yonder?"

"And if they fire at us in the water?" said I, amused at his mad
courage, who had once been "hardly a man."

"Then we dive like Tchurako, the mink, and swim beneath the water, as
swims old 'long face' the great wolf-pike![28] Shall we rush upon them
thus, O my elder brother?"

[Footnote 28: Che-go-sis--pickerel. In the Oneida dialect, Ska-ka-lux or
_Bad-eye_.]

Absurd as it was, the wild idea began to inflame me, and I was seriously
considering our chances at twilight to accomplish such a business, when,
of a sudden, I saw on the mainland an officer of the Indian Department,
who bore a white rag on the point of his hanger and waved it toward the
house.

He came across the Johnstown Road to our gate, but made no motion to
open it, and stood there slowly waving his white flag and waiting to be
noticed and hailed.

"Keep your rifle on that man," I whispered to my Indian, "for I shall go
down to the orchard and learn what are the true intentions of these
green-coats and blue-eyed Indians. Find a rest for your piece, hold
steadily, and kill that flag if I am fired on."

I saw him stretch out flat on his belly and rest his rifle on the
veranda rail. Then I crawled into the garret, descended through the
darkened house, and, unbolting the door, went out and down across the
grass to the orchard.

"What is your errand?" I called out, "you flag there outside our gate?"

"Is that you, John Drogue?" came a familiar voice.

I took a long look at him from behind my apple tree, and saw it was Jock
Campbell, one of Sir John's Highland brood and late a subaltern in the
Royal Provincials.

And that he should come here in a green coat with these murderous
vagabonds incensed me.

"What do you want, Jock Campbell!" I demanded, controlling my temper.

"I want a word with you under a flag!"

"Say what you have to say, but keep outside that gate!" I retorted.

"John Drogue," says he, "we came here to burn Summer House, and mean to
do it. We know how many you have to defend the place----"

"Oh, do you know that? Then tell me, Jock, if you truly possess the
information."

"Very well," said he calmly. "You are two white men, a Montagnais dog,
and a girl. And pray tell me, sir, how long do you think you can hold us
off?"

"Well," said I, "if you are as thrifty with your skins as you have been
all day, then we should keep this place a week or two against you."

"What folly!" he exclaimed hotly. "Do you think to prevail against us?"

"Why, I don't know, Jock. Ask Beacraft yonder, who hath a bullet in his
belly. He's wiser than he was and should offer you good counsel."

"I offer you safe conduct if you march out at once!" he shouted.

"I offer you one of Beacraft's pills if you do not instantly about face
and march into the bush yonder!" I replied.

At that he dashed the flag upon the road and shook his naked sword at
me.

"Your blood be on your heads!" he bawled. "I can not hold my Indians if
you defy them longer!"

"Well, then, Jock," said I, "I'll hold 'em for you, never fear!"

He strode to the fence and grasped it.

"Will you march out? Shame on you, Stormont, who are seduced by this
Yankee rabble o' rebels when your place is with Sir John and with the
loyal gentlemen of Tryon!

"For the last time, then, will you parley and march out? Or shall I give
you and your Caughnawaga wench to my Indians?"

I walked out from behind my tree and drew near the fence, where he was
standing, his sword hanging from one wrist by the leather knot.

"Jock Campbell," said I, "you are a great villain. Do you lay aside your
hanger and your pistols, and I will set my rifle here, and we shall soon
see what your bragging words are worth."

At that he drove his sword into the earth, but, as I set my rifle
against a tree, he lifted his pistol and fired at me, and I felt the
wind of the bullet on my right cheek.

Then he snatched his sword and was already vaulting the gate, when my
Saguenay's bullet caught him in mid-air, and he fell across the top rail
and slid down on the muddy road outside.

Then, for the first time, I saw the two real Mohawks where they lay in
ambush in the bush. One of them had risen to a kneeling position, and I
saw the red flash of his piece and saw the smoke blot out the
tree-trunk.

For a second I held my fire; then saw them both on the ground under the
alders across the road, and fired very carefully at the nearest one.

He dropped his gun and let out a startling screech, tried to get up off
the ground, screeching all the while; then lay scrabbling on the dead
leaves.

I stepped behind an apple tree, primed and reloaded in desperate haste,
and presently drew the fire of the other Indian with my cap on my
ramrod.

Then, as I ran to the gate, my Saguenay rushed by me, leaping the fence
at a great bound, and I saw his up-flung hatchet sparkle, and heard it
crash through bone.

I shouted for him to come back, but when he obeyed he had two Mohawk
scalps,[29] and came reluctantly, glancing down at Campbell where he lay
still breathing on the muddy road, and darting an uncertain glance at
me.

[Footnote 29: In October, 1919, the author talked to a farmer and his
son, who, a few days previously, while digging sand to mend the
Johnstown road at this point, had disinterred two skeletons which had
been buried there. From the shape of the skulls, it is presumed that the
remains were Indian.]

But I told him with an oath that it would be an insult to me if he
touched a white man's hair in my presence; and he opened the gate and
came inside like a great, sullen dog from whom I had snatched a bone of
his own digging.

Very cautiously we retreated through the orchard to the house, entered,
and climbed again to the roof.

And from there we saw that, in our absence, the boat had been rowed to
our landing, and that its occupants were now somewhere on the mainland,
doubtless preparing to assault the place as soon as dusk offered them
sufficient cover.

Well, the game was nearly up now. Our people should have arrived by this
time at Mayfield with sheep, cattle, and waggon. We had remained here to
the limit of safety, and there was no hope of aid in time to save our
skins or this house from destruction.

The sun was low over the forest when, at length, we crept out of the
house and stole down to our canoe.

We made no sound when we embarked, and our craft glided away under the
rushes, driven by cautiously-dipped paddles which left only silent
little swirls on the dark and glassy stream.

Up Mayfield Creek we turned, which, above, is not fair canoe-water save
at flood; but now the spring melting filled it brimfull, and a heavy
current set into Vlaie Water so that there was labour ahead for us; and
we bent to it as dusk fell over the Drowned Lands.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was not yet full dark when, over my shoulder, I saw a faint rose
light in the north. And I knew that Summer House was on fire.

Then, swiftly the rosy light grew to a red glow, and, as we watched, a
great conflagration flared in the darkness, mounting higher, burning
redder, fiercer, till, around us, vague smouldering shadows moved, and
the water was touched with ashy glimmerings.

Summer House was all afire, and the infernal light touched us even here,
painting our features and the paddle-blades, and staining the dark water
with a prophecy of blood.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a long and irksome paddle, what with floating trees we
encountered and the stream over its banks and washing us into sedge and
brush and rafts of weed in the darkness. Again and again, checked by
some high dam of drifted windfall, we were forced to make a swampy
carry, waist high through bog and water.

Often, so, we were forced to rest; and we sat silent, panting,
skin-soaked in the chilly night air, gazing at the distant fire, which,
though now miles away, seemed so near. And I could even see trees black
against the blaze, and smoke rolling turbulently, and a great whirl of
sparks mounting skyward.

It was long past midnight when I hailed the picket at the grist-mill and
drove our canoe shoreward into the light of a lifted lantern.

"Is Nick Stoner in?" I called out.

"All safe!" replied somebody on shore.

A dark figure came down to the water and took hold of our bow to steady
us.

"Summer House and Fish House are burned," said I, climbing out stiffly.

"Aye," said the soldier, "and what of Fonda's Bush, Mr. Drogue?"

"What!" I exclaimed, startled.

"Look yonder," said he.

I scarce know how I managed to stumble up the bushy bank. And then, when
I came out on level land near the block house, I saw fire to the
southeast, and the sky crimson above the forest.

"My God!" I stammered, "Fonda's Bush is all afire!"

There was a red light toward Frenchman's Creek, too, but where Fonda's
Bush should lie a vast sea of fire rose and ebbed and waxed and faded
above the forest.

"Were any people left there?" I asked.

"None, sir."

"Thank God," I said. But my heart was desolate, for now my house of logs
that I had builded and loved was gone; my glebe destroyed; all my toil
come to naught in the distant mockery of those shaking flames. All I had
in the world was gone save for my slender funds in Albany.

"Where are my friends?" said I to a soldier.

"At the Block House, sir, and very anxious concerning you. They have not
long been in, but Nick Stoner is all for going back to Summer House to
discover your whereabouts, and has been beating up recruits for a flying
scout."

Even as he spoke, I saw Nick come up the road with a torch, and called
out to him.

"Where have you been, John Drogue?" said he, coming to me and laying a
hand on my shoulder.

"Is Penelope safe?" I asked.

"She is as safe as are any here in Mayfield. Is it Summer House that
burns in the north, or only the marsh hay?"

"The whole place is afire," said I. "A dozen green-coats, blue-eyed
Indians, and two real ones, burnt Fish House and attacked us at Summer
House. I saw and knew Jock Campbell, Henry Hare, Billy Newberry, Barney
Cane, Eli Beacraft, and George Cuck. My Saguenay mortally wounded Jock.
He's lying on the road. He tomahawked a Canienga, too, and took his
scalp and another's."

"Did _you_ mark any of the dirty crew?" demanded Nick.

"I shot Beacraft and one Mohawk. How many are we at the Block House?"

"A full company to hold it safe," said he, gloomily. "Do you know that
Fonda's Bush is burning?"

"Yes."

After a silence I said: "Who commands here? I think we ought to move
toward Johnstown this night. I don't know how many green-coats have come
to the Sacandaga, but it must have been another detachment that is
burning Fonda's Bush."

As I spoke a Continental Captain followed by a Lieutenant came up in the
torch-light; and I gave him his salute and rendered an account of what
had happened on the Drowned Lands.

He seemed deeply disturbed but told me he had orders to defend the
Mayfield Fort. He added, however, that if I must report at Johnstown he
would give me a squad of musket-men as escort thither.

"Yes, sir," said I, "my report should not be delayed. But I have Nick
Stoner and an Indian, and apprehend no danger. So if I may beg a dish of
porridge for my little company, and dry my clothing by your block-house
fire-place, I shall set out within the hour."

He was very civil,--a tall, haggard, careworn man, whose wife and
children lived at Torloch, and their undefended situation caused him
deep anxiety.

So I walked to the Fort, Nick and my Indian following; and presently saw
Penelope on the rifle-platform of the stockade, among the soldiers.

She was gazing at the fiery sky in the north when I caught sight of her
and called her name.

For a moment she bent swiftly down over the pickets as though to pierce
the dark where my voice came from; then she turned, and was descending
the ladder when I entered by the postern.

As I came up she took my shoulders between both hands, but said nothing,
and I saw she had trouble to speak.

"Yes," said I, "there is bad news for you. Your pretty Summer House is
no more, Penelope."

"Oh," she stammered, "did you--did you suppose it was the loss of a
house that has driven me out o' my five senses?"

"Are your sheep and cattle safe?" I asked in sudden alarm.

"My God," she breathed, and stood with her face in both hands, there at
the foot of the ladder under the April stars.

"What is it frightens you?" I asked.

Her hands fell to her side and she looked at me: "Nothing, sir....
Unless it be myself," she said calmly. "Your clothing is wet and you are
shivering. Will you come into the fort?"

We went in. I remembered how I had seen her there that night, nearly a
year ago, and all the soldiers gathered around to entertain her, whilst
she supped on porridge and smiled upon them over her yellow bowl's edge,
like a very child.

The few soldiers inside rose respectfully. A sergeant drew a settle to
the blazing fire; a soldier brought us soupaan and a gill of rum. Nick
came in with the Saguenay, and they both squatted down in their blankets
before the fire, grave as a pair o' cats; and there they ate their fill
of porridge at our feet, and blinked at the blaze and smoked their clays
in silence.

I told Penelope that we must travel this night to Johnstown, it being my
duty to give an account of what had happened, without delay.

"There can be no danger to us on the road," said I, "but the thought of
leaving you here in this fort disturbs me."

"What would I do here alone?" she asked.

"What will you do alone in Johnstown?" I inquired in turn.

At the same time I realized that we both were utterly homeless; and that
in Johnstown our shelter must be a tavern, or, if danger threatened, the
fortified jail called Johnstown Fort.

"You will not abandon me, will you, sir?" she asked, touching my sleeve
with the pretty confidence of a child.

"Why, no," said I. "We can lodge at Jimmy Burke's Tavern. And there is
Nick to give us countenance--and a most respectable Indian."

"Is it scandalous for me to go thither in your company?"

"What else is there for us to do?"

"I should go to Albany," said she, "as soon as may be. And I am resolved
to do so and to seek out Mr. Fonda and disembarrass you of any further
care for me."

"It is no burden," said I; "but I do not know where I shall be sent, now
that the war is come to Tryon County. And--I can not bear to think of
you alone and unprotected, living the miserable life of a refugee in the
women's quarters at Johnstown Fort."

"Does solicitude for my welfare truly occupy your thoughts, sir?"

"Why, yes, and naturally. Are we not close friends and comrades in
misfortune, Penelope?"

"I counted it no misfortune to live at Summer House."

"No, nor I.... I was very happy there.... Alas for your pretty
cottage!--poor little châtelaine of Summer House!"

"John Drogue?"

"I hear you."

"Did you suppose I ever meant to take that gift of you?"

"Why--why, yes! I gave it! Even now I have the deed to the land and
shall convey it to you. And one day, God willing, a new cottage shall be
built----"

"Then you must build it, John Drogue, for the land is yours and I never
meant to take it of you, and never shall.... And I thank you,--and am
deeply beholden--and touched in my heart's deep depths--that you have
offered this to me.... Because you desired me to be respectable, and
well considered by men.... And you wished me to possess substance which
I lacked--so that none could dare use me lightly and without
consideration.... And I promise you that I have learned my lesson. You
have schooled me well, Mr. Drogue.... And if for no other reason save
respect for you, and gratitude, I promise you I shall so conduct
hereafter that you shall have no reason to think contemptuously of me."

"I never held you in contempt."

"Yes; when I stole your horse; and when you deemed me easy--and proved
me so----"

"I meant it not that way!" said I, reddening.

"Yet it was so, John Drogue. I was not difficult. I meant no harm, but
had not sense enough to know harm when it approached me!... And so I
thank you for schooling me. But I never could have taken any gift from
you."

After a silence I rose and went into the officer's quarters.

The Continental Captain was lying on his trundle-bed, but got up and
sent two men to harness Kaya to our waggon.

I told him I should leave all stores and provisions with him, and asked
if he would look after our sheep and cattle and fowls until they could
be fetched to Johnstown and cared for there.

He was a most kindly man, and promised to care for our creatures, saying
that the eggs and milk would be welcome to his garrison, and that if he
took a lamb or two he would pay for it on demand.

So when our waggon drove up in the darkness outside, he came and took
leave of us all very kindly, saying he hoped that Penelope would be safe
in Johnstown, and that the raiders would soon be driven out of the
Sacandaga.

I gave him our canoe, for which he seemed grateful.

Then I helped Penelope into the waggon, got in myself and took the
reins. Nick and the Saguenay vaulted into the box and lay down on our
pile of furs and blankets.

And so we drove out of the stockade and onto the Johnstown Road,
Penelope in a wolf-robe beside me, and both her hands clasped around my
left arm.

"Are you a-chill?" I asked.

"I do not know what ails me," she murmured, "but--the world is so vast
and dark.... and God is so far--so far----"

"You are unhappy."

"No."

"You grieve for somebody?"

"No, I do not grieve."

"Are you lonesome?"

"I do not know if I am.... I do not know why I tremble so.... The world
is so dark and vast.... I am so small a thing to be alone in it.... It
is the war, perhaps, that awes me. It seems so near now. Alas for the
battles to be fought!--the battles in the North.... Where you shall be,
John Drogue."

"You said that once before."

"Yes. I saw you there against a cannon's rising cloud.... And a white
shape near you."

"You said it was Death," I reminded her.

"Death or a bride.... I did not wish to see that vision. I never desire
to see such things."

"Pooh! Do you really believe in dreams, Penelope?"

"There were strange uniforms there," she murmured, "--not red-coats."

"Oh; green-coats!"

"No. I never saw the like. I never saw such soldiery in England or in
France or in America."

"They were only dream soldiers," said I gaily. "So now you must laugh a
little, and take heart, Penelope, because if we two have been made
homeless this night by fire, still we are young, and in health, and have
all life before us. Come, then! Shall we be melancholy? And if there are
to be battles in the North, why, there will be battles, and some must
die and some survive.

"So, in the meanwhile, shall we be merry?"

"If you wish, sir."

"Excellent! Sing me a pretty French song--low voiced--in my ear,
Penelope, whilst I guide my horse."

"What song, sir?"

"What you will."

So, holding my arm with both her hands, she leaned close to me on the
jolting seat and placed her lips at my ear; and sang "Malbrook," as we
drove toward Johnstown through the dark forest under the April stars.

Something hot touched my cheek.

"Why, Penelope!" said I, "are you weeping?"

She shook her head, rested her forehead a moment against my shoulder,
and, sitting so, strove to continue--

    "Il ne--ne reviendra--"

Her voice sank to a tremulous whisper and she bowed her face in her two
hands and rested so in silence, her slender form swaying with the
swaying waggon.

It was plain to me that the child was afeard. The shock of flight, the
lurid tokens of catastrophe in the heavens, the alarming rumours in
those darkening hours, anxiety, suspense, all had contributed to shake a
heart both gentle and courageous.

For in the thickening gloom around us a very murk of murder seemed to
brood over this dark and threatened land, seeming to grow more sinister
and more imminent as the fading crimson in the northern heavens paled to
a sickly hue in the first faint pallor of the coming dawn.




CHAPTER XXV

BURKE'S TAVERN


Now, whether it was the wetting I got on Mayfield Creek and the chill I
took on the long night's journey to Johnstown, or if my thigh-wound
became inflamed from that day's exertion at Fish House, Summer House,
and Mayfield, I do not know for certain.

But when at sunrise we drove up to Jimmy Burke's Tavern in Johnstown, I
discovered that I could not move my right leg; and, to my mortification,
Nick and my Indian were forced to make a swinging chair of their linked
hands, and carry me into the tavern, Penelope following forlornly, her
arms full of furs and blankets.

Here was a pretty dish! But try as I might I could not set my foot to
the ground; so they laid me upon a bed and stripped me, and my Saguenay
wrapped my leg in hot blankets and laid furs over me, till I was wet
with sweat to the hair.

Presently comes Jimmy Burke himself--that lively, lovable scamp, to whom
all were friendly; for he was both kind and gay, though a great
braggart, and few believed that he had any stomach for the deeds he said
he meant to do in battle.

"Faith," says he, "it's Misther Drogue, God bless him, an' in a sad
plight along o' the bloody Sacandaga Tories! Wisha then, sorr, had I
been there it's me would ha' trimmed the hair o' them!"

"Are you well, Jimmy?" I inquired, smiling, spite my pain.

"Am I well? I am that! I was never fitter f'r to fight thim dirty green
coats of Sir John's. Och--the poor lad! Lave me fetch a hot brick----"

"I'm lame as a one-legged duck, Jimmy," said I. "Send word to the Fort
that I've an account to render, and beg the Commandant to overlook my
tardiness until I can be carried thither on a litter."

"And th' yoong leddy, sorr? Will she bait here?"

"Yes; where is she?"

"She lies on a wolf-skin on the bed in the next chamber, foreninst the
wall, sorr. There's tears on her purty face, but I think she sleeps, f'r
all that. Is she hurted, too, Misther Drogue?"

"Oh, no. When she wakes send a maid-servant to care for her. Find a
loft-bed for my Indian and give him no rum--mind that, James Burke!--or
we quarrel."

"Th' red divil gets no sup in my shabeen!" said he. "Do I lave him gorge
or no?"

"Certainly. Let him stuff himself. And let no man use him with contempt.
He is faithful and brave. He is my _friend._ Do you mark me, Jimmy?"

"I do, sorr. And Nick Stoner--that long-legged limb of Satan!--av he
plays anny thricks on Jimmy Burke may God help him--the poor little
scut!----"

I had some faint recollection of pranks played upon Burke by Nick in
this same tavern; but what he had done to Jimmy I did not remember, save
that it had set Sir William and the town all a-laughing.

"Nick is a good lad and my friend," said I. "Use him kindly. Your wit is
a match for his, anyway, and so are your fists."

"Is it so!" muttered Burke, casting a smouldering side-look at me. "D'ye
mind what he done three year come Shrove Tuesday? The day I gave out I
was a better man than Sir William's new blacksmith? Well, then--av ye
disremember--that scut of a Nick shtole me breeches, an' he put them on
a billy-goat, an' tuk him to the tap-room where was company. An',
'Here,' says he, 'is a better Irishman than you, Jimmy Burke!--an' a
better fighter, too.' An' wid that the damned goat rares up an' butts me
over; an' up I gets an' he butts me over, an' up an' down I go, an' the
five wits clean knocked out o' me, an' the company an' Sir William all
yelling like loons an' laying odds on the goat----"

I lay there convulsed with laughter, remembering now this prank of the
most mischievous boy I ever knew.

Burke licked his lips grimly at the memory of that ancient wrong.

"Sure, he's th' bould wan f'r to come into me house wid the score
unreckoned an' all that balance agin' him."

"Touch pewter with him and forgive the lad," said I. "These are sterner
days, Jimmy, and we should cherish no private malice here where we may
be put to it to stand siege."

"Is it thrue, sor, that the destructives are on the Sacandaga?"

"Yes, it is true. Fish House, Summer House, and Fonda's Bush are in
ashes, Jimmy, and your late friend, Sir John, is at Buck Island with a
thousand Indians, regulars, and Tories, and like to pay us a call before
planting time."

"Oh, my God," says Burke, "the divil take Sir John an' the black heart
of him av he comes back here to murther his old neighbors! Sorra the day
we let him scape!--him an' Alex White, an' Toby Tice an' moody Wally
Butler,--an' ould John, an' Indian Claus, an' Black Guy!--may the divil
take the whole Tory ruck o' them!----"

He checked himself; behind him, through the door, entered a Continental
Captain; and I sat up in bed to do him courtesy.

As I suspected, here proved to be our Commandant come to learn of me my
news; and it presently appeared that Nick had run to the jail with an
account of how I lay here crippled.

Well, the Commandant was a simple, kindly man, whose present anxiety
made little of military custom. And so he had come instantly to learn my
news of me; and we talked there alone for an hour.

At his summons a servant fetched paper, ink, pen and sand; and, whilst
he looked on, I wrote out my report to him.

Also, I made for him a drawing of the Drowned Lands from Fish House to
Mayfield, marking all roads and paths and trails, and all canoe water,
carries, and cleared land. For, as Brent-Meester, no man had more
accurate knowledge of Tryon than had I; and it was all clearly in my
mind, so that to make a map of it proved no task at all.

I asked him if I was to remain detached and with authority to raise a
company of rangers--as had once been given me--or whether, perhaps, the
Line lacked commissioned officers, saying that it was all one to me and
that I wished only to serve where most needed.

He replied that, unless I went to Morgan's corps of Virginia Riflemen,
concerning which detail he had heard some talk, my full value lay in my
woodcraft and in my wide, personal knowledge of the wilderness.

"Who better than you, Mr. Drogue, could take a scout to this same Buck
Island, where Sir John's hordes are gathering? Who better than yourself
could undertake a swift and secret mission to any point within the
confines of this vast desolation of mountain, lake, and forest, which
promises soon to be the theatre of a most bloody struggle?

"Champlain already spews red-coats upon us in the North. Sir John
threatens in the West. A great army menaces the Highland Forts and
Albany from the South. And only such officers as you, sir, are
competent to discover and dog the march of enemy marauders, come to
touch with their scouts, follow and ambush them, and lead others to
vital points across an uncharted world of woods when there are raiders
to check or communications to threaten and cut."

He rose, hooked up his sword, and shook hands with me.

"I have asked Colonel Willett," said he, "to use your talents in this
manner, and he has very kindly consented. Johnstown will remain your
base, therefore, and your employment is certain as soon as you are able
to walk."

I thanked him and said very confidently that I should be rid of all
lameness and pain within a day or so.

       *       *       *       *       *

That night I had a fever; and for pearly four weeks my leg remained
swollen and red, and the pain was such that I could not bear the weight
of a linen sheet, and Nick made a frame for my bed-covers, like a tent,
so that they should not touch me.

Dr. Younglove came from the Flatts,--who was surgeon in General
Herkimer's brigade of militia--and he said it was a pernicious
rheumatism consequent upon the cold wetting I got upon a wound still
green.

Further, he concluded, there was naught to do save that I must lie on my
back until my trouble departed of its own accord; but he could not say
how soon that might me--whether within a day or two or as many months,
or more.

He recommended hot blankets and some draughts which they sent me from
the pharmacy at the Fort, but I think they did me neither good nor evil,
but were pleasant and spicy and cooled my throat.

So that was now the dog's life I led during the early summer in
Johnstown,--a most vexatious and inglorious career, laid by the heels at
a time when, from three points o' the compass, three separate storms
were brewing and darkening the heavens, and a tempest more frightful
than man could conceive was threatening to shatter Tryon, sweep the
whole Mohawk Valley, and leave Johnstown but a whirl of whitened ashes
in the evening winds.

We were comfortably established at Burke's Inn, and, as always, baited
well where food and bed were ever clean and good.

Penelope had the chamber next to mine; Nick slept in the little bedroom
on my left; and the Saguenay haunted the kitchen, with a perpetual
appetite never damaged by gorging.

All the news of town and country was fetched me by word o' mouth, by
penny broadsides, by journals, so that I never wanted for gossip to
entertain or alarm me.

Town tattle, rumours from West and North, camp news conveyed by
Coureurs-du-Bois, by runners, by expresses, all this came to my chamber
where I lay impatient, brought sometimes by Burke, often by Nick, more
often by Penelope.

She was very kind and patient with me. In the first feverish and
agonizing days of my illness I had sent for her, and begged her to take
the first convenient waggon and escort into Albany, where surely Douw
Fonda would now care for her and the Patroon's household would welcome
and shelter her until the oncoming storm had passed and her aged charge
should again return to Caughnawaga.

She would not go, but gave no reason. And, my sickness making me
peevish, I was often fretful and short with her; and so badgered and
bullied her that one night, in desperation, she wrote a letter to Douw
Fonda at my request, offering to go to Albany and care for him if he
desired it.

But presently there came a polite letter in reply, writ kindly to her by
the young Patroon himself, who very delicately revealed how it was with
Mr. Fonda. And it appeared that he had become childish from great age,
and seemed now to retain no memory of her, and desired not to be cared
for by anybody--as he said--who was a stranger to him.

Which was sad to know concerning so good and wise and gallant an old
gentleman as had been Mr. Douw Fonda,--a fine, honourable, educated and
cultivated man, whose chiefest pleasure was in his books and garden, and
who never in all his life had uttered an unkind word.

This news, too, was disturbing in another manner; for Mr. Fonda had
wished, as all knew, to adopt Penelope and make provision for her. And
now, if his mind had begun to cloud and his memory betray him, no
provision was likely to be made to support this young girl who was
utterly alone in the world, and entirely without fortune.

       *       *       *       *       *

On an afternoon late in May I was feeling less pain, and could permit
the covers to rest on me, and was impatient for a dish o' porridge.
About five o'clock Penelope brought me a bowl of chocolate. When she had
seated herself near me, she took her sewing from her apron pocket, and
stitched away busily whilst I drank my sweet, hot brew, and watched her
over the blue bowl's edge.

"Are you better this afternoon, sir?" she inquired presently, not
lifting her eyes.

I told her, fretfully, that I was but a lame dog and fit only to be
knocked on the head by some obliging Tory. "I'm sick o' life," said I,
"where no one heeds me, and I am left alone all day without food or
companionship, to play at twiddle-thumb."

At that she looked at me in sweet concern, but, seeing me wear a wry
grin, smiled too.

"Poor lad," said she, "it is nearly a month you lie there so patiently."

"Not patiently; no! And if I knew more oaths than I think up all day
long it might ease me to endure more meekly this accursed sickness....
What is it you sew?"

"Wrist-bands."

"Whose?"

As she offered no reply I supposed that she was making a pair o' bands
for Nick.

"Do you hear further from Albany?" I inquired.

"No, sir."

"Then it is sure that Mr. Fonda has become childish and his memory is
gone," said I, "because if he comprehended your present situation and
your necessity he would surely have sent for you long since."

"He always was kind," she said simply.

I lay on my pillows, sipping chocolate and watching her fingers so deft
with thread and needle. After a long silence I asked her rather bluntly
why she had not long ago consented to the necessary legal steps offered
her by Mr. Fonda, which would have secured her always against want.

As she made me no answer, I looked hard at her over my bowl, and saw her
eyes very faintly glimmering with tears.

"The news of Mr. Fonda's condition has greatly saddened you," said I.

"Yes. He was kind to me."

"Why, then, did you evade his expressed wishes?" I repeated. "He must
surely have loved you like a father to offer you adoption."

"I could not accept," she said in a low voice, sewing rapidly the while.

"Why not?"

"I scarcely know. It was because of pride, perhaps.... I was his
servant. He paid me well. I could not permit him to overpay my poor
services.... And he has other children, and grandchildren, with whose
proper claims I would not permit myself--or him--to interfere. No, it
was unthinkable--however kindly meant----"

"That," said I impatiently, "smacks of a too Scotch and stubborn
conscience, does it not, Penelope?"

"Stubborn Scotch pride, I fear. For it is not in my Scottish nature to
accept benefits for which I never can hope to render service in return."

"Imaginary obligation!" said I scornfully, yet admiring the independence
which, naked and defenceless, prefers to spin its own raiment rather
than accept the divided cloak of charity.

And it was plain to me that this girl was no beggar, no passive accepter
of bounties unearned from anybody. And now I was secretly chagrined and
ashamed that I had so postured before her as My Lord Bountiful, and had
offered her the Summer House who had refused a modest fortune from a
good old man who loved her and who had some excuse and reason to so deal
by one to whom his bodily comfort had long been beholden.

"Few," said I, "would have put aside so agreeable an opportunity for
ease and comfort in life. I fear you were foolish, Penelope."

She smiled at me: "There is a family saying, 'A Grant grants but never
accepts'.... I have youth, health, two arms, two legs, and a pair of
steady eyes. If these can not keep me alive through the world's journey,
then I ought to perish and make room for another."

"What do you meditate to keep you?" I asked uneasily.

"For the present," said she, still smiling, "what I am doing is well
enough to keep me in food and clothes and lodging."

At first I did not understand her, then an odd suspicion seized me; for
I remembered during the last two weeks, when I lay sick, hearing strange
voices in her ante-chamber, and strange people coming and going in the
passageway.

Seeing me perplexed and frowning, she laughed and took the empty bowl
from my hands, and set it aside. Then she smoothed my pillow.

"I am employed by the garrison," said she, "to work for them with needle
and shears. I do their mending; I darn, stitch, sew, and alter. I patch
shirts and under-garments; I also make shirts, and devise officers'
neck-cloths, stocks, and wrist-bands at request.

"Also, I now employ a half-breed Oneida woman as tailoress; and she
first measures and then I cut out patterns of coats, breeches,
rifle-frocks, and watch-coats, which she then takes home and sews, then
tries on her customers, and finally finishes,--I sewing on all galons,
laces, and braids.... And so you see I pay my way, Mr. Drogue, and am in
no stress for the present at any rate."

"Good heavens!" said I amazed, "I never dreamed that you were so
employed!"

"But I am obliged to eat, John Drogue!"

"I have sufficient for both," I muttered. "I thought it was
understood----"

"That I should live on your bounty, my lord?"

"Will you ever have done with lording me?" I said angrily. "I think you
do it to plague me."

"I ask forgiveness," she murmured, still smiling. "Also, I crave pardon
for refusing to live on your kind bounty."

"I do not mean it that way!" said I sharply. "Besides, you kept Summer
House for us, and did all things indoors and most things outdoor; and
had no pay for the labour----"

"I had food and a bed. And your protection.... And most excellent
company," she added, smiling saucily upon me. "You owe me nothing, John
Drogue. Nor do I mean to owe you,--or any man,--more than that proper
debt of kindness which kindness to me begets."

I lay back on my pillows, not knowing whether to laugh or scowl. That
Penelope had become a tailoress and sempstress to the garrison did not
pleasure me at all; and it was as though I had lost some advantage or
influence over this girl, whose present situation and whose future did
now considerably begin to concern me.

Yet, what was I to say against this business, or what offer make her
that her modesty and pride could consider?

It was perfectly clear to me that she never had intended to be obliged
to me for anything, and never would be. And now her saucy smile and
gentle mockery confirmed this conclusion and put me out of countenance.

I cast a troubled glance at her from my pillow, where she sat by my bed
sewing on a pair of wrist-bands for some popinjay of the garrison--God
knew who he might be!--and, as I regarded her, further and further she
seemed to be slipping out of my influence and out of the care which,
mentally at least, I had felt it my duty to give to her.

She troubled me. She troubled me deeply. Her independence, her
sufficiency, her beauty, her sly and pretty mockery of me, all conspired
to give me a new concern for her, and I had not experienced the like
since Steve Watts kissed her by the lilacs.

I had seen her in many phases, but never before in this phase, and I
knew not what face to put on such a disturbing situation.

       *       *       *       *       *

For a while I lay there frowning and sulky, and spoke not. She
tranquilly finished her wrist-bands, went to her chamber, returned with
a dozen stocks, all cut out and basted, and picked up one to fit a plain
military frill to it.

From my window, near where my head rested, I saw a gold sunset between
the maple trees and the roofs across the street. Birds sang their
evening carols,--robins on every fence post, orioles in the elms, and
far away a wood-thrush filled the quiet with his liquid ecstasies.

And suddenly it seemed to me horrible and monstrous that this heavenly
tranquillity should be shattered by the red blast of war!--that men
could actually be planning to devastate this quiet land where already
the new harvest promised, tender and green; where cattle grazed in
blossoming meadows; where swallows twittered and fowls clucked; where
smoke drifted from chimneys and the homely sights and sounds of a
peaceful town sweetened the evening silence.

Then the thought of my own helplessness went through me like a spear,
and I groaned,--not meaning to,--and turned over on my pillow.... And
presently felt her hand lightly on my shoulder.

"Is it pain?" she asked softly.

"No, only the weariness of life," I muttered.

She was silent, but presently her hand smoothed back my hair, and passed
in a sort of gentle rhythm across my forehead and my hair.

"If I lie here long enough," said I bitterly, "I may have to beg a crust
of you. So get you to your sewing and see that you earn enough against a
beggared cripple's need."

"You mock me," she said in a low voice.

"Why, no," said I. "If I am to remain crippled my funds will dwindle and
go, and one day I shall sit in the sun like any poor old soldier, with
palm lifted for alms----"

"I beg--I beg you----" she stammered; and her hand closed on my lips as
though to stifle the perverse humour.

"Would you offer me charity if I remain crippled?" I managed to say.

"Hush. You sadden me."

"Would you aid me?" I insisted.

She drew a long, deep breath but made no answer.

"Tell me," I repeated, taking her by the hand, "would you aid me,
Penelope Grant?"

"Why do you ask?" she protested. "You know I would."

"And yet," said I, "although I am in funds, you refuse aid and choose
rather to play the tailoress! Is that fair?"

"But--I am nothing to you----"

"Are you not? And am I then more to you than are you to me, that you
would aid me in necessity?"

She drew her hand from mine and went back to her chair.

"That is my fate," said she, smiling at me. "I was born to give, not to
receive. I can not take; I can not refuse to give."

"Yes," said I, "you even gave me your lips once."

She blushed vividly, her eyes hard on her sewing.

"I shall not do the like again," said she, all rosy to the roots of her
gold hair.

"And why, pray?"

"Because I know better now."

After a silence I turned me on my pillow and sighed heavily.

"John?" she inquired in gentle anxiety, "are you in great pain?"

I groaned.

She came to me again and laid her cool, soft hand on my head; and I
caught it in both of mine and drew her down to me.

"I am a cripple and a beggar for your kindness, Penelope," I said. "I
ask alms of you. Will you kiss me?"

"Oh," she exclaimed, "you have deceived me! Let me go! Loose me
instantly!"

"Will you kiss me out of that charity which you say you practice?"

"That is not charity!----"

"What is begged for is charity. And you say you are made to give."

"But you taught me otherwise! And now you undo your own schooling!----"

"But I owe it you--this kiss!"

"How do you owe it me?"

"You kissed me in the snow, and left me in your debt."

"Oh, goodness! That frolic! Have you not long ago forgotten our winter
madness----"

"Like you," said I, "I must pay my just debts and owe nobody." And I
drew her nearer, all flushed with protest, firm to escape, yet gentle in
her supple, pretty way lest she hurt me.

I laughed, and saw my gaiety reflected in her eyes an instant.

Then, of a sudden, she put one arm around my neck and rested her lips on
mine. And so I kissed her, and she suffered it, resting so against me
with lowered eyes.

The flower-sweetness of her mouth bewildered me, and I was confused by
it and by the stifled tumult of my heart, so that I scarce had sense
enough to detain her when she drew away.

She sat at my side, the faint smile still stamped on her lips, but her
brown eyes seemed a little frightened, and her breast rose and fell like
a scared bird's under the snowy kerchief.

"Well--and well," says she in her pretty, breathless way--"I am
overpaid, I think, and you are now acquitted of your debt. And so--and
so our folly ends ... and now is finally ended."

She took her sewing. A golden light was in the room; and she seemed to
me the loveliest thing I had ever looked upon. I realized it. I knew she
was loveliest of all. And the swift knowledge seemed to choke me.

After a little while she stole a look at me, met my eyes, laughed
guiltily.

"You!" said she, "a schoolmaster! You teach me one thing and would have
me practice another. What confidence can I entertain for such wisdom as
is yours, John Drogue?"

"Rules," said I, "are made to be proven by their more interesting
exceptions. However, in future you are to endure no kiss and no
caress--unless from me."

"Oh. Is that the new lesson I am to learn and understand?"

"That is the lesson. Will you remember it when I am gone?"

"Gone?"

"Yes. When I am gone away on duty. Will you remember, Penelope?"

"I am like to," she said under her breath, and sewing rapidly.

She stitched on in silence for a while; but now the light was dimming
and she moved nearer the window, which was close by my bed head.

After a while her hands dropped in her lap; she looked out into the
twilight. I took her tired little hand in mine, but she did not turn her
head.

"I have," said I, "two thousand pounds sterling at my solicitor's in
Albany. I wish you to have it if any accident happens to me.... And my
glebe in Fonda's Bush.... I shall so write it in my will."

She shook her head slightly, still gazing from the window.

"Will you accept?" I asked.

"What good would it do me? If I accept it I should only divide it among
the needy--in memory of--of my dear boy friend--Jack Drogue----"

She rose hastily and walked to the door, then very slowly retraced her
steps to my bedside.

"You are so kind to me," she murmured, touching my forehead.

"You are so different to other men,--so truly gallant in your boy's
soul. There is no evil in you,--no ruthlessness. Oh, I know--I
know--more than I seem to know--of men.... And their importunities....
And of their wilful selfishness."

I sat up straight. "Has any man made you unhappy?" I demanded in angry
surprise.

She seated herself and looked at me gravely.

"Do you know," she said, "men have courted me always--even when I was
scarce more than a child? And mine is a friendly heart, Mr. Drogue. I
have a half shy desire to please. I am loath to inflict pain. But always
my kindness seems like to cost me more than I choose to pay."

"Pay to whom?"

"To any man.... For example, I would not elope with Stephen Watts when
he begged me at Caughnawaga. And Walter Butler addressed me also--in
secret--being a friend of the Fondas and so free of the house.... And
was ever stealthily importuning me to a stolen rendezvous which I had
sense enough to refuse, knowing him to be both married and a rake, and
cruel to women.

"Oh, I tell you that they all courted me,--not kindly,--for ever there
seemed to me in their ardent gaze and discreet whisperings something
vaguely sinister. Not that it frightened me, nor did I take alarm, being
too ignorant----"

She folded her hands and looked down at them.

"I like men.... I cared most for Stephen Watts.... Then one day I had a
great fright.... Shall I tell it?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, Sir John's gallantries neither pleased nor flattered me
from the first. But he was very cautious what he said and did in Douw
Fonda's house, and never spoke to me save coldly when others were
present, or when he was alone with us and Mr. Fonda was awake and not
dozing in his great chair.... Well, there came a day when Mr. Fonda went
to the house of Captain Fonda, and I was alone in the house....

"And Sir John came.... Shall I tell it?"

"Tell it, Penelope."

"I've had it long in my mind. I wished to ask you if it lessened me in
your esteem.... For Sir John was drunk, and, finding me alone, he
conducted roughly--and followed me and locked us in my chamber.... I was
horribly afraid.... I had never struck any living being before. But I
beat his red face with my hands until he became confused and stupid--and
there was blood on him and on me.... And my kerchief was torn off and my
hair all tangled.... I beat him till he dropped my door key, and so
unlocked my door and returned again to him, silent and flaming, and
drove him with blows out o' my chamber and out of the house--all over
blood as he was, and stupid and drunk.... His negro man got him on his
horse and rode off, holding him on.

"And none knew--none know, save Sir John and you and I."

After a silence I said in a controlled voice: "If Sir John comes this
way I shall hope not to miss him.... I shall pray God not to miss
this--gentleman."

"Do you think meanly of me that he used me so?"

I did not answer.

"I have told you all," she said timidly. "I am still honest. If I were
not I would not have let you touch my lips."

"Why not?"

"For both our sakes.... I would not do you any evil."

I said impatiently: "No need to tell me you never had a lover. I never
believed it of you from the day I saw you first. And, God willing, I
mean to stop a mouth or two in Tryon, war or no war----"

"John Drogue!" she exclaimed in consternation--"you shall seek no
quarrel on my account! Swear to me!"

But I made no reply. Whatever the quarrel, I knew now it was to be on my
own account; for whether or no I was falling in love with this girl,
Penelope Grant, I realized at all events that I would suffer no other
man to interfere, however he conducted, and should hold any man to stern
account who would make of this girl a toy and plaything.

And so, all hotly resolved on that point; sore, also, at the knowledge
of Sir John's baseness which seemed to touch my proper honour; and
swifter, too, with tenderness in my heart to reassure her, I did exactly
that for which I was now prepared to cut the throats of various other
gentlemen--I drew her into my arms and held her close, body and lips
imprisoned.

She sought her chair and sat there silent and subdued until a
maid-servant brought lights and my supper.

In the candle light she ventured to look at me and laugh.

"Such schooling" says she. "I never knew before that there was such a
personage as a sweetheart pro tem! But you seem to know the rôle by
heart, Mr. Drogue. And so, no doubt, feel warranted to instruct others.
But this is the end of it, my friend. For one day you shall have to
confess you to your wife! And I think my future Lady Northesk is like to
have a pretty temper and will give you a mauvais quart d'heur when she
hears of this May day's folly in a Johnstown public house!"




CHAPTER XXVI

ORDERS


In June I was out o' bed and managed to set foot on ground for the first
time since early spring. By the end of the month I had my strength in a
measure and was able to hobble about town. Pernicious rheumatism is no
light matter, for with the agony,--and weakness afterward,--a dull
despair settles upon the victim; and it was mind, not body, that caused
me the deeper distress, I think.

Life seemed useless; effort hopeless. Dark apprehensions obsessed me; I
despaired of my country, of my people, of myself. And this all was part
of my malady, but I did not know it.

All through June and July an oppressive summer heat brooded over Tryon.
Save for thunder storms of unusual violence, the heat remained unbroken
day and night. In the hot and blinding blue of heaven, a fierce sun
blazed; at night the very moon looked sickly with the heat.

Never had I heard so many various voices of the night, nor so noisy a
tumult after dark, where the hylas trilled an almost deafening chorus
and the big frogs' stringy croaking never ceased, and a myriad confusion
of insects chirred and creaked and hummed in the suffocating dark.

At dawn the birds' outburst was like the loud outrush of a torrent
filling the waking world; at twilight scores of unseen whippoorwills put
on their shoes[30] and shouted in whistling whisper voices to one
another across the wastes of night like the False Faces [31] gathering
at a secret tryst.

[Footnote 30: Indian lore. The yellow moccasin flower is the
whippoorwill's shoe.]

[Footnote 31: A secret society common to all nations of the Iroquois
Confederacy.]

If the whole Northland languished, drooping and drowsy in the heat, the
very air, too, seemed heavy with the foreboding gloom of dreadful
rumours.

Every day came ominous tidings from North, from West, from South of
great forces uniting to march hither and crush us. And the terrible
imminence of catastrophe, far from arousing and nerving us for the
desperate event, seemed rather to confuse and daze our people, and
finally to stupefy all, as though the horror of the immense and hellish
menace were beyond human comprehension.

Men laboured on the meagre defences of the county as though weighted by
a nightmare--as though drowsing awake and not believing in their ghostly
dream.

And all preparation went slow--fearfully slow--and it was like dragging
a mass of chained men, whose minds had been drugged, to drive the
militia to the drill ground or force the labourers to the unfinished
parapets of our few and scattered forts.

Men still talked of the Sacandaga Block House as though there were such
a refuge; but there was none unless they meant the ruins at Fish House
or the unburned sheep-fold at Summer House Point, or the Mayfield
defenses.

There remained only one fort of consequence south of the Lakes--Fort
Stanwix, now called Schuyler, and that was far from finished, far from
properly armed, garrisoned, and provisioned.

Whatever else of defense Tryon County possessed were merest
makeshifts--stone farmhouses fortified by ditch, stockade, and bastions;
block-houses of wood; nothing more.

Fragments of our two regular regiments were ever shifting garrison--a
company here, a battalion there. A few rangers kept the field; a
regiment of Herkimer's militia, from time to time, took its turn at
duty; a scout or two of irregulars and Oneida Indians haunted the trail
toward Buck Island--which some call Deer Island, and others speak of as
Carleton Island, and others still name it Ile-aux-Chevreuil, which is a
mistake.

But any name for the damned spot was good enough for me, who had been
there in years past, and knew how strong it could be made to defy us and
to send out armed hordes to harass us on the Mohawk.

And at that instant, under Colonel Barry St. Leger, the Western flying
force of the enemy was being marshalled at Buck Island.

Our scouts brought an account of the forces already there--detachments
of the 8th British regulars, the 34th regulars, the regiment of Sir
John, called the Royal New Yorkers by some, by others the
Greens--(though our scouts told us that their new uniforms were to be
scarlet)--the Corps of Chasseurs, a regiment of green-coats known as
Butler's Rangers, a detachment of Royal Artillery, another of
Highlanders, and, most sinister of all, Brant's Iroquois under
Thayendanegea himself and a number of young officers of the Indian
Department, with Colonel Claus to advise them.

This was the flying force that threatened us from the West, directed by
Burgoyne.

From the South we were menaced by the splendid and powerful British army
which held New York City, Long Island, and the lower Hudson, and stood
ready and equipped to march on a straight road right into Albany,
cleaning up the Hudson, shore and stream, on their way hither.

But our most terrible danger threatened us from the North, where General
Burgoyne, with a superb army and a half thousand Iroquois savages, had
been smashing his way toward us through the forests, seizing the lakes
and the vessels and forts defending them, outmanoeuvring our General
St. Clair; driving him from our fortress of Ticonderoga with loss of all
stores and baggage; driving Francis out of Skenesborough and Fort Anne,
and destroying both posts; chasing St. Clair out of Castleton and
Hubbardton, destroying two-thirds of Warner's army; driving Schuyler's
undisciplined militia from Fort Edward, toward Saratoga.

Every day brought rumours or positive news of disasters in our immediate
neighbourhood. We knew that St. Leger, Sir John, Walter Butler, and
Brant had left Buck Island and that Burgoyne was directing the campaign
planned for the most hated army that ever invaded the Northland. And we
learned the horrid details of these movements from Thomas Spencer, the
Oneida who had just come in from that region, and whose certain account
of how matters were swiftly coming to a crisis at last seemed to
galvanize our people into action.

I was now, in August, well enough to take the field with a scout, and I
applied for active duty and was promised it; but no orders came, and I
haunted the Johnstown Fort impatiently, certain that every man who rode
express and who went galloping through the town must bring my marching
orders.

Precious days succeeded one another; I fretted, fumed, sickened with
anxiety, deemed myself forgotten or perhaps disdained.

Then I had a shock when General Herkimer, ignoring me, sent for my
Saguenay, but for what purpose I knew not, only that old Block's
loud-voiced son-in-law, Colonel Cox, desired a Montagnais tracker.

The Yellow Leaf came to me with the courier, one Barent Westerfelt, who
had brought presents from Colonel Cox; and I had no discretion in the
matter, nor would have exercised any if I had.

"Brother," said I, taking him by both hands, "go freely with this
messenger from General Herkimer; because if you were not sorely needed
our brother Corlear had not ordered an express to find and fetch you."

He replied that he made nothing of the presents sent him, but desired to
remain with me. I patiently pointed out to him that I was merely a
subaltern in the State Rangers and unattached, and that I must await my
turn of duty like a good soldier, nor feel aggrieved if fortune called
others first.

Still he seemed reluctant, and would not go, and scowled at the express
rider and his sack of gew-gaws.

"Brother," said I, "would you shame me who, as you say, found you a wild
beast and have taught you that you are a real man?"

"I am a man and a warrior," he said quickly.

"Real men and warriors are known by their actions, my younger brother.
When there is war they shine their hatchets. When the call comes, they
bound into the war-trail. Brother, the call has come! Hiero!"

The Montagnais straightened his body and threw back his narrow,
dangerous head.

"Haih!" he said. "I hear my brother's voice coming to me through the
forests! Very far away beyond the mountains I hear the panther-cry of
the Mengwe! My axe is bright! I am in my paint. Koué! I go!"

       *       *       *       *       *

He left within the hour; and I had become attached to the wild rover of
the Saguenay, and missed him the more, perhaps, because of my own sore
heart which beat so impotently within my idle body.

That Herkimer had taken him disconcerted and discouraged me; but there
was a more bitter blow in store for a young soldier of no experience in
discipline or in the slow habit of military procedure; for, judge of my
wrath when one rainy day in August comes Nick Stoner to me in a new
uniform of the line, saying that Colonel Livingston's regiment lacked
musicians, and he had thought it best to transfer and to 'list and not
let opportunity go a-glimmering.

"My God, Jack," says he, "you can not blame me very well, for my father
is drafted to the same regiment, and my brother John is a drummer in it.
It is a marching regiment and certain to fight, for there be three
Livingstons commanding of it, and who knows what old Herkimer can do
with his militia, or what the militia themselves can do?"

"You are perfectly right, Nick," said I in a mortified voice. "I am not
envious; no! only it wounds me to feel I am so utterly forgotten, and my
application for transfer unnoticed."

Nick took leave of us that night, sobered not at all by the imminence of
battle, for he danced around my chamber in Burke's Inn, a-playing upon
his fife and capering so that Penelope was like to suffocate with
laughter, though inclined to seriousness.

We supped all together in my chamber as we had so often gathered at
Summer House, but if I were inclined to gloomy brooding, and if Penelope
seemed concerned at parting with a comrade, Nick permitted no sad
reflexions to disturb us whom he was leaving behind.

He made us drink a very devilish flip-cup, which he had devised in the
tap-room below with Jimmy Burke's aid, and which filled our young
noddles with a gaiety not natural.

He sang and offered toasts, and played on his fife and capered until we
were breathless with mirth.

Also, he took from his new knapsack a penny broadside,--witty, but like
most broadsides of the kind, somewhat broad,--which he had for
thrippence of a pedlar, the same being a parody on the Danbury
Broadside; and this he read aloud to us, bursting with laughter, while
standing upon his chair at table to recite it:


THE EXPEDITION TO JOHNSTOWN[32]

(In search of provisions)

Scene--New York City

(_Enter_ General Sir Wm. Howe and Mrs. ----, preceded by
Fame in cap and bells, flourishing a bladder.)

_Fame_ (speaks)

    "Without wit, without wisdom, half stupid, half drunk,
    And rolling along arm-in-arm with his Punk,
    Comes gallant Sir William, the warrior (by proxy)
    To harangue his soldiers (held up by his Doxy)!"

_Sir Wm._ (speaks)

    "My boys, I'm a-going to send you to Tryon,
    To Johnstown, where _you'll_ get as groggy as I am!
    By a Tory from there I have just been informed
    That there's nobody there, so the town shall be stormed!
    For if nobody's there and nobody near it,
    My army shall conquer that town, never fear it!"

(_Enter_ Joe Gallopaway, a refugee Tory)

_Joe_

    "Brave soldiers, go fight that we all may get rich!"

_Regular Soldiers_

    "We'll fetch you a halter, you * * * * !
    Get out! And go live in the woods upon nuts,
    Or we'll give you our bayonets plump in your guts!
    Do you think we are fighting to feed such a crew
    As Butler, Sir John, Mr. Singler and you?"

(_Enter_ Sir John Johnson)

_Sir John_

    "Come on, my brave boys! Now! as bold as a lion!
    And march at my heels to the County called Tryon;
    My lads, there's no danger, for this you should know,
    That I'd let it alone if I thought it was so!
    So point all your noses towards the Dominion
    And we'll all live like lords is my honest opinion!"

Scene--Buck Island Trail

(_Enter_ Fame, Sir John, and his Royal Greens)

_Fame_

    "In cunning and canting, deceit and disguise,
    In breaking parole by inventing cheap lies,
    Sir John is a match for the worst of his species,
    But in this undertaking he'll soon go to pieces.
    He'll fall to the rear, for he'd rather go last,
    Crying, 'Forward, my boys! Let me see you all past!
    For his Majesty's service (so reads my commission)
    Requires I push forward the whole expedition!"

_Sir John_

    "I care not a louse for the United States,--
    For General Schuyler or General Gates!
    March forward, my lads, and account for each sinner,
    While Butler, St. Leger, and I go to dinner.
    For plenty's in Tryon of eating and drinking,
    Who'd stay in New York to be starving and stinking."
    March over the Mohawk! March over, march over,
    You'll live like a parcel of hogs in sweet clover!"

Scene--Outside Fort Stanwix

(A council of war. At a distance the new American flag flying above the
bastions)

_Sir John_

    "I'm sorry I'm here, for I'm horribly scared,
    But how did I know that they'd all be prepared?
    The fate of our forray looks darker and darker,
    The state of our larder grows starker and starker,
    I fear that a round-shot or one of their carkers[33]
    May breech my new breeches like poor Peter Parker's![34]
    Oh, say, if my rear is uncovered, what then!--"

(_Enter_ Walter Butler in a panic)

_Butler_

    "Held! Schuyler is coming with ten thousand men!"

(A canon shot from the Fort)

_Sir John_ (falls flat)

    "I'm done! A cannon ball of thirty pound
    Has hit me where Sir Peter got his wound.
    I'm done! I'm all undone! So don't unbutt'n'm;
    But say adieu for me to Clairette Putnam!"[35]

(_Enter_ a swarm of surgeons)

_Surgeons_

    "Compose yourself, good sir--forget your fright;
    We promise you you are not slain outright.
    The wound you got is not so mortal deep
    But bleeding, cupping, patience, rest, and sleep,
    With blisters, clysters, physic, air and diet
    Will set you up again if you'll be quiet!"

_Sir John_

    "So thick, so fast the balls and bullets flew,
    Some hit me here, some there, some thro' and thro',
    Beneath my legs a score of hosses fell,
    Shot under me by twice as many shell;
    And though my soldiers falter and beseech,
    Forward I strode, defiant to the breech,
    And there, as History my valour teaches,
    I fell as Cæsar fell, and lost--my breeches!
    His face lay in his toga, in defeat,
    So let me hide my face within my seat,
    My requiem the rebel cannons roar,
    My duty done, my bottom very sore.
    Tell Willett he may keep his flour and pork,
    For I am going back to dear New York."

    (Exit on a litter to the Rogue's March)

[Footnote 32: 32 parallel to _The Expedition to Danbury_, printed in a
Pennsylvania newspaper, May 14th, 1777.]

[Footnote 33: Carkers--carcass--a shell fired from a small piece of
artillery.]

[Footnote 34: Sir Peter Parker's breeches were carried away by a round
shot at Fort Moultrie.]

[Footnote 35: His charming but abandoned mistress.]

"If we fight at Stanwix," says Penelope, "God send the business end as
gaily as your broadside, Nick!"

And so, amid laughter, our last evening together came to an end, and it
was time to part.

Nick gave Penelope a hearty smack, grinned broadly at me, seized my
hands and whispered: "What did I tell you of the Scotch girl of
Caughnawaga, who hath a way with her which is the undoing of all
innocent young men?"

"Idiot!" said I fiercely, "I am not undone in such a manner!" Like two
bear-cubs we clutched and wrestled; then he hugged me, laughed, and
broke away.

"Farewell, comrades," he cried, snatching sack and musket from the
corner. "If I can not fife the red-coats into hell to the Rogue's March,
or my brother John drum them there to the Devil's tattoo, then my daddy
shall persuade 'em thither with musket-music! Three stout Stoners and
three lanky Livingstons, and all in the same regiment! Hurrah!"

And off and down the tavern stairs he ran, clattering and clanking, and
shouting out a fond good-bye to Burke, who had forgiven him the goat.

Standing in the candle-light by the window, where a million rainwashed
stars twinkled in the depthless ocean of the night, I rested my brow
against the cool, glazed pane, lost in most bitter reflexion.

Penelope had gone to her chamber; behind me the dishevelled table stood,
bearing the candles and the débris of our last supper; a nosegay of
bright flowers--Nick's parting token--lay on the floor, where they had
fallen from Penelope's bosom.

After a while I left the window and sat down, taking my head between my
hands; and I had been sitting so for some time in ugly, sullen mood,
when a noise caused me to look up.

Penelope stood by the door, her yellow hair about her face and
shoulders, and still combing of it while her brown eyes regarded me with
an odd intentness.

"Your light still blazed from your window," she said. "I had some
misgiving that you sat here brooding all alone."

I felt my face flush, for it had deeply humiliated me that she should
know how I was offered no employment while others had been called or
permitted to seek relief from inglorious idleness.

She flung the bright banner of her hair over her right shoulder,
caressed the thick and shining tresses, and so continued combing, still
watching me, her head a little on one side.

"All know you to be faithful, diligent and brave," said she. "You should
not let it chafe your pride because others are called to duty before you
are summoned. Often it chances that Merit paces the ante-chamber while
Mediocrity is granted audience. But Opportunity redresses such
accidents."

"Opportunity," I repeated sneeringly, "--where is she?--for I have not
seen or heard of that soft-footed jade who, they say, comes a-knocking
once in a life-time; and thereafter knocks at our door no more."

"Oh, John Drogue--John Drogue," said she in her strange and wistful way,
"you shall hear the clear summons on your door very soon--all too soon
for one of us,--for one of us, John Drogue."

Her brown eyes were on me, unabashed; by touch she was dividing the
yellow masses of her hair into two equal parts. And now she slowly
braided each to peg them for the night beneath her ruffled cap.

When she had braided and pegged her hair, she took the night-cap from
her apron pocket and drew it over her golden head, tying the tabs under
her chin.

"It is strange," she said with her wistful smile, "that, though the
world is ending, we needs must waste in sleep a portion of what time
remains to us.... And so I am for bed, John Drogue.... Lest that same
tapping-jade come to your door tonight and waken me, also, with her loud
knocking."

"Why do you say so? Have you news?"

"Did I not once foresee a battle in the North? And men in strange
uniforms?"

"Yes," said I, smiling away the disappointment of a vague and momentary
hope.

"I think that battle will happen very soon," she said gravely.

"You said that I should be there,--with that pale shadow in its shroud.
Very well; only that I be given employment and live to see at least one
battle, I care not whether I meet my weird in its winding-sheet. Because
any man of spirit, and not a mouse, had rather meet his end that way
than sink into dissolution in aged and toothless idleness."

"If you were not a very young and untried soldier," said she, "you would
not permit impatience to ravage you and sour you as it does. And for me,
too, it saddens and spoils our last few days together."

"Our last few days? You speak with a certainty--an authority----"

"I know the summons is coming very soon."

"If I could but believe in your Scottish second-sight----"

"Would you be happy?"

"Happy! I should deem myself the most fortunate man on earth!--if I
could believe your Scottish prophecy!"

She came nearer, and her eyes seemed depthless dusky in her pale face.

"If that is all you require for happiness, John Drogue," said she in her
low, still voice, "then you may take your pleasure of it. I tell you I
_know_! And we have but few hours left together, you and I."

Spite of common sense and disbelief in superstitions I could not remain
entirely unconcerned before such perfect sincerity, though that she
believed in her own strange gift could scarcely convince me.

"Come," said I smilingly, "it may be so. At all events, you cheer me,
Penelope, and your kindness heartens me.... Forgive my sullen
temper;--it is hard for a man to think himself ignored and perhaps
despised. And my ears ache with listening for that same gentle tapping
upon my door."

"I hear it now," she said under her breath.

"I hear nothing."

"Alas, no! Yet, that soft-footed maid is knocking on your door.... If
only you had heart to hear."

"One does not hear with one's heart," said I, smiling, and stirred to
plague her for her mixed metaphor.

"I do," said she, faintly.

After a little silence she turned to go; and I followed, scarce knowing
why; and took her hand in the doorway.

"Little prophetess," said I, "who promises me what my heart desires,
will you touch your lips to mine as a pledge that your prophecy shall
come true?"

She looked back over her shoulder, and remained so, her cheek on her
right shoulder.

"Your heart desires a battle, John Drogue; your idle vanity my lips....
But you may possess them if you will."

"I do love you dearly, Penelope Grant."

She said with a breathless little smile:

"Would you love me better if my prophecy came true this very night?"

But I was troubled at that, and had no mind to sound those unventured
deeps which, at such moments, I could feel vaguely astir within me. Nor
yet did I seriously consider what I truly desired of this slender maid
within the circle of my arms, nor what was to come of such sudden
encounters with their swift smile and oddly halting breath and the
heart, surprised, rhyming rapidly and unevenly in a reckless measure
which pleasured less than it embarrassed.

She loosed her hands and drew away from me, and leaned against the wall,
not looking toward me.

"I think," she said in a stifled voice, "you are to have your wish this
night.... Do you hear anything?"

In the intense stillness, straining my ears, I fancied presently that I
heard a distant sound in the night. But if it had been so it died out,
and the beat of my heart was louder. Then, of a sudden, I seemed to hear
it again, and thought it was my pulses startled by sudden hope.

"What is that sound?" I whispered. "Do you hear it?"

"Aye."

"I hear it also.... Is it imagination? Is there a horse on the highway?
Why, I tell you there is!... There _is_! Do you think he rides express?"

"Out o' the North, my lord," she whispered. And suddenly she turned,
gave me a blind look, stretched out one hand.

"_Why_ do you think that horseman comes for me!" I said. My imagination
caught fire, flamed, and I stood shivering and crushing her fingers in
my grasp. "Why--why--do you think so?" I stammered. "He's turned into
William Street! He gallops this way! Damnation! He heads toward the
Hall!--No! _No!_ By God, he is in our street, galloping--galloping----"

Like a pistol shot came a far cry in the darkness: "Express-ho! I pass!
I pass!" The racket of iron-shod hoofs echoed in the street; doors and
windows flew open; a confusion of voices filled my ears; the rattling
roar of the hoofs came to a clashing halt.

"Jimmy Burke's Tavern!" shouted a hoarse voice.

"Ye're there, me gay galloper!" came Burke's bantering voice. "An'
phwat's afther ye that ye ride the night like a banshee? Is it Sir John
that's chasin' ye crazy, Jock Gallopaway?"

"Ah-h," retorted the express, "fetch a drink for me and tell me is there
a Mr. Drogue lodging here? Hey? Upstairs? Well, wait a minute----"

I still had Penelope's hand in mine as in the grip of a vise, so excited
was I, when the express came stamping up the stairs in his jack-boots
and pistols--a light-horseman of the Albany troop, who seemed smart
enough in his mud-splashed helmet and uniform.

"You are Mr. Drogue, sir?"

"I am."

He promptly saluted, fished out a letter from his sack and offered it.

In my joy I gave him five shillings in hard money, and then, dragging
Penelope by the hand, hastened to break the numerous and heavy seals and
open my letter and read it by the candle's yellow flare.

     "Headquarters Northern Dist:
     Dept: of Tryon County.
     Albany, N. Y.
     August 1st, 1777.

     _Confidential_
     "To John Drogue, Esqr,
     Lieut: Rangers.

     Sir,

     "An Oneida runner arrived today, who gives an account that Genl
     St. Leger, with the corps of Sir John Johnson and Colonel John
     Butler, including a thousand savages under Joseph Brant, has been
     detached from the army of Genl Burgoyne, and is marching on Fort
     Schuyler.

     "You are directed to take the field instantly with a scout of
     Oneida Indians, who await you at a rendezvous marked upon the
     secret map which I enclose herewith.

     "You will cross the Buck Island trail somewhere between Rocky River
     and the Mohawk, and observe St. Leger's line of communications,
     cutting off such small posts as prove not too strong, taking
     prisoners if possible, and ascertaining St. Leger's ultimate
     objective, which may be Johnstown or even Schenectady.

     "Having satisfied yourself concerning these matters, you will send
     your despatch by a runner to Albany, and instantly move your
     detachment toward Saratoga, where you should come into touch with
     our Northern forces under General Gates, and there render a verbal
     report to General Gates in person.

     "You are strictly cautioned to destroy this letter after reading,
     and to maintain absolute secrecy concerning its contents. The map
     you may retain, but if you are taken you should endeavour to
     destroy it.

     "Sir, I have the honour to be, etc., etc.,

     "Ph. Schuyler,
     "Maj: Gen'l."

Twice I read the letter before I twisted it to a torch and burned it in
the candle flame.

Then I called out to the express: "Say to the personage who sent you
hither that his letter is destroyed, and his orders shall be instantly
obeyed. Burke has fresh horses for those who ride express."

Off downstairs he went in his jack-boots, equipments jingling and
clanking, and I unfolded my map but scarce could hold it steady in my
excitement.

Immediately I perceived that I did not need the map to find the
rendezvous, for, as Brent-Meester, I had known that wilderness as
perfectly as I knew the streets in Johnstown.

So I made another torch of the map, laughing under my breath to think
that Sir William's late forest warden should require such an article.

All this time, too, I had forgotten Penelope; and turned, now, and saw
her watching me, slim and motionless and white as snow.

When her eyes met mine she strove to smile, asking me whether indeed she
had not proven a true prophetess.

As she spoke, suddenly a great fear possessed me concerning her; and I
stood staring at her in a terrible perplexity.

For now there seemed to be nothing for it but to leave her here, the
Schenectady road already being unsafe, or so considered by Schuyler
until more certain information could be obtained.

"Do you leave tonight?" she asked calmly.

"Yes, immediately."

She cast a glance at my rifle standing in the corner, and at my pack,
which I had always ready in the event of such sudden summons.

Now I went over to the corner where my baggage lay, lifted the pack and
strapped it; put on powder horn, bullet pouch, and sack, slung my knife
and my light war-hatchet, and took my cap and rifle.

The moment of parting was here. It scared and confused me, so swiftly
had it come upon us.

As I went toward her she turned and walked to the door, and leaned
against the frame awaiting me.

"If trouble comes," I muttered, "the fort is strong.... But I wish to
God you were in Albany."

"I shall do well enough here.... Will you come again to Johnstown?"

"Yes. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, John Drogue."

"Will you care for Kaya?"

"Yes."

"And if I do not return you are to have all with which I die possessed.
I have written it."

"In that event I keep only my memory of you. The rest I offer to the
needy--in your name."

Her voice was steady, and her hand, too, where it lay passive in mine.
But it crisped and caught my fingers convulsively when I kissed her; and
crept up along my fringed sleeve to my shoulder-cape, and grasped the
green thrums.

And now her arm lay tightly around my neck, and I looked down into the
whitest face I ever had gazed upon.

"I love you dearly," I said, "and am deep in love.... I want you,
Penelope Grant."

"I want you," she said.

My heart was suffocating me:

"Shall we exchange vows?" I managed to say.

"What vows, sir?"

"Such as engage our honour. I want you to wife, Penelope Grant."

"Dear lad! What are you saying? You should travel widely and at leisure
before you commit your honour to an unconsidered vow. I desire that you
first see great cities, other countries, other women--of your own
caste.... And then ... if you return ... and are still of the same
mind ... concerning me...."

"But _you_? There are other men in the world. And I must have your vows
before I go!"

"Oh, if it be only mine you desire, then I promise you, John Drogue, to
look at no man with kindness in your absence, think of no man excepting
you, pray for none save only His Excellency and General Schuyler, dream
of none, God willing, but you. And to remain in deed and thought and
word and conduct constant and faithful to you alone."

"Then," said I, trembling, "I also promise----"

"No!"

"But I----"

"Wait! For God's sake mind what you say; for I will not have it that
your honour should ever summon you hither and not your heart! No! Let be
as it is."

Her sudden warmth and the quick flush of determination on her face
checked and silenced me.

She said very coolly: "Any person of sense must know that a marriage is
unsuitable between a servant to Douw Fonda and John Murray Drogue
_Forbes_, Laird of Northesk, and a Stormont to boot!"

"Where got you that _Forbes_?" I demanded, astonished and angry.

She laughed. "Because I know the clan, _my lord_!"

"How do you know?" I repeated, astounded.

"Because it is my own clan and name. Drogue-Forbes, Grant-Forbes!--a
claymore or a pair of scissors can snip the link when some Glencoe or
Culloden of adversity scatters families to the four winds and seven
seas.... Well, sir, as the saying is in Northesk, 'a Drogue stops at
nothing but a Forbes. And a Grant is as stubborn.' Did you ever hear
that?"

"Yes.... And _you_ are a Forbes of Northesk?"

"Like yourself, sir, we _stop before a liaison_."

Her rapier wit confused and amazed me; her sudden revelation of our
kinship confounded me.

"Good God," said I, "why have you never told me this, Penelope?"

She shook her yellow head defiantly: "A would na," quoth she, her chin
hanging down, but the brown eyes of her watching me. "And it was a
servant-maid you asked to wife you, and none other either.... D'ye ken
that, you Stormont lad? It was me--me!--who may wear the _Beadlaidh_,
too!--me who can cry '_Lonach! Lonach! Creag Ealachaidh!_' with as stout
a heart and clean a pride as you, Ian Drogue, Laird o' Northesk!--laird
o' my soul and heart--my lord--my dear, dear lord----"

She flung her arms across her face and burst into a fit of weeping; and
as I caught her in my arms she leaned so on my breast, sobbing out her
happiness and fears and pride and love, and her gratitude to God that I
should have loved her for herself in the body of a maid-servant, and
that I had bespoken her fairly where in all the land no man had offered
more than that which she might take from him out of his left hand.

So, for a long while, we stood there together, clasped breast to breast,
dumb with tenderness and mazed in the spell of first young love.

I stammered my vows, and she now opposed me nothing, only clinging to me
the closer, confident, submissive, acquiescent in all I wished and asked
and said.

There were ink, paper, a quill, and sand in her chamber. We went
thither, and I wrote out drafts upon Schenectady, and composed letters
of assurance and recognition, which would be useful to her in case of
necessity.

I got Jimmy Burke out o' bed and shewed him all I had writ, and made him
witness our signatures and engaged him to appear if necessary.

These papers and money drafts, together with Penelope's papers and
letters she had of Douw Fonda and of the Patroon, were sufficient to
establish her with the new will I made and had witnessed at the fort a
week before.

And so, at midnight, in her little chamber at Burke's Inn, I parted from
Penelope Grant,--dropped to my knee and kissed her feet, who had been
servant to the county gentry and courted by the county quality, but had
been mistress of none in all the world excepting only of herself.

       *       *       *       *       *

When I was ready she handed me my rifle, buckled up my shoulder sack,
smoothed my fringed cape with steady hands, walked with me to her
chamber door.

Her face rested an instant against mine, but there were no tears, no
trembling, only the swift passion of her lips; and then--"God be with
you, John Drogue!" And so, with gay courage, closed her chamber door.

I turned and stumbled out along the corridor, carrying my rifle and
feeling my way to the hand-rail, down the creaking stairway, and out
into the starry night.




CHAPTER XXVII

FIRE-FLIES


That night I lay on my blanket in the forest, but slept only three
hours, and was awake in the gates of morning before the sun rose, ready
to move on to the Wood of Brakabeen, our rendezvous in Schoharie.

Never shall I forget that August day so crowded with events.

And first in the yellow flare of sun-up, on the edge of a pasture where
acres of dew sparkled, I saw a young girl milking; and went to her to
beg a cup of new milk.

But she was very offish until she learned to what party I belonged, and
then gave me a dipper full of sweet milk.

When I had satisfied my thirst, she took me by the hand and drew me into
a grove of pines where none could observe us. And here she told me her
name, which was Angelica Vrooman, and warned me not to travel through
Schoharie by any highway.

For, said she, the district was all smouldering with disloyalty, and the
Tories growing more defiant day by day with news of Sir John's advance
and McDonald also on the way from the southward to burn the place and
murder all.

"My God, sir," says she, in a very passion of horror and resentment, "I
know not how we, in Schoharie, shall contrive, for Herkimer has called
out our regiment and they march this morning to their rendezvous with
the Palatine Regiment.

"What are we to do, sir? The Middle Fort alone is defensible; the Upper
and Lower Forts are still a-building, and sodders still at labour, and
neither ditch nor palisade begun."

"You have your exempts," said I, troubled, "and your rangers."

"Our exempts work on the forts; our rangers are few and scattered, and
Colonel Harper knows not where to turn for a runner or a rifleman!

"General Schuyler has writ to my father and says how he desires General
Ten Broeck to order out the whole of the militia, only that he fears
that they will behave like the Schenectady and Schoharie militia have
done and that very few will march unless provision is made for their
families' security.

"A man rides express today to the garrison in the Highlands to pray for
two hundred Continentals. Which is only just, as we are exposed to
McDonald and Sir John, and have already sent most of our men to the
Continental Line, and have left only our regiment, which marches today,
and the remainder all disaffected and plotting treason."

"Plotting treason? What do you mean, child?" I demanded anxiously.

"Why, sir, Captain Mann and his company refuse to march. He declares
himself a friend to King George, has barricaded Brick House,[36] is
collecting Indians and Tories, and swears he will join McDonald's
outlaws and destroy us unless we lay down our arms and accept royal
protection."

[Footnote 36: The house stood in the forks of the Albany and Schenectady
road.]

"Why--why the filthy dog!" I stammered, "I have never heard the like of
such treason!"

"Can you help us, sir?" she asked earnestly.

"I shall endeavour to do so," said I, red with wrath.

"Our people have planned to seize and barricade Stone House," said she.
"My father rides express to Albany. Why, sir, so put to it are we that
Henry Hager, an aged exempt of over seventy years, is scouting for our
party. Is our situation not pitiful?"

"Have all the young men gone? Have you no brothers to defend this
house?"

"No, sir.... I have a lover.... He is Lieutenant Wirt, of the Albany
Light Horse. But he has writ to my father that he can not leave his
cavalry to help us."

It was sad enough; and I promised the girl I would do what I could; and
so left her, continuing on along the fences in the shadow of the woods.

It was not long afterward when I heard military music in the distance.
And now, from a hill, I saw long files of muskets shining in the early
sun.

It was the Canajoharie Regiment marching with fife, drum, and bugle-horn
to join Herkimer; and so near they passed at the foot of the low hill
where I stood that I could see and recognize their mounted officers; and
saw, riding with them, Spencer, the Oneida interpreter, splendidly
horsed; and Colonel Cox, old George Klock's smart son-in-law, who, when
Brant asked him if he were not related to that thieving villain of the
Moonlight Survey, replied: "Yes, I am, but what is that to you, you
s--- of an Indian!"

I saw and recognized Colonels Vrooman and Zielie, Majors Becker and
Eckerson, and Larry Schoolcraft, the regimental adjutant; and, sitting
upon their transport waggon, Dirck Larraway, Storm Becker, Jost Bouck of
Clavarack, and Barent Bergen of Kinderhook.

So, in the morning sunshine, marched the 15th N. Y. Militia, carrying in
its ranks the flower of the district's manhood and the principal
defenders of the Schoharie Valley.

Very soberly I turned away into the woods.

For it was a strange and moving and dreadful sight I had beheld, knowing
personally almost every man who was marching there toward the British
fire, and aware that practically every soldier in those sturdy ranks had
a brother, or father, or son, or relative of some description in the
ranks of the opposing party.

Here, indeed, were the seeds of horror that civil war sprouts! For I
think that only the Hager family, and perhaps the Beckers, were all
mustered in our own service. But there were Tory Vroomans, Swarts, Van
Dycks, Eckersons, Van Slycks--aye, even Tory Herkimer, too, which most
furiously saddened our brave old General Honikol.

Well, I took to the forest as I say, but it was so thick and the
travelling so wearisome, that I bore again to the left, and presently
came out along the clearings and pasture fences.

Venturing now to travel the highway for a little way, and being stopped
by nobody, I became more confident; and when I saw a woman washing
clothes by the Schoharie Creek, I did not trouble to avoid her, but
strode on.

She heard me coming, and looked up over her shoulder; and I saw she was
a notorious slattern of the Valley, whose name, I think, was Staats, but
who was commonly known as Rya's Pup.

"Aha!" says she, clearing the unkempt hair from her ratty face. "What is
Forbes o' Culloden doing in Schoharie? Sure," says she, "there must be
blood to sniff in the wind when a Northesk bloodhound comes here
a-nosing northward!"

"Well, Madame Staats," said I calmly, "you appear to know more about
Culloden than do I myself. Did that great loon, McDonald, tell you all
these old-wives' tales?"

"Ho-ho!" says she, her two hands on her hips, a-kneeling there by the
water's edge, "the McDonalds should know blood, too, when they smell
it."

"You seem to be friends with that outlaw. And do you know where he now
is?" I asked carelessly.

"If I do," says the slut, with an oath, "it is my own affair and none
of the Forbes or Drogues or such kittle-cattle either;--mark that, my
young cockerel, and journey about your business!"

"You are not very civil, Madame Staats."

"Why, you damned rebel," says she, "would you teach me manners?"

"God forbid, madam," said I, smiling. "I'd wear gray hairs ere you
learned your a-b-c."

"You'll wear no hair at all when McDonald is done with you," she cries,
and bursts into laughter so shocking that I go on, shivering and sad to
see in any woman such unkindness.

       *       *       *       *       *

About noon I saw Lawyer's Tavern; and from the fences north of the house
I secretly observed it for a long while before venturing thither.

John Lawyer, whatever his political complexion, welcomed me kindly and
gave me dinner.

I asked news, and he gave an account that Brick House was now but a
barracks full of Tories and Schoharie Indians, led by Sethen and Little
David or Ogeyonda, a runner, who now took British money and wore scarlet
paint.

"We in this valley know not what to do," said he, "nor dare, indeed, do
aught save take protection from the stronger party, as it chances to be
at the moment, and thank God we still wear our proper hair."

And, try as I might, I could not determine to which party he truly
belonged, so wary was mine host and so fearful of committing himself.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sun hung low when I came to the Wood of Brakabeen; and saw the tall
forest oaks, their tops all rosy in the sunset, and the great green
pines wearing their gilded spires against the evening sky.

Dusk fell as I traversed the wood, where, deep within, a cool and ferny
glade runs east and west, and a small and icy stream flows through the
nodding grasses of the swale, setting the wet green things and
spray-drenched blossoms quivering along its banks.

And here, suddenly, in the purple dusk, three Indians rose up and barred
my way. And I saw, with joy, my three Oneidas, Tahioni the Wolf, Kwiyeh
the Screech-owl, Hanatoh the Water-snake, all shaven, oiled, and in
their paint; and all wearing the Tortoise and The Little Red Foot.

So deeply the encounter affected me that I could scarce speak as I
pressed their extended hands, one after another, and felt their eager,
caressing touch on my arms and shoulders.

"Brother," they said, "we are happy to be chosen for the scout under
your command. We are contented to have you with us again.

"We were told by the Saguenay, who passed here on his way to the Little
Falls, that you had recovered of your hurts, but we are glad to see for
ourselves that this is so, and that our elder brother is strong and well
and fit once more for the battle-trail!"

I told them I was indeed recovered, and never felt better than at that
moment. I inquired warmly concerning each, and how fortune had treated
them. I listened to their accounts of stealthy scouting, of ambushes in
silent places, of death-duels amid the eternal dusk of shaggy forests,
where sunlight never penetrated the matted roof of boughs.

They shewed me their scalps, their scars, their equipment, accoutrement,
finery. They related what news was to be had of the enemy, saying that
Stanwix was already invested by small advance parties of Mohawks under
forester officers; that trees had been felled across Wood Creek; that
the commands of Gansevoort and Willett occupied the fort on which
soldiers still worked to sod the parapets.

Of McDonald, however, they knew nothing, and nothing concerning
Burgoyne, but they had brazenly attended the Iroquois Federal Council,
when their nation was summoned there, and saw their great men, Spencer
and Skenandoa treated with cold indifference when the attitude of the
Oneida nation was made clear to the Indian Department and the Six
Nations.

"Then, brother," said Tahioni sadly, "our sachems covered themselves in
their blankets, and Skenandoa led them from the last Onondaga fire that
ever shall burn in North America."

"And we young warriors followed," added Kwiyeh, "and we walked in
silence, our hands resting on our hatchets."

"The Long House is breaking in two," said the Water-snake. "In the
middle it is sinking down. It sags already over Oneida Lake. The serpent
that lives there shall see it settling down through the deep water to
lie in ruins upon the magic sands forever."

After a decent silence Tahioni patted the Little Red Foot sewed on the
breast of my hunting shirt.

"If we all are to perish," he said proudly, "they shall respect our
scalps and our memory. Haih! Oneida! We young men salute our dying
nation."

I lifted my hatchet in silence, then slowly sheathed it.

"Is our Little Maid of Askalege well?" I asked.

"Thiohero is well. The River-reed makes magic yonder in the swale," said
Tahioni seriously.

"Is Thiohero here?" I exclaimed.

Her brother smiled: "She is a girl-warrior as well as our Oneida
prophetess. Skenandoa respects and consults her. Spencer, who worships
your white God and is still humble before Tharon, has said that my
sister is quite a witch. All Oneidas know her to be a sorceress. She can
make a pair of old moccasins jump about when she drums."

"Where is she now?"

"Yonder in the glade dancing with the fire-flies."

I walked forward in the luminous dusk, surrounded by my Oneidas. And, of
a sudden, in the swale ahead I saw sparks whirling up in clouds, but
perceived no fire.

"Fire-flies," whispered Tahioni.

And now, in the centre of the turbulent whirl of living sparks, I saw a
slim and supple shape, like a boy warrior stripped for war, and dancing
there all alone amid the gold and myriad greenish dots of light eddying
above the swale grass.

Swaying, twisting, graceful as a thread of smoke, the little sorceress
danced in a perfect whirlwind of fire-flies, which made an incandescent
cloud enveloping her.

And I heard her singing in a low, clear voice the song that timed the
rhythm of her naked limbs and her painted body, from which the cinctured
wampum-broidered sporran flew like a shower of jewels:

    "Wood o' Brakabeen,
    Hiahya!
    Leaves, flowers, grasses green,
    Dancing where you lean
    Above the stream unseen,
    Hiahya!
    Dance, little fireflies,
    Like shooting stars in winter skies;
    Dance, little fireflies,
    As the Oneida Dancers whirl,
    Where silver clouds unfurl,
    Revealing a dark Heaven
    And Sisters Seven.
    Hiahya! Wood o' Brakabeen!
    Hiahya! Grasses green!
    You shall tell me what they mean
    Who ride hither,
    Who 'bide thither,
    Who creep unseen
    In red coats and in green;
    Who come this way,
    Who come to slay!
    Hiahya! my fireflies!
    Tell me all you know
    About the foe!
    Where hath he hidden?
    Whither hath he ridden?
    Where are the Maquas in their paint,
    Who have forgotten their Girl-Sainte?[37]
    Hiahya!
    I am The River-Reed!
    Hiahya!
    All things take heed!
    Naked, without drum or mask
    I do my magic task.
    Fireflies, tell me what I ask!..."

[Footnote 37: Catherine. Her shrine is at Auriesville--the Lourdes of
America--where many miraculous cures are effected.]

"He-he!" chuckled The Water-snake, "Thiohero is quite a witch!"

We seated ourselves. If the Little Maid of Askalege, whirling in her
dance, perceived us through her veil of living phosphorescence, she made
no sign.

And it was a long time before she stood still, swayed outward, reeled
across the grass, and fell face down among the ferns.

As I sprang to my feet Tahioni caught my arm.

"Remain very silent and still, my elder brother," he said gravely.

For a full hour, I think, the girl lay motionless among the ferns. The
cloud of fire-flies had vanished. Rarely one sparkled distantly now, far
away in the glade.

The delay, in the darkness, seemed interminable before the girl stirred,
raised her head, slowly sat upright.

Then she lifted one slim arm and called softly to me:

"Nai, my Captain!"

"Nai, Thiohero!" I answered.

She came creeping through the herbage and gathered herself cross-legged
beside me. I took her hands warmly, and released them; and she caressed
my arms and face with velvet touch.

"It is happiness to see you, my Captain," she said softly.

"Nai! Was I not right when I foretold your hurt at the fight near the
Drowned Lands?"

"Truly," said I, "you are a sorceress; and I am deeply grateful to you
for your care of me when I lay wounded by Howell's house."

"I hear you. I listen attentively. I am glad," she said. "And I continue
to listen for your voice, my Captain."

"Then--have you talked secretly with the fire-flies?" I asked gravely.

"I have talked with them."

"And have they told you anything, little sister?"

"The fire-flies say that many green-coats and Maquas have gone to
Stanwix," she replied seriously, "and that other green-coats,--who now
wear _red_ coats,--are following from Oswego."

I nodded: "Sir John's Yorkers," I said to Tahioni.

"Also," she said, "there are with them men in _strange uniforms_, which
are not American, not British."

"What!" I exclaimed, startled in spite of myself.

"Strange men in strange dress," she murmured, "who speak neither English
nor French nor Iroquois nor Algonquin."

Then, all in an instant, it came to me what she meant--what Penelope had
meant.

"You mean the Chasseurs from Buck Island," said I, "the Hessians!"

But she did not know, only that they wore gray and green clothing and
were tall, ruddy men--taller for the odd caps they wore, and their long
legs buttoned in black to the hips.

"Hessians," I repeated. "Hainault riflemen hired out to the King of
England by their greedy and contemptible German master and by that great
ass, George Third, shipped hither to stir in us Americans a hatred for
himself that never shall be extinguished!"

"Are their scalps well haired?" inquired Tahioni anxiously.

It seemed a ludicrous thing to say, and I was put to it to stifle my
sudden mirth.

"They wear pig-tails in eel-skins, and stiffened with pomade that stinks
from New York to Albany," said I.

Then my mood sobered again; and I thought of Penelope's vision and
wondered whether I was truly fated to meet my end in combat with these
dogs of Germans.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Screech-owl had made a fire. Also, before my arrival he had killed
an August doe, and a haunch was now a-roasting and filling my nostrils
with a pleasant odour.

We spread our blankets and ate our parched corn, watching our meat
cooking.

"And McDonald?" I inquired of Thiohero, who sat close to me and rested
her head on my shoulder while eating her parched com.

"My fire-flies tell me," said she gravely, "that the outlaws travel this
way, and shall hang on the Schoharie in ambush."

"When?"

"When there is a battle near Stanwix."

"Oh. Shall McDonald come to Brakabeen?"

"Yes."

I gazed absently at the fire, slowly chewing my parched corn.




CHAPTER XXVIII

OYANEH!


The problem which I must now solve staggered me. How was it possible,
with my little scout of five, to discover McDonald's approach and also
find Sir John's line of communication and penetrate his purpose?

On a leaf of my _carnet_ I made a map which was shaped like an immense
right-angle triangle, its apex Fort Stanwix in the west; its base
Schoharie Creek; the Mohawk River its perpendicular; its hypothenuse my
bee's-flight to Oneida.

The only certain information I possessed was that Sir John and St. Leger
had sailed from Buck Island to Oswego, and from there were marching
somewhere. I guessed, of course, that they were approaching the Mohawk
by way of Oneida Lake; yet, even so, they might have detached McDonald's
outlaws and sent them to Otsego; or they might be coming upon us in full
force from that same direction, with flanking war parties flung out
toward Stanwix to aid their strategy.

One thing, however, seemed almost certain, and that was the direction
their waggons must take from Oneida Lake; for I did not think Sir John
would attempt Otsego in any force after his tragic dose of a pathless
wilderness the year before.

I saw very plainly, however, that I must now give up any attempt to
scout for McDonald's painted demons on the Schoharie until I had
discovered Sir John's objective and traced his line of communications.
And I realized that I must now move quickly.

There were only two logical methods left open to me to accomplish this
hazardous business with my handful of scouts. The easier way was
instantly to face about, secure two good canoes at Schoharie, make
directly for the Mohawk River, and follow it westward by water day and
night.

But the surer way to run across Sir John's trail--and perhaps
McDonald's--was to take to the western forests, follow the hypothenuse
of the great triangle, and, travelling lightly and swiftly northwest,
headed straight for Oneida Lake.

This was what, finally, I decided to attempt as I lay on my blanket
that night; and I was loath to leave the Schoharie and ashamed to turn
tail to McDonald's ragamuffins, when the entire district was in so great
distress, and Brakabeen farms a rat's nest of disloyal families.

But there seemed to be no other way to conduct if I obeyed my orders,
too;--no better method of discovering McDonald and of devising
punishment for him, even though in the meanwhile he should carry fire
and sword through Schoharie,--perhaps menace Schenectady,--perhaps
Albany itself.

No, there was no other choice; and finally I realized this, after a
night passed in agonized indecision, and asking God's guidance to aid my
inexperience in this so terrible a crisis.

At dawn my Indians began to paint.

After we had eaten a bowl of samp I called them around me, shewed them
the map I had made in my _carnet_, told them what I had decided, and
invited opinions from everybody. I added that there now was no time for
any customary formalities of deliberation so dear to all Indians: I told
them that Tharon and God were one; and that our ancestors understood and
approved what we were about to do.

Then I laid a handful of dry sticks upon the ground, pretended that this
was a fire; warmed my hands at it; lighted an imaginary pipe; puffed it
and passed it around in pantomime.

Still employing symbols to reassure these young Oneida warriors
concerning time-honoured formalities which they dared not disregard, I
drew a circle in the air with my finger, cut it twice with an imaginary
horizontal line to indicate a sunrise and a sunset, then turned to
Tahioni and bade him answer my speech of _yesterday_ after a _night's
deliberation_.

The young warrior replied gravely that he and his comrades had
consulted, and were of one mind with me. He said that it was with sorrow
that they turned their backs on McDonald, who was a great villain and
who surely would now be coming to Schoharie to murder and destroy; but
that _it did no good to sever the tail of a snake_. He said that the
fanged head of the Tory Serpent was somewhere east of Oneida Lake; that
if we scouted swiftly and thoroughly in that direction we could very
soon surmise where the poisonous head was about to strike, by
discovering and then observing the direction in which the body of the
serpent was travelling.

One by one I asked my young men for an opinion: the youthful warriors
were unanimous.

Then I turned and gazed fearfully at Thiohero, knowing well enough that
these other adolescents would obey her blindly, and in dread lest her
own dreams should sway her judgment and counsel her to advise us to some
folly. She was their prophetess; there was nothing to do without her
sanction. I could not order these Oneidas; I could only attempt to use
them through their own instincts and personal loyalty to myself.

The early sun gilded the painted body of their sorceress, making of her
clan ensign and the Little Red Foot two brilliant and jewelled symbols.

She stood lithely upright, one smooth knee nestling to the other, her
feet in their ankle moccasins planted parallel and close together, and
her body all glistening like a gold dragon-fly.

From her painted cincture hung her war-sporran,--a narrow cascade of
pale blue wampum barred with scarlet and lined with winter weasel.
Hatchet and knife swung from either hip; powder-horn and bullet-wallet
dangled beneath her arm-pits. A war bow and a quiver full of scarlet
arrows hung at her back. Her hair, shoulder-short and glossy-thick, was
bound above the brows by a tight scarlet circlet. From this, across her
left ear, sagged a heron's feather.

Never had I beheld such wild and supple grace in any living thing save
only in a young panther clothed in the soft, dun-gold of her wedding
fur.

"Thiohero," I said, "little sister to whom has been given an instinct
more delicate than ours, and senses more subtle, and a wisdom both human
and superhuman,--you who listen when the forest trees talk one to
another under the full moon's lustre,--you who understand the speech of
our lesser comrades that fly through the air paths on bright wings, or
run through the dusky woodlands on four furry feet--you who speak
secretly with the mighty dead; who whisper and laugh with fairies and
little people and stone-throwers; who with your magic drum can make
worn-out and cast-off moccasins dance; whose ancestress ate live coals
to frighten away the Flying Heads; whose forefathers destroyed the
Stonish Giants; _we Oneidas of the clan of the Little Red Foot_ are now
of one mind concerning the war-trail we ought to take and follow to the
end!

"_Little sister_; we desire to know your opinion. _Hiero!_"

Then the Little Maid of Askalege folded her arms, looking me intently in
the eyes.

"_Brother_, and my Captain," she said very quietly, "a year ago I told
you that you should come from Howell's house _in scarlet_. And it was
so.

"And while you lay at Summer House a Caughnawaga woman, with yellow
hair, washed the scarlet from your body.

"And there came a day when, we met under apple-trees in green
fruit--this Yellow Haired woman and I. And, stopping, we confronted each
the other; and looked deeply into one another's minds.

"_Brother_: when I discovered that Yellow Hair was in love with you I
became angry. But when I discovered that this young woman also _was a
sorceress_, then I became afraid.

"_Brother_: there was a vision in her mind, and I also beheld the scene
she gazed at.

"_Brother_: we saw a battle in the North, and men in strange uniforms,
and cannon smoke. And we _both_ were looking upon _you_; and upon a
shape near you, which stood wrapped to the head in white garments.

"_Brother_: I do not know what that shape may have been which stood
robed in white like a Chief of the Eight Plumed Ones.

"But at that moment we both understood--the Yellow Haired one and
I--that you must surely travel to this place we gazed at.

"So it makes no difference where you decide to go; all trails lead to
that appointed place; and you shall surely come there at the hour
appointed, though you travel the world over and across before you shall
at last arrive.

"_Brother_: we Oneida, of the Allied Clan of the Little Red Foot, are
now of one mind with our elder brother. He is our chief and Captain. He
has spoken as an Oneida to Oneidas. We understand. We thank him for his
love offered. We thank him for his kinship offered. We accept; and, in
our turn, we offer to our elder brother and Captain our love and our
kinship. We take him among us as an Oneida.

"At this our fire--for alas! no fire shall burn again at Onondaga, nor
at Oneida Lake, nor at The Wood's Edge, nor at Thendara--I, Thiohero,
Sorceress of Askalege, and _Oyaneh_, salute an Oneida chief and Sachem.
Hail Royaneh!"

"Hai! Royaneh!" shouted the young warriors in rising excitement.

The girl come to me slowly, stooped and tore from the ground a strand of
club-moss. Then, straightening up, she lifted her arms and held the
chaplet of moss over my head,--symbol of the chief's antlers.

"O nen ti eh o ya nen ton tah ya qua wen ne ken...."

Her young voice faltered, broke:

"Tah o nen sah gon yan nen tah ah tah o nen ti ton tah ken yahtas!" she
added in a strangled voice: "Now I have finished. Now show me the
_man_!"

"He is here!" cried the excited Oneidas. "He wears the antlers!"

Tahioni stretched out his hand; it was trembling when he touched the red
foot sewed on my hunting shirt.

"What is his name, O Thiohero, whom you have raised up among the Oneida?
Who mourn a great man dead?"

A deep silence fell among them; for what their prophetess had done meant
that she must have knowledge that a great man and chief among the Oneida
lay dead somewhere at that very moment.

Slowly the girl turned her head from one to another; a veiled look
drowned her gaze; the young men were quivering in the imminence of a
revelation based upon knowledge which could be explained only by
sorcery.

Then the Little Maid of Askalege took a dry stick from the pretended
fire, crumbled it, touched her lips with the powder in sign of personal
and intimate mourning.

"Spencer, Interpreter and Oneida Chief, shall die this week in battle,"
she said in a dull voice.

A murmur of horror and rage, instantly checked and suppressed, left the
Oneidas staring at their prophetess.

"Therefore," she whispered, "I acquaint you that we have chosen this
young man to take his place; we lift the antlers; we give him the same
name,--Hahyion!"[38]

[Footnote 38: Haghriron, of the Great Rite, in the Canienga dialect.]

"Haih! Hahyion!" shouted the Oneidas with up-flung hands.

I was dumb. I could not speak. I dared not ask this girl why and by what
knowledge she presumed to predict the death of Spencer, and to raise me
up in his place and give me the same name.

In spite of me her magic made me shudder.

But now that I was truly an Oneida, and in absolute authority, I must
act quickly.

"Come, then," said I in a shaky voice, "we People of the Rock must march
on the Gates of Sunset. If my fate lies there, why then I am due to die
in that place!... Make ready, Oneidas!"

The Screech-owl found a hollow under a windfall; and here we hurriedly
hid our heavier baggage.

Then, when all had completed painting the Little Red Foot on their
bellies, I stepped swiftly ahead of them and turned northwest.

"March," I said in a low voice.

We travelled as the honey-bee flies, and as rapidly while the going was
good en route; but to cover this great triangle of forests we were
obliged to use the tactics of hunting wolves and, from some given point,
circle the surrounding country, in hopes of cutting the hidden British
trail we sought.

This delayed us; but it was the only way. And, like trained hunting
dogs, we even quartered and cut up the wilderness, halting and
encircling Cherry Valley on the second day out, because I knew how
familiar was Walter Butler with that region and with the people who
inhabited it, and suspected that he might be likely to lead his first
attack over ground he knew so well.

Ah, God!--had I known then what all the world knows now! And I erred
only in guessing at the time of Cherry Valley's martyrdom, not in
estimating the ferocious purpose of young Walter Butler.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the afternoon of our second day out from Schoharie, while we were
still beating up the bush of the Cherry Valley district, I left my
Indians and went alone down into the pretty settlement in quest of
information and also to renew our scanty stock of provisions. I found
the lovely place almost deserted, save for a few old men of the exempts
working on a sort of fort around Colonel Clyde's house, and a few women
and children who had not yet gone off to Schenectady or Albany.

I stopped at the house of the Wells family. John Wells, the father of my
friend Bob, had been one of the Judges of the Tryon County courts,
sitting on the bench with old John Butler, who now was invading us, with
Sir John, in arms.

Bob was away on military duty, but there were in the house his mother,
his wife, his four little children, his brother Jack, and Janet, his
engaging sister whom I had admired so often at the Hall, and who was
beloved like a daughter by Sir William.

I shall never forget the amazement of these delightful and kindly people
when I appeared at their door in Cherry Valley, nor their affectionate
hospitality when they learned my purpose and my errand.

A sack of provisions was immediately provided me; their kindness and
courtesy seemed inexhaustible, although even now the shadow of terror
lay over Cherry Valley. Their young men under Colonels Clyde and
Campbell had gone to join Herkimer; they were utterly destitute of
defense against McDonald or Sir John if Schoharie were invaded, or if
Stanwix fell, or if Herkimer gave way before St. Leger.

They asked news of me very calmly, and I told them all I had learned and
something of the sinister rumours which now were current in the Mohawk
and Schoharie Valleys.

They, in their turn, knew nothing positive of Sir John, but had heard
that he was marching on Stanwix with St. Leger and Brant, and that a
thousand savages were with them.

My sojourn at the Wells house was brief; the family was evidently very
anxious but not gloomy; even the children smiled courageously when I
made my adieux; and my dear little friend, Janet, led me by the hand to
the edge of the brush-field, through which I must travel to regain the
forest, and kissed me at our parting.

On the wood's edge, I paused and looked back at the place called Cherry
Valley, lying so peacefully in the sunshine, where in the fields grain
already was turning golden green; and fat cattle grazed their pastures;
and wisps of smoke drifted from every chimney.

That is my memory of Cherry Valley in the sunny tranquillity of late
afternoon, where tasseled corn like ranks of plumed Indians, covered
vale and hillock; and clover and English grass grew green again after
the first haying; and on some orchard trees the summer apples glimmered
rosy ripe or lush gold among the leaves;--ah, God!--if I could have
known what another year was to bring to Cherry Valley!

There was no sound in the still settlement except a dull and distant
stirring made by the workmen sodding parapets on the new and unfinished
fort.

From where I stood I could see the Wells house, and the little children
at play in the dooryard; and Peter Smith, a servant, drawing water, who
one day was to see his master's family in their blood.

I could make out Colonel Campbell's house, too, and the chimney of
Colonel Clyde's house; and had a far glimpse of the residence of the
Reverend Mr. Dunlop, the aged minister of Cherry Valley.

From a gilded weather-cock I was able to guess about where Captain
M'Kean should reside; and Mr. Mitchell's barn I discovered, also. But
M'Kean and his rangers must now be marching with Herkimer's five
regiments to meet the hordes of St. Leger.

The sun sank blood-red behind the unbroken forests, and the sky over
Cherry Valley seemed to be all afire as I turned away and entered the
twilight of the woods, lugging my sack of provisions on my back.

That night my Indians and I lay within rifle-shot of the Mohawk River;
and at dawn we made a crow-flight of it toward Oneida Lake; and found
not a trace of Sir John or of anybody in that trackless wilderness; and
so camped at last, exhausted and discouraged.

On the fourth day, toward sunset, the Screech-owl, roaming far out on
our western flank, returned with news of a dead and stinking fire in the
woods, and fish heads rotting in it; and he thought the last ember burnt
out some four days since.

He took us to it in the dark, and his was a better woodcraft than I
could boast, who had been Brent-Meester, too. At dawn we examined the
ashes, but discovered nothing; and we were eating our parched corn and
discussing the matter of the fire when, very far away in the west, a
shot sounded; and in that same second we were on our feet and listening
like damned men for the last trumpet.

My heart made a deadened rataplan like a muffled drum, and seemed to
deafen me, so terribly intent was I.

Tahioni stretched out like a panther sunning on a log; and laid his ear
flat against the earth. Seconds grew to minutes; nobody stirred; no
other sound came from the westward.

Presently I turned and signalled in silence; my Indians crawled
noiselessly to their allotted intervals, extending our line north and
south; then, trailing my rifle, I stole forward through an open forest,
beneath the ancient and enormous trees of which no underbrush grew in
the eternal twilight.

Nothing stirred. There were no animals here, no birds, no living
creature that I could hear or see,--not even an insect.

Under our tread the mat of moist dead leaves gave back no sound; the
silence in this dim place was absolute.

We had been creeping forward for more than an hour, I think, before I
discovered the first sign of man in that spectral region.

I was breasting a small hillock set with tall walnut trees, in hopes of
obtaining a better view ahead, and had just reached the crest, and,
lying flat, was lifting my head for a cautious survey, when my eye
caught a long, wide streak of sunlight ahead.

My Indians, too, had seen this tell-tale evidence which indicated either
a stream or a road. But we all knew it was a road. We could see the
sunshine dappling it; and we crawled toward it, belly dragging, like
tree-cats stalking a dappled fawn.

Scarce had we come near enough to observe this road plainly, and the
crushed ferns and swale grasses in the new waggon ruts, when we heard
horses coming at a great distance.

Down we drop, each to a tree, and lie with levelled pieces, while slop!
thud! clink! come the horses, nearer, nearer; and, to my astonishment
and perplexity, from the _east_, and travelling the wrong way.

I cautioned my Oneidas fiercely against firing unless I so signalled
them; we lay waiting in an excitement well nigh unendurable, while
nearer and nearer came the leisurely sound of the advancing horses.

And now we saw them!--three red-coat dragoons riding very carelessly
westward on this wide, well-trodden road which now I knew must lead to
Oneida Lake.

I could see the British horsemen plainly. The day was hot; the sun beat
down on their red jackets and helmets; they sat their saddles wearily;
their faces were wet with perspiration, and they had loosened jacket and
neck-cloth, and their pistols were in holster, and their guns slung upon
their backs.

It was plain that these troopers had no thought of precaution nor
entertained any apprehension of danger on this road, which must lie in
the rear of their army, and must also be their route of communication
between the Lake and the Mohawk.

Slap, slop, clink! they trampled past us where my Oneidas lay a-tremble
like crouched cats to see the rats escaping on their runway.

But my ears had caught another sound,--the distant noise of wheels; and
I guessed that this was a waggon which the three horsemen should have
escorted, but, feeling entirely secure, had let their horses take their
own gait, and so had straggled on far ahead of the convoy with which
they should have kept in touch.

The waggon was far away. It approached slowly. Already the horsemen had
ridden clear out o' sight; and we crept to the edge of the road and lay
flat in the weeds, waiting, listening.

Twice the approaching vehicle halted as though to rest the horses; the
dragoons must have been a long way ahead by this time, for it was some
minutes since the sound of their horses' hoofs had died away in the
woods.

And now, near and ever nearer, creeps the waggon; and now it seems close
at hand; and now we see it far away down the road, slowly moving toward
us.

But it is no baggage-wain,--no transport cart that approaches us. The
two horses are caparisoned in bright harness; the driver wears a red
waistcoat and is a negro, and powdered. The vehicle is a private coach
which lurches, though driven cautiously.

"Good God!" said I, "that is Sir John's family coach! Tahioni, hold
your Oneidas! For I mean to find out who rides so carelessly to Oneida
Lake, confiding too much in the army which has passed this way!"

Slowly, slowly the coach drew near our ambush. I recognized Colas as the
coachman _pro tem_; I knew the horses and the family coach; saw the
Johnson arms emblazoned on the panels as I rose from the roadside weeds.

"Colas!" I said quietly.

The negro pulled in his horses and sat staring at me, astounded.

I walked leisurely past the horses to the window of the coach. And
there, seated, I saw Polly Johnson and Claudia Swift.

There ensued a terrible silence and they gazed upon me as though they
were looking upon a dead man.

"Jack Drogue!" whispered Claudia, "how--how come you here?"

I bowed, my cap in my hand, but could not utter a word.

"Jack! Jack, are--are you alone?" faltered Lady Johnson. "Good heavens,
what does this mean, I beg of you?----"

"Where are your people, Polly?" I asked in a dead voice.

"My--my people? Do you mean my husband?"

"I mean him.... And his troops. Where are they at this moment?"

"Do you not know that the army is before Stanwix?"

"I know it now," said I gravely.

"Mercy on us, Jack!" cried Claudia, finding her voice shrilly; "will you
not tell us how it is that we meet you here on the Oneida road and close
to our own army?"

I shook my head: "No, Claudia, I shall not tell you. But I must ask you
how you came here and whither you now are bound. And you must answer."

They gazed at my sombre face with an intentness and anxiety that made me
sadder than ever I was in all my life.

Then, without a word, Lady Johnson laid aside the silken flap of her red
foot-mantle. And there my shocked eyes beheld a new born baby nursing at
her breast.

"We accompanied my husband from Buck Island to Oswego," she said
tremulously. "And, as the way was deemed so utterly secure, we took boat
at Oneida Lake and brought our horses.... And now are returning--never
dreaming of danger from--from your people--Jack."

I stared at the child; I stared at her.

"In God's name," I said, "get forward then, and hail your horsemen
escort. Say to them that the road is dangerous! Take to your batteau
and get you to Oswego as soon as may be. And I strictly enjoin you, come
not this way again, for there is now no safety in Tryon for man or woman
or child, nor like to be while red-coat or green remains within this
new-born nation!

"And you, Claudia, say to Sir Frederick Haldimand that he has lighted in
Tryon a flame that shall utterly consume him though he hide behind the
ramparts of Quebec itself! Say that to him!"

Then I stepped back and bade Colas drive on as fast as he dare. And when
he cracked his long whip, I stood uncovered and looked upon the woman I
once had loved, and upon the other woman who had been my childhood
playmate; and saw her child at her breast, and her pale face bowed above
it.

And so out of my life passed these two women forever, without any word
or sign save for the white faces of them and the deadly fear in their
eyes.

I stood there in the Oneida Road, watching their coach rolling and
swaying until it was out of view, and even the noise of it had utterly
died away.

Then I walked slowly back to the wood's edge; in silence my Oneidas rose
from the weeds and stood around me where I halted, the sleeve of my
buckskin shirt across my eyes.

Then, when I was ready, I turned and went forward, swiftly, in a
southeasterly direction; and heard their padded footsteps falling
lightly at my heels as I Hastened toward the Mohawk, a miserable, sad,
yet angry man.

       *       *       *       *       *

All that long, hot day we travelled; and in the afternoon black clouds
hid the sun, and presently a most furious thunder storm burst on us in
the woods, so that we were obliged to shelter us under the hemlocks and
lie there while rain roared and lightning blinded, and deafening thunder
shook the ground we lay on.

It was over in an hour. The forest dripped and steamed as we unwrapped
our rifles and started on.

Twice, it seemed to me, far to the east I heard a duller, vaguer noise
of thunder; and my Indians also noticed it.

Later, with the sky all blue above, it came again--dull, distant shocks
with no rolling echo trailing after.

Tahioni came to me, and I saw in his uneasy eyes what I also now
divined. For to the bravest Indian the sound of cannon is a terror and
an abomination. And I now had become very sure that it was cannon we
heard; for Stanwix lay far across the wilderness in that direction, and
the heavy, lifeless, and superheated air might carry the solemn sound
from a great distance.

But I said nothing, not choosing to share my conclusions with these
young warriors who, though they had taken scalps at Big Eddy, were yet
scarcely tried in war.

       *       *       *       *       *

That night we lay near an old trail which I knew ran to Otsego and
passed by Colonel Croghan's new house.

And on this trail, early the following morning, we encountered two men
whom my Indians, instead of taking as they should have done, instantly
shot down. Which betrayed their inexperience in war; and I rated them
roundly.

The two dead men were _blue-eyed_ Indians in all the horror of their
shameful paint and forest dress.

I knew one of them, for when Tahioni washed their lifeless visages and
laid them on their backs, there, to my hot indignation, I beheld young
Thomas Hare, brother to Lieutenant Henry Hare and to Captain James Hare,
of the Indian Service.

Horror-stricken, bitterly mortified, I gazed down at the dead features
of these two renegades who had betrayed their own race and colour; and
my Indians, watching me, understood when I turned and spat upon the
ground; and so they scalped both--which otherwise they had not dared in
my presence.

We found on them every evidence that they were serving as a scout for
McDonald. Probably when we encountered them they had been on their way
to Sir John at Stanwix with verbal intelligence. But now it was idle to
surmise what they might have been able to tell us.

We found upon their bodies no papers to shew where McDonald might be
lurking; and so, as I would not trouble to bury the carrion, my Oneidas
despoiled them, hid their weapons, pouched their money and ammunition,
and left them lying on the trail for their more respectable relatives,
the wolves, to devour.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, on the Otsego trail, which was but a vile one and nigh impassable
with undergrowth, we beat toward the Mohawk like circling hounds cast
out and at fault to find a scent.

And at evening of that day, the seventh of August, I saw a man in the
woods, and, watching, ordered my Indians to surround him and bring him
in alive.

Judge, then, of my chagrin when presently comes walking up, and arm in
arm with my Oneidas, one Daniel Wemple in his militia regimentals, a
Torloch farmer whom I knew.

"Great God, John!" says he, "what are you doing here with your tame
panthers and a pair o' raw scalps that smell white in my nostrils?"

I told him, and asked in turn for news.

"You know nothing?" he demanded.

"Nothing, Dan, only that we heard cannon to the eastward yesterday."

"Well," says he, "there has been a bloody fight at Oriska, John; and
Tryon must mourn her sons.

"For our fine regiments marched into an ambuscade on our way to drive
Sir John from Stanwix, which he had invested. Colonel Cox is dead, and
Majors Eisinlord and Klepsattle and Van Slyck. Colonel Paris is taken,
and our brigade surgeon, Younglove, and Captain Martin of the batteaux
service. John Frey, Major of brigade, is missing, and so is Colonel
Bellinger. Scarce an inferior officer but is slain or taken; our dead
soldiers are carted off by waggon-loads; our wounded lie in their
alder-litters. And among them our general,--old Honikol Herkimer!--and I
myself saw that brave Oneida die--our interpreter, Spencer----"

A cry escaped me, instantly checked as I looked at Thiohero. The girl
came and rested her arm on my left shoulder and gazed steadily at the
militia man.

He passed his hand wearily through his hair: "Only one regiment ran," he
said dully. "I shall not name it to you because it was not entirely
their fault; and afterward they lost heavily and fought bravely. But
this is a dreadful blow to Tryon, John Drogue."

"We were routed, then?"

"No. We drove them from the field pell mell! We cut Brant's savages to
pieces. We went at Sir John's Greens with our bayonets and tore the guts
out of them! We put the fear o' God into Butler's green-coats, too, and
there'll be caterwauling in Canada when the news is carried, for I saw
young Stephen Watts[39] dead in his blood, and Hare running off with a
broken arm a-flapping and he a-screaming like a singed wildcat----"

[Footnote 39: Captain Watts was left for dead but ultimately recovered.]

"Steve Watts! Dead!"

"I saw him. I saw one of our soldiers take his watch from his body. God!
What a shambles was there at Oriska!"

But I was thinking of young Stevie Watts, Polly Johnson's brother, and
my one-time friend, lying dead in his blood. And I thought of his
boyish passion for Penelope. And her kindness for him. And remembered
how last I had seen him.... And now he lay dead; and I had seen his
sister but a few hours ago--seen her for the last time I should ever
behold her.

I drew a breath like a deep and painful sigh.

"And the Fort?" I asked in a low voice.

"Stanwix holds fast, John Drogue. Willett is there, and Gansevoort with
the 3rd New York of the Line."

"Have you news of McDonald, Dan?"

"None."

"Whither do you travel express?"

"To Johnstown with the news if I can get there."

I warned him concerning conditions in Schoharie. We shook hands, and I
watched the brave militia man stride away through the forest all alone.

When we camped that night, Thiohero touched her brow and breasts with
ashes from our fire. That was her formal symbol of mourning for Spencer.
Later we all should mourn him in due ceremony.

Then she came and lay down close against me and rested her child's face
on my hollow'd arm. And so slept all night long, trembling in her
dreams.

I know not how it chanced that I erred in my scouting and lost
direction, but on the tenth day of August my Indians and I came out into
a grassy place where trees grew thinly.

The first thing I saw was an Indian, hanging by the heels from a tree,
and lashed there with the traces from a harness.

At the same time one of my Oneidas discovered a white man lying with his
feet in a pool of water. But when Tahioni drew the cocked hat from his
head to see his countenance, hair and skin stuck to it, and a most
horrid smell filled the woods.

And now, everywhere, we beheld evidences of the Oriska combat, for here
lay a soldier's empty knapsack, and yonder a ragged shirt, and there a
rusting tin cup, and here a boot all bloody and slit to the toe.

And now, looking about me, I suddenly comprehended that we were nearer
to Stanwix Fort than to Oriska; and had no business any nearer to either
place.

We now were in a most perilous region and must proceed with every
caution, for in this forest Brant's Iroquois must be roaming everywhere
in the rear of the troops which had invested Stanwix.

My Oneidas understood this without explanation from me; and they and I
also became further alarmed when, to our astonishment, we came upon a
broad road running through a forest where I swear no road had existed a
twelve-month past.

Where this road led, and from whence, neither my Oneidas nor I knew. It
was a raw and new road, yet it had been heavily travelled both ways by
horse, foot, and waggons. It seemed to have as many windings as the
Kennyetto at Fonda's Bush; and I saw it had been builded to run clear of
hills and swampy land, as though made for a traffic heavier than a log
road might easily sustain.

We left the road but scouted eastward along its edge, I desiring to
learn more of it; for it seemed to bear toward Wood Creek; and if there
were enemy batteaux to be seen I wished to count them.

Suddenly Thiohero touched my arm,--caught my sleeve convulsively.

"Hahyion--Royaneh--my elder brother--O my white Captain!" she stammered,
clinging to me in her excitement, "here is the _place_! Here is the
place I saw in my vision! Here I saw strange uniforms and cannon
smoke--and a strange white shape--and you--O Hahyion--my Captain!----"

I looked around me, suddenly chilled and shivering in spite of the heat
of a summer afternoon. But I perceived nobody except my Oneidas. We were
on a long, sparsely-wooded hillock where juniper spread waist high.
Below I could see the new road curving sharply to the eastward. But
nobody moved down there; there was not a sound to be heard, not a
movement in the forest. All around us was still as death.

Something about the abrupt bend in the empty road below me attracted my
attention. I examined it intently for a while, then, cautioning my
Indians, I ventured to move forward and around the south slope of the
hillock, wading waist-deep in juniper, in order to get a look at what
might lie behind the bend in this road of mystery.

The road appeared to end abruptly just around the curve, as though it
had been opened only so far and then abandoned. This first amazed me and
then alarmed me, because I knew it could not be so as I had seen on the
roadbed evidences of recent and heavy travel.

I stood peering down at it where it seemed to stop short against the
green and tangled barrier of the woods which blocked it like a living
abattis----

God! It _was_ an abattis!--a mask!

As I realized this I saw a man in a strange, outlandish uniform run out
from the green and living barrier, look up at me where I stood in the
juniper, shout out something _in German_, and stand pointing up at me
while a score of soldiers, all in this same outlandish uniform, swarmed
out upon the road and started running toward where I stood.

Then I came to my senses, clapped my rifle to my cheek and fired,
stopping one of these strange soldiers and curing him of his running
habits forever.

To me arrived swiftly my Oneidas, and dropped in the juniper, kneeling
and firing upon the soldiers below. Two among them fell down flat on the
road, and then the others turned and fled straight into their green
barrier of branches. From there they fired at us wildly, keeping up a
strange, hoarse shouting.

"Hessian chasseurs!" I exclaimed. "These troops can be no other than the
filthy Germans hired by King George to come here and cut our throats!"

"_Those men wear the uniform I saw in my vision of this place!_"
whispered Thiohero, quietly reloading her rifle. "I think that this is
truly your battle, my Captain."

Then, as her prophecy of cannon came into my mind, there was a blinding
flash from that green barrier below; a vast cloud blotted it from view;
the pine beside which I stood shivered as though thunder-smitten; and
the entire top of it crashed down upon us, burying us all in lashing,
writhing branches.

So stunned and stupefied was I that I lay for an instant without motion,
my ears still deafened by that clap of thunder.

But now I floundered to my feet amid the pine-top's débris; around me
rose my terrified Oneidas, nearly paralyzed with fright.

"Come," said I, "we should pull foot ere they blow us into pieces with
their damned artillery. Thiohero, where are you?"

"I come, Royaneh!"

"Tahioni! Kwiyeh! Hanatoh!" I called anxiously.

Then I saw them all creeping like weasels from under the green débris.

"Hasten," I muttered, "for we shall have all the Iroquois in North
America on our backs in another moment."

As we started to retreat, the Germans emptied their muskets after us;
but I did not think anybody had been hit.

We now were running in single file, our rifles a-trail, Tahioni leading,
and I some distance in the rear, turning my head over my shoulder from
moment to moment to see if we were followed.

And now, as I ran on, I understood that this accursed road had been made
expressly to transport their siege artillery; that their guns were still
in transit; that they had masked a cannon and manned it with Hessian
chasseurs to keep their gun-road safe against surprise from any party
scouting out of Oriska.

Lord, what an ambuscade! And what an escape for us!

As I jogged on at the heels of my Indians, still dazed and shaken by the
deadly surprise of it all, I saw Thiohero, who was some little distance
in front of me, reel sideways as though out o' breath, and stand still
near a beech tree, holding her scarlet blanket against her body.

When I came up to her she was leaning against the tree, clutching her
blanket to her face and breast with both hands. But she heard me and
lifted her head from the gaily coloured folds.

"Hahyion--Royaneh!" she panted, "_this_ was your battle.... And now--it
is over ... and you shall live!..."

My Oneidas had halted and were looking back at us. And now they returned
rapidly and clustered around us.

"Are you exhausted, little sister?" I demanded, drawing nearer. "Are you
hurt----"

"Listen--my brother and--my Captain!" she burst out breathlessly.
"_This_ was the battle of my vision!--the strange uniforms--the
cannon-cloud--the white shape!... I saw it near you where--where you
stood in the cannon smoke!--a shape like mist at sunrise.... Haihee! It
was the face and shape of the Caughnawaga girl!... It was Yellow Hair
who floated there beside you in the cannon smoke!--covered to her eyes
in white and flowers----"

The Little Maid of Askalege clutched her gay blanket closer to her
breast and began to sway gently on her feet as though the thumping of a
distant partridge were a witch-drum.

"Haihya Hahyion!" she whispered--"Thiohero Oyaneh salutes--her
Captain.... I speak--as one dying.... Haiee! Haie--e! Yellow Hair is--is
quite--a witch!----"

Her voice failed; down on her knees she sank. And, as I snatched her
from the ground and lifted her, she looked up into my face and smiled.
Then, in a long-drawn sigh, her soul escaped between my arms that could
not stay its flight to Tharon.

Her face became as wax; her head fell forward on my breast; her eyes
rolled upward. And, as I pressed her in my arms, all my body grew warm
and wet with bright blood pouring from her softly parted lips.




CHAPTER XXIX

THE WOOD OF BRAKABEEN


It was the 12th day of August when we came again to the Wood of
Brakabeen,--we four young warriors of the clan of the Little Red Foot.

We were ragged and bruised and weary, and starving; but the fierce rage
burning in our breasts gave to each a strength and purpose that nerved
our briar-torn and battered bodies to effort inexhaustible.

Under scattered and furtive shots from German muskets we had retreated
through the forest with our dead prophetess, until night ended pursuit
by the chasseurs, and we ourselves had lost our direction.

All the next day we travelled southwest with our dead. On the tenth day
we came out on Otsego Lake, near to Croghan's new house.

Where he had cleared the bush and where Indian grass was growing as tall
as a man's head, we made a deep grave. And here we four clansmen buried
the Little Maid of Askalege; and sodded the mound with wild grasses
where strawberries grew, and blue asters and plumes of golden-rod.

A Canada whitethroat called sweetly, sadly, from the forest in the
sunset glow. We made for the grave a white cross of silver birch. We
placed parched corn and a cup of water at the foot of the cross; and her
bow and scarlet arrows against her needs where deer, God willing, should
be plenty. And near these we set her little moccasins lest in that
unknown land her tender feet should suffer on the trail.

In the morning we made a fire of ozier, sweet-birch, cherry wood, and
samphire.

When the aromatic smoke blew over us I rose and spoke. After I had
finished, the others in turn rose and spoke their mind, saying very
simply what was in their hearts concerning their little prophetess, who
had died wearing a little red foot painted on her body.

So we left her at rest under the wild flowers and Indian grass, near to
Croghan's empty house, with a vast wilderness around to guard the
sanctuary, and the sad whitethroats to mourn her.

       *       *       *       *       *

And now, fierce and starved and ragged, we came once more to the Wood of
Brakabeen. And heard McDonald's guns in the valley and his pibroch on
the hills.

The afternoon was still and hot, the deep blue sky cloudless. Over
Vrooman's Land a brown smoke hung; more smoke was rising above Clyberg;
more rolled up beyond the swampy ground near the Flockey.

From the edge of Brakabeen Wood, looking out over the valley, we could
hear firing in the direction of Stone House, more musketry toward Fox
Creek.

"McDonald is in Schoharie," I said to Tahioni. "There will be many dead
here, women and children and the grey-haired. Are my brothers of the
Little Red Foot too weary to strike?"

The young Oneida warrior laughed. I looked at my ragged comrades where
they crouched in their frightful paint, listening excitedly to the
distant firing, and I saw their lean cheeks twitching and their nostrils
a-flare as they scented the distant fighting.

The wild screaming of the pibroch, too, seemed to madden them; and it
enraged me, also, because I saw that Sir John's Highlanders were here
with McDonald's fantastic crew and had come to slaughter us all with
their dirks and broad-swords as they had threatened before Sir John fled
North.

We turned to the left and I led my Oneidas in a file through the ferny
glades of Brakabeen Wood, and amid still places where clear streams ran
deep in greenest moss; where tall lilies nodded their yellow Chinese
caps in the flowery swale; where, in the demi-light of forest aisles,
nothing grew save the great trees bedded there since the dawn of time,
which sprung their vast arches high above us to support their glowing
tapestry of leaves.

It was mid-afternoon when, smelling hot smoke, we came near the woods by
the river; and saw, close to us, a barn afire, and three men carrying
guns, running hither and thither in a hay field and setting every stack
aflame with their torches.

One o' the fellows was a drummer in the green uniform of Butler's
Rangers, and his drum was slung on his back. And I knew him. He was
Michael Reed of Fonda's Bush, and cousin to Nick Stoner.

And then, to my astonishment and rage, I saw Dries Bowman in his
farmer's clothes; and the other man was a huge German--one of their
chasseurs, who wore a stiff pig-tail that was greased, and a black
mustache, and waist-high spatter-dashes--a very barbarian in red and
blue and green; and grunting and puffing as he ran about in the hot
sunshine to set the hay-cocks afire with his torch.

I remember giving no command; we sprang out of the woods, trailing our
rifles in our left hands; and Bowman fired at me and, missing, started
to run; but I got him by his collar and knocked him over with my
gun-butt.

The Hessian chasseur instantly drew up and fired in our direction; and
Tahioni shot him dead in his tracks, where he fell heavily on his back
and lay in the grass with limbs outspread.

"You may take his scalp! I care not!" shouted I, watching my Oneidas,
who had got at Micky Reed and were striving to take him alive as I had
ordered.

But Reed had a big dragoon's pistol in his belt and would have used it
had not Kwiyeh killed him swiftly with his hatchet.

But I would not permit them to take Reed's scalp, and bade them despoil
the body quickly and bring the leather cross-belts and girdle to me.

Hanatoh ran up and caught Dries Bowman by the collar; and we jerked him
to his feet and dragged and hustled him into the woods. And here
despoiled him, pulling from his pockets a Royal Protection and a bundle
of papers, which revealed him as a spy sent down to preach treason in
Schoharie and carry what men he might corrupt as recruits to McDonald
and Sir John.

"That's enough to hang him!" I said sharply to Tahioni. "Link me up
those drummer's cross-belts!"

"What--what do you mean, John Drogue!" stammered the wretch. "Would you
murder an old neighbour?"

"That same old neighbour would have murdered me at Howell's house. And
now is come disguised in civilian clothing to Schoharie with a spy's
commission, to raise the district in arms against us."

"My God!" he shrieked, as Tahioni flung the leather halter about his
neck, "is it a crime if honest men stand by their King?"

"Not when they stand out in plain day and wear a red coat or a green,"
said I, flinging the leather halter over the oak tree's limb.

Hanatoh swiftly pinioned his arms and tied his wrists; I tossed the
halter's end to Kwiyeh. Tahioni also took hold of it.

"Hoist that spy!" I said coldly. And in a second more his feet were
kicking some half dozen inches above the ground.

My Oneidas fastened the halter to a stout bush; I was shaking all over
and felt sick and dizzy to hear him raling and choking in the leather
noose which was too stiff for the ghastly business.

But at that instant Tahioni shouted a shrill warning; I looked over my
shoulder and saw a great number of soldiers wearing red patches on their
hats, running across the burning hayfield to surround us.

Yet it needed better men than McDonald's to take me and my Oneidas in
Brakabeen Wood. We turned and plunged into the bush, leaving the
wretched spy[40] hanging to the oak, his convulsed body now spinning
dizzily round and round above the ground.

[Footnote 40: The historian, J. R. Simms, says that Benjamin De Luysnes
and his party strung up Dries Bowman, and then cut him down and let him
go with a warning. Simms also gives a different date to this affair. At
all events, it seems that Bowman was cut down in time to save his life.
Simms, by the way, spells De Luysnes' name De Line. Campbell mentions
Captain Stephen Watts as Major Stephen Watson. We all commit error.]

Looking back as I ran, I soon saw that the men who were chasing us had
little stomach for a pursuit which must presently lead to bush-fighting.
They shouted and halooed, but lagged as they arrived at the denser
woods; and they seemed to have no officers to encourage them, or if they
indeed possessed any I saw none.

Tahioni came fiercely to me, where I had halted, to watch the red-patch
soldiers, saying that we had now been out thirteen days and had taken
but three scalps. He said that to hang a man was not a proper vengeance
to atone the death of Thiohero; and wanted to know why my prisoners
should not be delivered to him and his Oneida comrades, who knew how to
punish their enemies.

Which speech so angered me that I had a mind to take him by the throat.
Only the sudden memory of our Red Foot clan-ship, and of Thiohero,
deterred me. Also, that was no way to treat any Indian; and to lose my
self-control was to lose the Oneidas' respect and my authority over
them.

"My brother, Tahioni," said I coldly, "should not forget that he is my
_younger_ brother.

"If Tahioni were older, and possessed of more wisdom and experience, he
would know that unless a chief asks opinions none should be offered."

The youth's eyes flashed at me and he stiffened under a rebuke that is
hard for any Iroquois to swallow.

"My younger brother," said I, "ought to know that I am not like an
officer of Guy Johnson's Indian Department, who delivers prisoners to
the Mohawks. I deliver no prisoner to any Indian. I obey my orders, and
expect my Indians to obey mine. They are free always to take Indian
scalps. The scalps of white men they take only if permitted by me."

Tahioni hung his head, the Screech-owl and the Water-snake nodded
emphatic assent.

"Yonder," said I, "are the red-patch soldiers. They are Tory marauders
and outlaws. If you can ambush and cut off any of them, do so. And I
care not if you scalp them, either. But if any are taken I shall not
deliver them to any Oneida fire. No prisoner of this flying scout shall
burn."

The Water-snake twitched my sleeve timidly.

"Hahyion," he said, "we obey. But an Iroquois prefers the fire and
torment to the noose. Because he can sing his death songs and laugh at
his enemies through the flames. But what man can sing or boast when a
rope chokes his speech in his throat?"

I scarcely heeded him, for I was watching the red-patch soldiers, who
now were leaving the woods and crossing the hayfield, which still was
smoking where the fire made velvet-black patches in the dry grass.

The barn had fallen in and was only a great heap of glowing coals, over
which a pale flame played in the late afternoon sunshine.

Listening and looking after the red-patches, I heard very distinctly the
sound of guns in the direction of Stone House.

Now, while it was none of my business to hang on McDonald's flanks for
prisoners and scalps, it _was_ my business to observe him and what he
might be about in Schoharie; and to carry this news to Saratoga by way
of Johnstown, along with my budget concerning Stanwix and St. Leger.

Besides, Stone House lay on my way. So I signalled my Indians and
started west. And it was not very long before we came upon two Schoharie
militia-men whom I knew, Jacob Enders and George Warner, who took to a
tree when they discovered my Oneidas in their paint, but came out when I
called them by name, and gave an account that they were hunting a
notorious Tory,--a renegade and late officer in the Schoharie
Regiment,--a certain George Mann, a captain, who would have carried his
entire company to McDonald, but was surprised in his villainy and had
fled to the woods near Fox Creek.

I told them that we had not seen this fellow, and asked for news; and
Warner showed me a scalp which he said he took an hour ago from
Ogeyonda, after shooting that treacherous savage at the Flockey.

He gave it to Tahioni, which pleased the Oneida mightily and contented
me; for I hate to see any white man take a scalp, though Tim Murphy and
Dave Elerson took them as coolly as they took any other peltry.

Warner said that McDonald was up the valley, murdering and burning his
way westward; that cavalry from Albany had just arrived, had raided
Brick House and taken prisoner a lot of red-patch militia, forced them
to tear up their Royal Protections, tied up the most obnoxious, and
kicked out the remainder with a warning.

He said, further, that Adam Crysler and Joseph Brown, of Clyberg, were
great villains and had joined McDonald with Billy Zimmer and others; and
that McDonald had a motley army, full of kilted Highlanders, chasseurs,
red-patches, Indians, and painted Tories; and that the cavalry from
Albany were marching to meet them, reinforced by Schoharie
mounted-militia under Colonel Harper.

And now, even as Warner was still speaking, we heard the trumpet of the
cavalry on the river road below; and, running out to the forest's edge,
we saw the Albany Riders marching up the river,--two hundred horsemen in
bright new helmets and uniforms, finely horsed, their naked sabers all
glittering in the sun, and their trumpeter trotting ahead on a handsome
white charger.

The horses, four abreast, were at a fast walk; flankers galloped ahead
on either wing. And, as we hurried down to the road, an officer I knew,
Lieutenant Wirt, came spurring forward to meet and question us, followed
by two troopers,--one named Rose and the other was Jake Van Dyck, whom I
also recognized.

"Jack Drogue, by all the gods of war!" cried the handsome lieutenant, as
I saluted and spoke to him by name.

"Dave Wirt!" I exclaimed, offering my hand, which he grasped, leaning
wide from his saddle.

He turned his mount toward the road again, and I and my Oneidas walked
along beside him.

"Are those your tame panthers?" he demanded, pointing toward my Oneidas
with his sword. "If they are, then we should have agreeable work for
them and for you, Jack Drogue. For Vrooman and his men are in Stone
House and the red-patches fire on them whenever they show a head; and
our cavalry are like to strike McDonald at any moment now. We caught two
of his damned spies----"

At that instant, far down the road I saw a woman; and even at that
distance I recognized her.

"Yonder walks a bad citizen," said I sharply. "That is Madame Staats!"

We had now arrived beside the moving column of riders; and, as I spoke,
a dozen cavalrymen shouted: "Here comes Rya's Pup!"

A captain of cavalry who spoke English with a French accent shouted to
the Pup and beckoned her; but she turned and ran the other way.

Immediately two troopers spurred after her and caught her as she was
fording the river; and each seized her by a hand, turned their horses,
and trotted back to us with their prisoner, amid shouts of laughter.

Rya's Pup, breathless from her enforced run, fairly spat at us in her
fury, cursing and threatening and holding her panting flanks in turn.

"You dirty rebel dogs!" she screamed, "wait till McDonald catches you!
Ah--there'll be blood enow for you all to wade in as I waded in the
river yonder, when your filthy cavalry headed me!"

Wirt tried to question her, but she mocked us all, boasted that McDonald
had a huge army at the Flockey, and that he was now on his way to Stone
House to destroy us all.

"Turn that slut loose!" said the Captain sharply.

So we let go the Pup, and she turned and legged it, yelling her scorn
and fury as she ran; and we saw her go floundering and splashing across
the river, doubtless to carry news of us to McDonald.

And it contented us that she so do, because now we came upon Stone
House, where the small garrison under a Lieutenant Wallace had ventured
out and were a-digging of a ditch and piling fence rails across the road
to stop McDonald's riders in a charge.

Here, also, were Harper's mounted militia, sitting their saddles, poorly
armed with militia fire-locks.

But we had a respectable force and were ashamed to await the outlaws
behind ditch and rail; so we marched on through the gathering dusk to a
house about two miles further, where a dozen strangely painted horsemen
galloped away as we approached.

A yell of rage at sight of those blue-eyed Indians arose from our
riders. Our trumpet sounded; the cavalry broke into a gallop.

It was now twilight.

I begged some mounted militia-men to take me and my Oneidas up behind
them; and they were obliging enough to do so; and we jogged away into
the rosy dusk of an August evening.

Almost immediately I saw the Flockey ahead, and Adam Crysler's house on
the bank; and on the lawn in front of it I saw McDonald's grotesque
legion drawn up in line of battle.

As I came up our cavalry was forming to charge; Lieutenant Wirt had just
turned in his saddle to speak to me, when one of the outlaws ran out to
the edge of the lawn and called across the road to Wirt that he should
never live to marry Angelica Vrooman,[41] but would die a dog's death as
he deserved.

[Footnote 41: Angelica Vrooman sewed the winding sheet for Lieutenant
Wirt's body.]

As the cavalry charged, Wirt rode directly at this man, who coolly shot
him out of his saddle.

I saw and recognized the outlaw, who was a Tory named Shafer.

As Wirt fell to the grass, stone dead, his horse knocked down Shafer.
The Tory got up, streaming with blood but not badly hurt, and, clubbing
his piece, attempted to dash out Wirt's dead brains; but Trooper Rose
swung his horse violently against Shafer, sabred him, and, in turn, fell
from his own saddle, fatally wounded.

Another trooper dismounted to pick up poor Rose, who was in a bad way,
but one of McDonald's painted Tories fired on them and both fell.

I fired at this man and wounded him, and Tahioni chased him, caught him,
and slew him by the fence.

Then, above the turmoil of horses and gun-shots, the Oneida's terrific
scalp-yell rang out in the deepening dusk; and at that dread panther-cry
a panic seemed to seize McDonald's men, for their grotesque riders
suddenly whirled their horses and stampeded ventre-à-terre, riding
westward like damned men; and I saw their Highlanders and Chasseurs and
renegade Greens break and scatter into the forest on every side, melting
away into the night before our eyes.

Into the brush leaped my Oneidas; their war-yells awoke the shuddering
echoes of Brakabeen Wood. I saw a chasseur leap a rail fence, stumble,
and fall with the Screech-owl on top of him. Again the awful Oneida
scalp-yelp rang out under the first dim stars.

       *       *       *       *       *

The cavalry returned and camped at Stone House that night. They brought
in their dead by torch-light; and I saw Wirt's body borne on a
stretcher, and the corpse of Trooper Rose, and others.

One by one my Oneidas returned like blood-slaked and weary hounds. All
had taken scalps, and sat late at our fire to hoop and stretch them, and
neatly plait the miserable dead hair that hung all draggled from the
pitiful shreds of skin.

At a cavalry watch-fire near to ours were also some people I
knew--Mayfield men of a scout of six, just come in; and I went over to
their fire and greeted them and questioned them concerning news from
home.

Truman Christie was their lieutenant; Sol and Seely Woodworth, the two
Reynolds, and Billy Dunham composed the scout; and all were in
rifle-dress and keen to try their rifles on McDonald, but were arrived
too late, and feared now that the outlaws were on their way to Canada.

Christie told me that the alarm in Johnstown and at Mayfield was great;
that hostile Indians had been seen near Tribes Hill, and had killed a
farmer there; that some people were leaving Caughnawaga and moving their
household goods down the river to Schenectady.

"By God," says he, "and I don't blame 'em, John Drogue! No! For a Mohawk
war party is like to strike Caughnawaga at any hour; and why foolish
folk, like old Douw Fonda, remain there is beyond my comprehension."

"Douw Fonda!" said I, astonished. "Why, he is gone to Albany."

"He came back a week ago," says Christie. "They tell me that the young
Patroon tried to dissuade the old gentleman from going, but could do
nothing with him--Mr. Fonda being childish and obstinate--and so he had
his way and summoned his coach and his three niggers and drove in state
up the river to Caughnawaga. We passed that way on scout, and I saw the
old gentleman two days ago sitting on his porch with his gold-headed
walking stick and his book, and dozing there in the sun; and the
yellow-haired girl knitting at his feet----"

"What!"

He looked at me, startled by my vehemence.

"Sir," said he, "did I say aught to offend you?"

"Good God, no. You say that the--the yellow-haired girl, Penelope Grant,
is at Caughnawaga with Douw Fonda!"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you see her?"

"I did; and spoke with her."

"What did she say?" I asked unsteadily.

"She said that Mr. Fonda had sent a negro servant to Johnstown to fetch
her, because, having returned to Caughnawaga, he needed her."

"I think Mr. Fonda's three sons and their families must all be mad to
permit the old gentleman to come to Caughnawaga in such perilous times
as these!" I said sharply.

"And so do I think likewise," rejoined Christie. "Let them think and say
what they like, but, Mr. Drogue, I am an old Indian fighter and have
served under Colonel Claus and Sir William Johnson. I know the Iroquois;
I know their ways and wiles and craft and subtle designs; and I know how
they think, and what they are most likely to do.

"And I say to you very solemnly, Mr. Drogue, that were I Joseph Brant I
would strike Caughnawaga before snow flies. And, sir, under God, it is
my honest belief that he will do exactly that very thing. And it will be
a sorry business for the Valley when he does so!"

It was a dreadful thing for me to hear this veteran affirm what I myself
already feared.

But I had never dreamed that the aged Douw Fonda would return to
Caughnawaga, or that his sons would permit the obstinate, helpless, and
childish old gentleman to so have his say and way in times like these.

Nor did I dream that Penelope would go to him again. I knew, of course,
that she would surely go if he asked for her; but thought he had too
completely forgotten her--as the Patroon wrote--and that his
childishness and feeble memory no longer retained any remembrance of the
young girl he had loved and had offered to adopt and to make his
legatee.

The news that Captain Christie brought was truly dismal news for me and
most alarming.

What on earth I could do about it I had no idea. Penelope, the soul of
loyalty, believed that her duty lay with Mr. Fonda, and that, if he
asked for her, she must go and care for him, who had been to her a
father when she was poor, shelterless, and alone.

I realized that no argument, no plea of mine could move her to abandon
him now. And what logic could I employ to arouse this childish and
obstinate old gentleman to any apprehension of his own peril or hers?

To think of it madded me, because Mr. Fonda had three wealthy sons
living near him, who could care for him properly with their ample means
and all their servants and slaves. And why in God's name Captain John
Fonda, Major Jelles Fonda, or Major Adam Fonda did not take some means
of moving themselves and their families into the Queens Fort, or, better
still, into Albany, I can not comprehend.

But it was a fact, as Christie related to me, that scarce a soul had
fled from Caughnawaga. All the landed gentry remained; all people of
high or low degree were still there--folk like the Veeders, Sammons,
Romeyns, Hansens, Yates, Putmans, Stevens, Fishers, Gaults.

That night my dreams were horrible: I seemed to see Dries Bowman's body
spinning in the sunshine, whilst he darted his swollen tongue at me like
a snake. And always I seemed all wet with blood and could not dry myself
or escape the convulsed embrace of the Little Maid of Askalege.

Moaning, waking with a cry on my lips to gaze on the red embers of our
fire and see my Indians stir under their blankets and open slitted eyes
at me--or to lie exhausted in body and all trembling in my thoughts,
while the slow, dark hours dragged to the dead march beating in my
heart--thus passed the night at Stone House, full of visions of the
dead.

Long ere the cavalry trumpet pealed and the tired troopers awakened
after near fifty miles of riding the day before, I had dragged my weary
Indians from their sleep; and almost immediately we were on our way,
eating a pinch of salted corn from the palms of our hands as we moved
forward. For, after a brief ceremony in the Wood of Brakabeen, I meant
to make Johnstown without a halt. My mind was full of anxiety for
Caughnawaga, and for her who had promised herself to me when again I
should come to seek her.

But first we must halt in the Wood of Brakabeen to fulfill in ceremony
that office due to the memory of a brave and faithful Oneida
warrior--our little Maid of Askalege.

It was not yet dawn, and the glades of Brakabeen Wood were dark and
still; and on the ferns and grasses rested myriads of fire-flies, all
pulsating with faint phosphorescence.

I thought of Thiohero as I had beheld her in this glade, swaying on her
slender feet amid a dizzy whirl of fire-flies.

Tahioni had gathered a dry faggot; Kwiyeh carried a bundle of
cherry-birch, samphire, and witch-hopple. The Water-snake laid the fire.

All seated themselves; I struck flint, blew the tinder to a coal, and
lighted a silver birch-shred.

The scented smoke mounted straight up through the trees; I rose in
silence; and when the first burning stick fell into soft white ashes, I
took a few flakes in my palm and rubbed them across my forehead. Then I
spoke, facing the locked gates of morning in the dark:

"Now--now I hear your voice coming to us through the forest in the
night.

"Now our hearts are heavy, little sister. The gates of morning are still
locked; the forest is still; everywhere there is thick darkness.

"_Thiohero, listen!_

"Now we Oneidas are depressed in our minds. You were a prophetess. You
foretold events. You were a warrior. We were your clansmen of the Little
Red Foot. You were a sorceress. Empty moccasins danced when you touched
the witch-drum. Now, in white plumes, you have mounted to the stars like
morning mist.

"_Oyaneh! Continue to listen._

"Our lodge is empty without you. Our fire is lonely without you. Our
hearts are desolate, O Thiohero Oyaneh!

"_Little Sister, continue to listen!_

"We have heard your voice at this hour coming to us through the Wood of
Brakabeen. It comes in darkness like light when the gates of morning
open.

"Thiohero Oyaneh, virgin warrior of the People of the Rock, we are come
to the Wood of Brakabeen to greet and thank you.

"We give you gratitude and love. You were a warrior and wore the Little
Red Foot. You struck your enemies where you found them. They are dead
and without scalps, your enemies. The Canienga howl. Your war-axe sticks
in their heads. The Hessians are swine. Your scarlet arrows turn them
into porcupines. The green-coats flee and your bullets burn their
bowels.

"_O my little sister, listen now!_

"Our trail is very lonely without you. We are dejected. We move like
old men and sick. We need your wisdom. We are less wise than those
littlest ones still strapped to the cradle board.

"_Thiohero!_

"We have placed food and a cup of water for you lest you hunger and
thirst.

"We have laid a bow and scarlet arrows near you so that you shall hunt
when you wish.

"We have given you moccasins so that the strange, bright trail shall not
hurt your feet.

"We have placed paint for you so that Tharon shall know you by your
clan. And we have made for your grave a cross of silver-birch, so that
our white Lord Christ shall meet you and take you by the hand in a land
so new and strange.

"_Oyaneh!_

"We have said what is in our hearts and minds. We think that is all we
have to say. We turn our eyes to the morning. When the gates open we
shall depart."

As I ended, the three Oneidas rose and faced the east in silence. All
the sky had become golden. Minute after minute passed. Suddenly a
blinding lance of light pierced the Wood of Brakabeen.

"Haih!" they exclaimed softly. "Nai Thiohero Oyaneh!"

Tahioni covered the fire. The Screech-owl marked us all with a coal
still warm.

Then, in silence, I led my people from the misty Wood of Brakabeen.




CHAPTER XXX

A LONG GOOD-BYE


On the evening of the 15th of August, the Commandant of Johnstown Fort
stood aghast to see a forest-running ragamuffin and three scare-crow
Indians stagger into headquarters at the jail.

"Gad a-mercy!" says he as I offered the salute, "is it _you_, Mr.
Drogue!"

I was past all speech; for we had wolf-jogged all the way up from the
river, but from my rags I fished out my filthy papers and thrust them at
him. He was kind enough to ask me to sit; I nodded a like permission to
my Oneidas and dropped onto a settle; a sergeant fetched new-baked
bread, meat, buttermilk, and pipes for my Indians; and for me a draught
of summer cider, which presently I swallowed to the dregs when I found
strength to do it.

This refreshed me. I asked permission to lodge my Oneidas in some
convenient barn and to draw for them food, pay, tobacco, and clothing;
and very soon a corporal of Continentals arrived with a lantern and led
the Oneidas out into the night.

Then, at the Commandant's request, I gave a verbal account of my scout,
and reminded him of my instructions, which were to report at Saratoga.

But he merely shuffled my papers together and smiled, saying that he
would attend to that matter, and that there were new orders lately
arrived for me, and a sheaf of letters, among which two had been sent in
with a flag, and seals broken.

"Sir," he said, still smiling in kindly fashion, "I have every reason to
believe that patriotic service faithfully performed is not to remain too
long unrecognized at Albany. And this business of yours amounts to that,
Mr. Drogue."

He laughed and rubbed his powerful hands together, peering
good-humouredly at me out of a pair of small and piercing eyes.

"However," he added, "all this is for you to learn from others in higher
places than I occupy. Here are your letters, Mr. Drogue."

He laid his hand on a sheaf which lay near his elbow on the table and
handed them to me. They were tied together with tape which had been
sealed.

"Sir," said he, "you are in a woeful plight for lack of sleep; and I
should not detain you. You lodge, I think, at Burke's Tavern. Pray, sir,
retire to your quarters at your convenience, and dispose of well-earned
leisure as best suits you."

He rose, and I got stiffly to my feet.

"Your Indians shall have every consideration," said he. "And I dare
guess, sir, that you are destined to discover at the Tavern news that
should pleasure you."

We saluted; I thanked him for his kind usage, and took my leave, so
weary that I scarce knew what I was about.

How I arrived at the Tavern without falling asleep on my two legs as I
walked, I do not know. Jimmy Burke, who had come out with a light to
greet me, lifted his hands to heaven at sight of me.

"John Drogue! Is it yourself, avic? Ochone, the poor lad! Wirra the
day!" says he,--"and luk at him in his rags and thin as a clapperrail!"
And, "Magda! Betty!" he shouts, "f'r the sake o' the saints, run fetch a
wash-tub above, an' b'ilin' wather in a can, and soft-soap, too, an'
a-bite-an'-a-sup, or himself will die on me two hands----"

I heard maids running as I climbed the stairway, gripping at the rail to
steady me. I was asleep in my chair when some one shook me.

Blindly I pulled the dirty rags from my body and let them fall anywhere;
and I near died o' drowning in the great steaming tub, for twice I fell
asleep in the bath. I know not who pulled me out. I do not remember
eating. They say I did eat. Nor can I recollect how, at last, I got me
into bed.

I was still deeply asleep when Burke awoke me. He had a great bowl of
smoking soupaan and a pitcher of sweet milk; and I ate and drank, still
half asleep. But now the breeze from the open window and the sunshine in
my room slowly cleared my battered senses. I began to remember where I
was, and to look about the room.

Mine was the only bed; and there was nobody lying in it save only
myself, yet it was evident that another gentleman shared this room with
me; for yonder, on a ladder-back chair, lay somebody's clothing neatly
folded,--a Continental officer's uniform, on which I perceived the
insignia of a staff-captain.

Spurred boots also stood there, and a smartly cocked hat.

And now, on a peg in the wall, I discovered this unknown officer's
watch-coat, and his sword dangling by it, and a brace o' pistols.

But where the devil the owner of these implements might be I could not
guess.

And now my eyes fell upon the sheaf of letters lying on the table beside
me. I broke the sealed tape that bound them; they fell upon the bed
clothes; and I picked up the first at hazard, which was a packet, and
broke the seal of it. And sat there in my night shift, utterly astounded
at what I beheld.

For within the packet were two papers. One was a captain's commission in
the Continental Line; and my own name was writ upon it.

And the other paper was a letter, sent express from the Forest of Dean,
five days since, and it was from Major General Lord Stirling to me,
acquainting me that he had taken the liberty to request a captain's
commission in the Line for me; that His Excellency had concurred in the
request; that a commission had been duly granted and issued; and
that--His Excellency still graciously concurring and General Schuyler
endorsing the request--I had been transferred from the State Rangers to
the Line, and from the Line to the military family of General Lord
Stirling. And should report to him at the Forest of Dean.

To this elegant and formal and amazing letter, writ by a secretary and
signed by my Lord Stirling, was appended in his own familiar hand this
postscript:

"Jack Drogue will not refuse his old friend, Billy Alexander. So for
God's sake leave your rifle-shirt and moccasins in Johnstown and put on
the clothing which I have bespoken of the same Johnstown tailoress who
made your forest dress and mine when in happier days we hunted and
fished with Sir William in the pleasant forests of Fonda's Bush."

I sat there quite overcome, gazing now upon my commission, now upon my
friend's kind letter, now at my beautiful new uniform which his
consideration had procured for me while I was wandering leagues away in
the Northern bush, never dreaming that a celebrated Major General had
time to waste on any thought concerning me.

There was a bell-rope near my bed, and now I pulled it, and said to the
buxom wench who came that I desired a barber to trim me instantly, and
that the pot-boy should run and fetch him and bid him bring his irons
and powder and an assortment of queue ribbons for a club.

The barber arrived as I, having bathed me, was dressing in fresh
underwear which I found rolled snug in the pack I had left here when I
went away.

Lord, but my beard and hair were like Orson's; and I gave myself to the
razor with great content; and later to the shears, bidding young Master
Snips shape my pol for a club and powder in the most fashionable and
military mode then acceptable to the service.

Which he swore he knew how to accomplish; so I took my letters from the
bed and disposed myself in a chair to peruse them while Snips should
remain busy with his shears.

The first letter I unsealed was from Nick Stoner, and written from
Saratoga:

     "FRIEND JACK,

     "I take quill and ink to acquaint you how it goes with us here in
     the regiment.

     "I am fifer, and when in action am stationed near to the colours
     for duty. Damn them, they should give me a gun, also, as I can
     shoot better than any of 'em, as you know.

     "My brother John is a drummer in our regiment, and has learned all
     his flamms and how to beat all things lively save the devil.

     "My father is a private in our regiment, which is pleasant for all,
     and he is a dead shot and afeard of nothing save hell.

     "I have got into mischief and been punished on several occasions. I
     like not being triced up between two halbards.

     "I long to see Betsy Browse. She hath a pretty way of kissing. And
     sometimes I long to see Anne Mason, who has her own way, too. You
     are not acquainted with that saucy baggage, I think. But she lives
     only two miles from where my Betsy abides. And I warrant you I was
     put to it, sparking both, lest they discover I drove double
     harness. And there was Zuyler's pretty daughter, too--but enough of
     tender memories!

     "Anna has raven hair and jet black eyes and is snowy otherwise. I
     don't mean cold. Angelica Zuyler is fair of hair but brown for the
     rest----

     "Well, Jack, I think on you every day and hope you do well with
     your Oneidas, who, we hear, are out with you on the Schoharie.

     "Our headquarters runner is your old Saguenay, and he is much
     trusted by our General, they say. Sometimes the fierce fellow comes
     to visit me, but asks only for news of you, and when I say I have
     none he sits in silence. And always, when he leaves, he says very
     solemnly: 'Tell my Captain that I am a real man. But did not know
     it until my Captain told me so.'

     "Now the news is that Burgoyne finds himself in a pickle since the
     bloody battle at Oriskany. I think he flounders like a big
     chain-pike stranded belly-deep in a shallow pool which is slowly
     drying up around him.

     "We are no longer afeard of his Germans, his General Baum-Boom, his
     famous artillery, or his Indians.

     "What the Tryon County lads did to St. Leger we shall surely do to
     that big braggart, John Burgoyne. And mean to do it presently.

     "I send this letter to you by Adam Helmer, who goes this day to
     Schenectady, riding express.

     "I give you my hand and heart. I hope Penelope is well.

     "And beg permission to remain, sir, your most humble and obliged
     and obedient servant,

     "NICHOLAS STONER."

I laid aside Nick's letter, half smiling, half sad, at the thoughts it
evoked within me.

Young Master Snips was now a-drying of my hair. I opened another letter,
which bore the inscription, 'By flag.' It had been unsealed, which, of
course, was the rule, and so approved and delivered to me:

     "DEAR JACK,

     "I am fearfully unhappy. This day news is brought of the action at
     Oriska, and that my dear brother is dead.

     "I pray you, if it be within your power, to give my poor Stephen
     decent burial. He was your boyhood friend. Ah, God, what an
     unnatural strife is this that sets friend against friend, brother
     against brother, father against son!

     "Can you not picture my wretchedness and distress to know that my
     darling brother is slain, that my husband is at this moment facing
     the terrible rifle-fire of your infuriated soldiery, that many of
     my intimate friends are dead or wounded at this terrible Oriskany
     where they say your maddened soldiers flung aside their muskets and
     leaped upon our Greens and Rangers with knife and hatchet, and tore
     their very souls out with naked hands.

     "I pray that you were not involved in that horrible affair. I pray
     that you may live through these fearful times to the end, whatever
     that end shall be. God alone knows.

     "I thank you for your generous forbearance and chivalry to us on
     the Oneida Road. I saw your painted Oneida Indians crouching in
     the roadside weeds, although I did not tell you that I had
     discovered them. But I was terrified for my baby. You have heard
     how Iroquois Indians sometimes conduct.

     "Dear Jack, I can not find in my heart any unkind thought of you. I
     trust you think of me as kindly.

     "And so I ask you, if it be within your power, to give my poor
     brother decent burial. And mark the grave so that one day, please
     God, we may remove his mangled remains to a friendlier place than
     Tryon has proven for me and mine.

     "I am, dear Jack, with unalterable affection,

     "Your unhappy,

     "POLLY."

My eyes were misty as I laid the letter aside, resolving to do all I
could to carry out Lady Johnson's desires. For not until long afterward
did I hear that Steve Watts had survived his terrible wounds and was
finally safe from the vengeance of outraged Tryon.

Another letter, also with broken seal, I laid open and read while Snips
heated his irons and gazed out of the breezy window, where, with fife
and drum, I could hear the garrison marching out for exercise and
practice.

And to the lively marching music of _The Huron_, I read my letter from
Claudia Swift:

     "Oneida; Aug: 7th, 1777.

     "MY DEAREST JACK,

     "I am informed that I may venture to send this epistle under a flag
     that goes out today. No doubt but some Yankee Paul Pry in
     blue-and-buff will crack the seal and read it before you receive
     it.

     "But I snap my fingers at him. I care not. I am bold to say that I
     do love you. And dearly! So much for Master Pry!

     "But, alas, my friend, now indeed I am put to it; for I must
     confess to you a sadder and deeper anxiety. For if I love you, sir,
     I am otherwise in love. And with another! I shall not dare to
     confess his name. But _you saw and recognized him_ at Summer House
     when Steve was there a year ago last spring.

     "Now you know. Yes, I am madly in love, Jack. And am racked with
     terrors and nigh out o' my wits with this awful news of the Oriska
     battle.

     "We hear that Captain Walter Butler is taken out o' uniform within
     your lines; and so, lacking the protection of his regimentals, he
     is like to suffer as a spy. My God! Was he _alone_ when
     apprehended by Arnold's troops? And will General Arnold hang him?

     "This is the urgent news I ask of you. I am horribly afraid. In
     mercy send me some account; for there are terrible rumours afloat
     in this fortress--rumours of other spies taken by your soldiery,
     and of brutal executions--I can not bring myself to write of what I
     fear. Pity me, Jack, and write me what you hear.

     "Could you not beg this one mercy of Billy Alexander, that he send
     a flag or contrive to have one sent from your Northern Department,
     explaining to us poor women what truly has been,--and is like to
     be--the fate of such unfortunate prisoners in your hands?

     "And remember who it is appeals to you, dear Jack; for even if I
     have not merited your consideration,--if I, perhaps, have even
     forfeited the regard of Billy Alexander,--I pray you both to
     remember that you once were a little in love with me.

     "And so, deal with me gently, Jack. For I am frightened and sick at
     heart; and know very little about love, which, for the first time
     ever in my life, has now undone me.

     "Will you not aid and forgive your unhappy,

     "CLAUDIA."

Good Lord! Claudia enamoured! And enamoured of that great villain, Henry
Hare! Why, damn him, he hath a wife and children, too, or I am most
grossly in error.

I had not heard that Walter Butler was taken. I knew not whether
Lieutenant Hare had been caught in Butler's evil company or if, indeed,
he had fought at all with old John Butler at Oriska.

Frowning, disgusted, yet sad also to learn that Claudia could so rashly
and so ignobly lavish her affections, nevertheless I resolved to ask
Lord Stirling if a flag could not be sent with news to Claudia and such
other anxious ladies as might be eating their hearts out at Oneida, or
Oswego, or Buck Island.

And so I laid aside her painful letter, and unfolded the last missive.
And discovered it was writ me by Penelope:

     "You should not think harshly of me, Jack Drogue, if you return and
     discover that I am gone away from Johnstown.

     "Douw Fonda is returned to Cayadutta Lodge. He has now sent a
     carriage for to fetch me. It is waiting while I write. I can not
     refuse him.

     "If, when we meet again, you desire to know my mind concerning
     you, then, if you choose to look into it, you shall discover that
     my mind contains only a single thought. And the thought is for you.

     "But if you desire no longer to know my mind when again--if
     ever--we two meet together, then you shall not feel it your duty to
     concern yourself about my mind, or what thought may be within it.

     "I would not write coldly to you, John Drogue. Nor would I
     importune with passion.

     "I have no claim upon your further kindness. You have every claim
     upon my life-long gratitude.

     "But I offer more than gratitude if you should still desire it; and
     I would offer less--if it should better please you.

     "Feel not offended; feel free. Come to me if it pleaseth you; and,
     if you come not, there is in me that which shall pardon all you do,
     or leave undone, as long as ever I shall live on earth.

     "PENELOPE GRANT."

When Snips had powdered me and had tied my club with a queue-ribbon of
his proper selection, he patched my cheek-bone where a thorn had torn
me, and stood a-twirling his iron as though lost in admiration of his
handiwork.

When I paid him I bade him tell Burke to bring around my horse and fetch
my saddle bags; and then I dressed me in my regimentals.

When Burke came with the saddle-bags, we packed them together. He
promised to care for my rifle and pack, took my new light blanket over
his arm, and led the way down stairs, where I presently perceived Kaya
saddled, and pricking ears to hear my voice.

Whilst I caressed her and whispered in her pretty ear the idle
tenderness that a man confides to a beloved horse, Burke placed my
pistols, strapped saddle-bags and blanket, and held my stirrup as I
gathered bridle and set my spurred boot firmly on the steel.

And so swung to my saddle, and sat there, dividing bridles, deep fixed
in troubled thought and anxiously concerned for the safety of the
unselfish but very stubborn girl I loved.

       *       *       *       *       *

I had said my adieux to Jimmy Burke; I had taken leave of the Commandant
at the palisades jail. I now galloped Kaya through the town, riding by
way of Butlersbury;[42] and saw the steep roof of the Butler house
through the grove, and shuddered as I thought of the unhappy young man
who had lived there and who, at that very moment, might be hanging by
his neck while the drums rolled from the hollow square.

[Footnote 42: A letter written by Colonel Butler so designates the place
where the ancient Butler house is still standing. The letter mentioned
is in the possession of the author.]

Down the steep hill I rode, careful of loose stone, and so came to the
river and to Caughnawaga.[43]

[Footnote 43: Now the town of Fonda.]

All was peaceful and still in the noonday sunshine; the river wore a
glassy surface; farm waggons creaked slowly through golden dust along
the Fort Johnson highway; fat cattle lay in the shade; and from the
brick chimneys of Caughnawaga blue smoke drifted where, in her cellar
kitchen, the good wife was a-cooking of the noontide dinner.

When presently I espied Douw Fonda's great mansion of stone, I saw
nobody on the porch, and no smoke rising from the chimneys, yet the
front door stood open.

But when I rode up to the porch, a black wench came from the house, who
said that Mr. Fonda dined at his son's that day, and would remain until
evening.

However, when I made inquiry for Penelope, I found that she was
within,--had already been served with dinner,--and was now gone to the
library to read and knit as usual when alone.

The black wench took my mare and whistled shrilly for a slave to come
and hold the horse.

But I had already mounted the stoop and entered the silent house; and
now I perceived Penelope, who had risen from a chair and was laying
aside her book and knitting.

She seemed very white when I went to her and drew her into my embrace;
and she rested her cheek against my shoulder and took close hold of my
two arms, but uttered not a word.

Under her lace cap her hair glimmered like sun-warmed gold; and her
hands, which had become very fine and white again, began to move upward
to my shoulders, till they encircled my neck and rested there, tight
linked.

For a space she wept, but presently staunched her tears with her laced
apron's edge, like a child at school. And when I made her look upon me
she smiled though she still breathed sobbingly, and her lips still
quivered as I kissed her.

       *       *       *       *       *

We sat close together there in the golden gloom of the curtained room,
where only a bar of dusty sunlight fell across a row of gilded books.

I had told her everything--had given an account of all that had
befallen my little scout, and how I had returned to Johnstown, and how
so suddenly my fortunes had been completely changed.

I told her of what I knew of the battle at Oriskany, of the present
situation at Stanwix and at Saratoga, and of what I saw of the fight at
the Flockey, where McDonald ran.

I begged her to persuade Mr. Fonda to go to Albany, and she promised to
do so. And when I pointed out in detail how perilous was his situation
here, and how desperate her own, she said she knew it, and had been
horribly afraid, but that Caughnawaga folk seemed strangely indifferent
to the danger,--could not bring themselves to believe in it,
perhaps,--and were loath to leave their homes unprotected and their
fields untilled.

But when I touched on her leaving these foolish people and, as my wife,
travelling southward with me to the great fortress on the Hudson, she
only wept, saying, in tears, that she was needed by an old and feeble
man who had protected her when she was poor and friendless, and that,
though she loved me, her duty still lay first at Douw Fonda's side.

Quit him she utterly refused to do; and it was in vain I pointed out his
three stalwart sons and their numerous families, retainers, tenants,
servants, and slaves, who ought to care for the obstinate old gentleman
and provide a security for him whether he would or no.

But argument was useless; I knew it. And all I obtained of her was that,
whether matters north of us mended or grew worse, she would persuade Mr.
Fonda to return to Albany until such time as Tryon County became once
more safe to live in.

This she promised, and even assured me that she had already spoken of
the matter to Mr. Fonda, and that the old gentleman appeared to be quite
willing to return to Albany as soon as his grain could be reaped and
threshed.

So with this I had to content my heavy heart. And now, by the tall
clock, I perceived that my time was up; for Schenectady lay far away,
and Albany father still; and it was like to be a long and dreary journey
to West Point, if, indeed, I should find Lord Stirling still there.

For at Johnstown fort that morning I was warned that my General Lord
Stirling had already rejoined his division in the Jerseys; and that the
news was brought by riflemen of Morgan's corps, which was now swiftly
marching to join our Northern forces near Saratoga.

Well, God's will must obtain on earth; none can thwart it; none
foretell----

At the thought I looked down at Penelope, where I held her clasped; and
I told her of the vision of Thiohero.

She remained very still when she learned what the Little Maid of
Askalege had seen there beside me in the cannon-cloud, where the German
foresters of Hainau, in their outlandish dress, were shouting and
shooting.

For Penelope had seen the same white shape; and had been, she said,
afeard that it was my own weird she saw,--so white it seemed to her, she
said,--so still and shrouded in its misty veil.

"Was it I?" she whispered in an awed voice. "Was it truly I that the
Oneida virgin saw? And did she know my features in the shroud?"

"She saw you all in white and flowers, floating there near me like mist
at sunrise."

"She told you it was I?"

"Dying, she so told me. And, 'Yellow Hair,' she gasped, 'is quite a
witch!' And then she died between my arms."

"I am no witch," she whispered.

"Nor was the Little Maid of Askalege. Both of you, I think, saw at times
things that we others can not perceive until they happen;--the shadow of
events to come."

"Yes."

After a silence: "Have you, perhaps, discovered other shadows since we
last met, Penelope?"

"Yes; shadows."

"What coming event cast them?"

After a long pause: "Will it make his mind more tranquil if I tell him?"
she murmured to herself; and I saw her dark eyes fixed absently on the
dusty ray of sunlight slanting athwart the room.

Then she looked up at me; blushed to her hair: "I saw children--with
_yellow_ hair--and _your_ eyes----"

"With _your_ hair!"

"And _your_ eyes--John Drogue--John Drogue----"

The stillness of Paradise grew all around us, filling my soul with a
great and heavenly silence.

We could not die--we two who stood here so closely clasped--until this
vision had been fulfilled.

And so, presently, her hands fell into mine, and our lips joined slowly,
and rested.

We said no word. I left her standing there in the golden twilight of the
curtains, and got to my saddle,--God knows how,--and rode away beside
the quiet river to the certain destiny that no man ever can hope to
hinder or escape.




CHAPTER XXXI

"IN THE VALLEY"


On the 24th of June, 1777, Major General Lord Stirling had disobeyed the
orders of His Excellency; and, in consequence, his flank was turned, he
lost two guns and 150 men.[44]

[Footnote 44: The British account makes it three guns and 200 men.]

It is the only military mistake that my Lord Stirling ever made; the
only lesson he ever had to learn in military judgment and obedience.

I was of his family for three years,--serving as one of his secretaries
and aids-de-camp.

I was present at the battle of Brandywine; I served under him at
Germantown in the fog, and at Monmouth; and never doubted that my Lord
Stirling was a fine and capable and knightly soldier, if not possibly a
great one.

Yet, perhaps, there was only one great soldier in that long and bloody
war of the American Revolution. I need not name His Excellency.

       *       *       *       *       *

For nearly three years, as I say, I served as a member of Lord
Stirling's military family. The lights and shadows of those days of fire
and ice, of plenty and starvation, of joy and despair, of monstrous and
incredible effort, and of paralyzing inaction, are known now to all.

And the end is not yet--nor, I fear, very near to a finish. But we all
await our nation's destiny with confidence, I think;--and our own fate
with composure.

No man can pass through such years and remain what he was born. No man
can regret them; none can dare wish to live through such days again;
none would shun them. And how many months, or years, maybe, of fighting
still remain before us, no man can foretell. But the grim men in their
scare-crow regimentals who today, in the present year of 1780, are
closing ranks to prepare for future battles, even in the bitter
aftermath of defeat, seem to know, somehow, that this nation is
destined to survive.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the month of August in 1777 to May, 1780, I had not seen Penelope;
I had asked for no leave to travel, knowing, by reason of my
confidential office and better than many others, how desperate was our
army's plight and how utterly every able-bodied man was needed.

In consequence, I had not seen my own Northland in all those months; I
had not seen Penelope. Letters I wrote and sent to her when opportunity
offered; letters came from her, and always written from Caughnawaga.

For it appeared that Douw Fonda had never consented to return to Albany;
but, by some miracle of God, the Valley so far had suffered no serious
harm. Yet, the terrible business at Wyoming renewed my every crudest
fear for the safety of Caughnawaga; and when, in the same year, a
Continental regiment of the Pennsylvania Line marched out from Schoharie
to destroy Unadilla, I, who knew the Iroquois, knew that their revenge
was certain to follow.

It followed in that very year; and Cherry Valley became a bloodsoaked
heap of cinders; and there, under Iroquois knife and hatchet, and under
the merciless clubbed muskets of the _blue-eyed_ Indians, many of my old
friends died--all of the Wells family save only one--old and young and
babies. What a crime was done by young Walter Butler on that fearful
day! And I sometimes wonder, now, what our generous but sentimental
young Marquis thinks of his deed of mercy when he saw and pitied Walter
Butler in an Albany prison, sick and under sentence of death, and
procured medical treatment for him and more comfortable quarters in a
private residence.

And Butler drugged his sentry and slipped our fingers like a rat and was
off in a trice and gone to his bloody destiny in the West!
Lord--Lord!--the things men do to men!

       *       *       *       *       *

When Brant burned Minnisink I trembled anew for Caughnawaga; and
breathed freely only when our General Sullivan marched on Tioga with six
thousand men.

Yet, though he cleaned out the foul and hidden nests of the Iroquois
Confederacy, I, knowing these same Iroquois, knew in my dreading heart
that Iroquois vengeance would surely strike again, and this time at the
Valley.

Because, out of the Mohawk Valley, came all their chiefest woes;
Oriskany, which set the whole Six Nations howling their dead;
Stillwater; Unadilla; Tioga; The Chemung--these battles tore the
Iroquois to fragments.

The Long House, in ruins, rang with the frantic wailing of four fierce
nations. The Senecas screamed in their pain from the Western Gate; the
Cayugas and Onondagas were singing the death song of their nations; the
proud Keepers of the Eastern Gate, driven headlong into exile, gathered
like bleeding panthers on the frontier, their glowing gaze intent and
patient, watching the usurpers and marking them for vengeance and
destruction.

To me, personally, the conflict in my Northland had become unutterably
horrible.

Our battles in the Jerseys, in Pennsylvania, in Delaware, and farther
south, held for me no such horror and repugnance; for if the panoply of
war be dreadful, its pomp and circumstance make it endurable and to be
understood by human beings.

But to me there was something terrifying in secret ambush and ghastly
massacre amid the eternal twilight of the Northern wilderness, where
painted men stole through still places, intent on murder; where death
was swift and silent, where all must watch and none dared rest; where
children wept in their sleep, and mothers lay listening all night long,
and hollow-eyed men cut their corn with sickle in one hand and rifle in
the other.

We, in the Jerseys, watching red-coat and Hessian, heard of scalps taken
in the North from babies lying in their cradles--aye, the very watch-dog
at the gate was scalped; and painted Tories threw their victims over
rail fences to hang there, disembowelled, like dead game.

We heard terrible and inhuman tales of Simon Girty, of Benjy Beacraft,
of Billy Newbury--all old neighbours of mine, and now turned
child-killers and murderers of helpless women--all painted men, now,
ferocious and without mercy.

But these men had never been more than ignorant peasants and dull
tillers of the soil for thriftier masters. Yet they were no crueller
than others of birth and education. And what was I to think of Walter
Butler and other gentlemen of like condition,--officers who had
delivered Tom Boyd of Derry to the Senecas,--Colonel Paris to the
Mohawks!

The day we heard that Sergeant Newbury and Henry Hare were taken, I
thanked God on my knees. And when our General Clinton hung them both for
human monsters as well as spies, then I thanked God again.... And wrote
tenderly to Claudia, poor misguided girl!--condoling with her--not for
her grief and the death of Henry Hare[45]--but that the black disgrace
of it should so nearly touch and soil her.

[Footnote 45: In the writer's possession is a letter written by the
widow of Lieutenant Hare, retailing the circumstances of his execution
and praying for financial relief from extreme poverty. General Sir
Frederick Haldimand indorses the application in his own handwriting and
recommends a pension. The widow mentions her six little children.]

I have received, so far, no letter from Claudia in reply. But Lord
Stirling tells me that she reigns a belle in New York; and that she hath
wrought havoc among the Queen's Rangers, and particularly in De Lancy's
Horse and the gay cavalry of Colonel Tarleton.

I pray her pretty, restless wings may not be singed or broken, or
flutter, dying, in the web of Fate.

Nick Stoner's father, Henry, that grim old giant with his two earhoops
in his leathery ears, and with all his brawn, and mighty strength, and
the lurking scowl deep bitten betwixt his tiger eyes,--old Henry Stoner
is dead and scalped.

Nick, who is now fife-major, has writ me this in a letter full of oaths
and curses for the Iroquois who have done this shame to him and his.

For every hair on old Henry's mangled head, said he, an Iroquois should
spit out his death-yell. He tells me that he means to quit the army and
enter the business of tanning Iroquois hides to make boots and
moccasins; and says that Tim Murphy has knee moccasins as fine as ever
he saw, and made out o' leather skinned off an Indian's legs!

Faugh! Grief and shame have made Nick blood-mad.... Yet, I know not what
I should do, or how conduct, if she who is nearest to my heart should
ever suffer from an Indian.

       *       *       *       *       *

This sweet April day, taking the air near Lord Stirling's marquee, I see
the first white butterflies a-fluttering like windblown bits o' paper
across the new grass.... In the North the woodlands should be soft with
snow; and, in warm places, perhaps the butterfly we call the beauty of
Camberwell may sit sipping the first drops o' maple sap.... And there
should be a scent of pink arbutus in the breeze, if winds be soft....
Lord--Lord--I am become sick for home.... And would see my glebe again
in Fonda's Bush; and hear the spring roaring of the Kennyetto between
melting banks.... And listen to the fairy thunder of the cock partridge
drumming on his log.

My neighbours are all dead or gone away, they say. My house is a heap of
wind-stirred ashes,--as are all houses in Fonda's Bush save only
Stoner's. My cleared land sprouts young forests; my fences are gone;
wolves travel my paths; deer pasture my hill; and my new orchard stands
dead and girdled by wood-mouse and rabbit.... And still I be sick for a
sight of it that was once my home,--and ever shall be while I possess a
handful of mother earth to call mine own.

It is near the end of April and I seem sick, but would not have Billy
Alexander think I mope.

I have a letter from Penelope. She lately saw a small scout on the
Mohawk, it being a part of M'Kean's corps; and she recognized and
conversed with several men who once composed my first war party--Jean de
Silver, Benjamin De Luysnes, Joe de Golyer of Frenchman's Creek, and
Godfrey Shew of Fish House.

They were on their way to Canada by way of Sacandaga, to learn what Sir
John might be about.... God knows I also desire very earnestly to know
what the sinister Baronet may be planning.

Penelope writes me that Tahioni the Wolf is dead in his glory; and that
Hiakatoo took his scalp and heart.... I suppose that is glory enough for
any dead young warrior, but the intelligence fills me with foreboding.
And Kwiyeh the Screech-owl is dead at Lake Desolation, and so is Hanatoh
the Water-snake, where some Praying Indians caught them in a canoe and
made a dreadful example of my two young comrades.... But at least they
were permitted to sing their death-songs, and so died happy--if that
indeed be happiness....

The Cadys, who were gone off to Canada, and John and Phil Helmer, have
been seen in green uniforms and red; and Adam Helmer has sworn an oath
to seek them, follow them, and slay them for the bloody turncoat dogs
they are. Lord, Lord, how hast Thou changed Thy children into creatures
of the wild to prey one upon another till all the Northland becomes once
more a desert and empty of human life!

It is May. I sicken for Penelope and for my home.

       *       *       *       *       *

I am given a furlough! I asked it not. Lord Stirling dismisses me--with
a grin. Pretense of inspection covering the Johnstown district, and to
count the batteaux between Schenectady and the Creek of Askalege! Which
is but sheer nonsense; and I had as well spend the time a-telling of my
thumbs--which Lord Stirling knows as well as I is the pastime of an
idiot.... God bless him!

I am given a month, to arrange my personal affairs. I have asked for
nothing; and am given a month!... And stand here at the tent door all
a-tremble while my mare is saddled, not trusting my voice lest it break
and shame me before all....

I close my _carnet_ and strap it with a buckle.

       *       *       *       *       *

I am on my way! Shad-bushes drop a million snowy petals in the soft May
breeze; dogwood is in bloom; orchards are become great nosegays of pink
and silver. Everywhere birds are singing.

And through this sweet Paradise I ride in my dingy regimentals; but my
pistols are clean and my leathers; and my sword and spurs are bright,
and chime gaily as I ride beside the great gray river northward, ever
northward to my sweetheart and my home.

I baited at Tarrytown. The next night I was at Poughkeepsie, where the
landlord was a low-Dutchman and a skinflint too.

I passed opposite to where Kingston lay in ashes, burned wantonly by a
brute. And after that I advanced but slowly, for roads were bad and folk
dour and suspicious--which state of mind I also shared and had no
traffic with those I encountered, and chose to camp in the woods, too,
rather than risk a night under the dubious roofs I saw, even though
invited.

Only near the military posts in the Highlands did I feel truly secure
until, one day at sunrise, I beheld the shining spires of Albany, and
hundreds of gilded weather-cocks all shining me a welcome.

But in Albany streets I encountered silent people who looked upon me
with no welcome in their haunted gaze; and everywhere I saw the same
strange look,--pinched faces, brooding visages, a strained, intent gaze,
yet vacant too, as though their eyes, which looked at me, saw nothing
save some hidden vision within their secret minds.

I baited at the Half-Moon; and now I learned for the first what
anxieties harassed these good burghers of the old Dutch city. For rumour
had come the night before on the heels of a galloping light-horseman,
that Sir John was expected to enter the Valley by the Sacandaga route;
and that already strange Indians had been seen near Askalege.

How these same rumours originated nobody seemed to know. The light
horseman had them from batteaux-men at Schenectady. But who carried such
alarming news to the Queen's Fort nobody seemed to know, only that the
garrison had become feverishly active, and three small scouts were
preparing to start for Schoharie and Caughnawaga.

All this from the landlord, a gross, fat, speckled man who trembled like
a dish of jelly as he told it.

But as I went out to climb into my saddle, leaving my samp and morning
draught untasted, comes a-riding a gay company of light horse, careless
and debonaire. Their officer saluted my uniform and, as I spurred up
beside him and questioned him, he smilingly assured me that the rumours
had no foundation; that if Sir John came at all he would surely arrive
by the Susquehanna; and that our scouts would give warning to the Valley
in ample time.

God knows that what he said comforted me somewhat, yet I did not choose
to lose any time at breakfast, either; so bought me a loaf at a
bake-shop, and ate as I rode forward.

At noon I rode into the Queen's Fort and there fed Kaya. I saw no
unusual activity there; none in the town, none on the river.

Officers of whom I made inquiry had heard nothing concerning Sir John;
did not expect a raid from him before autumn anyway, and vowed that
General Sullivan had scotched the Iroquois snake in its den and driven
the fear o' God into Sir John and the two Butlers with the cannon at
Chemung.

As I rode westward again, I saw all around me men at work in the fields,
plowing here, seeding there, clearing brush-fields yonder. There seemed
to be no dread among these people; all was calm as the fat Dutch cattle
that stood belly deep in meadows, watching me out o' gentle, stupid eyes
as I rode on toward Caughnawaga.

A woman whom I encountered, and who was driving geese, stopped to answer
my inquiries. From her I learned that Colonel Fisher, at Caughnawaga,
had received a letter from Colonel Jacob Klock six days ago, which
stated that Sir John Johnson was marching on the Valley. But she assured
me that this news was now entirely discredited by everybody, because on
Sunday a week ago Captain Walter Vrooman, of Guilderland, had marched
his company to Caughnawaga, but on arriving was told he was not needed,
and so continued on to Johnstown.

I do not know why all these assurances from the honest people of the
Valley did not ease my mind.

Around me as I rode all was sunny, still, and peaceful, yet deep in my
heart always I seemed to feel the faint pulse of fear as I looked
around me upon a smiling region once familiar and upon which I had not
laid eyes for nearly three whole years.

And my nearness to Penelope, too, so filled me with happy impatience
that the last mile seemed a hundred leagues on the dusty Schenectady
road.

       *       *       *       *       *

I had just come into view of the first chimneys of Caughnawaga, and was
riding by an empty waggon driven by an old man, when, very far away, I
heard a gun-shot.

I drew bridle sharply and asked the man in the waggon if he also had
heard it; but his waggon rattled and he had not. However, he also pulled
up; and we stood still, listening.

Then, again, and softened by distance, came another gun-shot.

The old man thought it might be some farmer emptying his piece to clean
it.

As he spoke, still far away along the river we heard several shots fired
in rapid succession.

With that, the old man fetched a yell: "Durn-ding it!" he screeched, "if
Sir John's in the Valley it ain't no place for my old woman and me!" And
he lashed his horses with the reins, and drove at a crazy gallop toward
the distant firing.

At the same moment I spurred Kaya, who bounded forward over the rise of
land; and instantly I saw smoke in the sky beyond the Johnstown Road,
and caught a glimpse of other fires in another direction, very near to
where should stand the dwellings of Jim Davis and Sampson Sammons.

And now, seated by the roadside just ahead, I saw a young man whom I
knew by sight, named Abe Veeder; and I pulled in my horse and called to
him.

He would not move or notice me, and seemed distracted; so I spurred up
to him and caught him by the shirt collar. At that he jumps up in a
fright, and:

"Oh, Jesus!" he bawls, "Sir John's red devils are murdering everybody
from Johnstown to the River!"

"Where are they?" I cried. "Answer me and compose yourself!"

"Where are they?" he shrieked. "Why, they're everywhere! Lodowick
Putman's house is afire and they've murdered him and Aaron. Amasa
Stevens' house is burning, and he hangs naked and scalped on his garden
fence!

"They killed Billy Gault and that other man from the old country, and
they murdered Captain Hansen in his bed, and his house is all afire!
Everything in the Valley is afire!" he screamed, wringing his scorched
hands, "Tribes Hill is burning, Fisher's is on fire, and the Colonel and
John and Harmon all murdered--all scalped and lying dead in the
barn!----"

"Listen to me!" I cried, shaking the wretched fellow, "when did this
happen? Are Sir John's people still here? Where are they?"

"It happened last night and lasted after sunrise this morning," he
blubbered. "Everything is burning from Schoharie to the Nose, and
they'll come back and kill the rest of us----"

I flung him aside, struck spurs, and galloped for Cayadutta Lodge.

Everywhere I looked I saw smoke; barns were but heaps of live coals,
houses marked only by charred cellars out of which flames leaped.

Yet, I saw the church still standing, and Dr. Romeyn's parsonage still
intact, though all doors and windows stood wide open and bedding and
broken furniture lay scattered over the grass.

But Adam Fonda's house was burning and the dwelling of Major Jelles was
on fire; and now I caught sight of Douw Fonda's great stone house, with
its two wings and tall chimneys of hewn stone.

It was not burning, but shutters hung from their hinges, window glass
was shattered, doors smashed in, and all over the trampled garden and
lawn lay a débris of broken furniture, tattered books, bedding,
fragments of fine china and torn garments.

And there, face downward on the bloody grass, lay old Douw Fonda, his
aged skull split to the backbone, his scalp gone.

Such a sick horror seized me that I reeled in my saddle and the world
grew dark before my eyes for a moment.

But my mind cleared again and my eyes, also; and I sat my horse, pistol
in hand, searching the desolation about me for a sign of aught that
remained alive in this awful spot.

I heard no more gun-shots up the river. The silence was terrible.

At length, ill with fear, I got out of my saddle and led Kaya to the
shattered gate and there tied her.

Then I entered that ruined mansion to search it for what I feared most
horribly to discover,--searched every room, every closet, every corner
from attic to cellar. And then came out and took my horse by the bridle.

For there was nobody within the house, living or dead--no sign of death
anywhere save there on the grass, where that poor corpse lay, a
grotesque thing sprawling indecently in its blood.

Then, as I stood there, a man appeared, slinking up the road. He was in
his shirt sleeves, wore no hat, and his face and hair were streaked red
from a wet wound over his left ear. He carried a fire-lock; and when he
discovered me in my Continental uniform he swerved and shuffled toward
me, making a hopeless gesture as he came on.

"They've all gone off," he called out to me, "green-coats, red-coats and
savages. I saw them an hour since crossing the river some three miles
above. God! What a harm have they done us here on this accursed day!"

He crept nearer and stood close beside me and looked down at the body of
Douw Fonda. But in my overwhelming grief I no longer noticed him.

"Why, sir," says he, "a devil out o' hell would have spared yonder good
old man. But Sir John's people slew him. I saw him die. I saw the murder
done with my own eyes."

Startled from my agonized reflections, I turned and gazed at him, still
stunned by the calamity which had crushed me.

"I say I saw that old man die!" he repeated shrilly. "I saw them scalp
him, too!"

I summoned all my courage: "Did--did you know Penelope Grant?"

"Aye."

"Is--is she dead?" I whispered.

"I think she is, sir. Listen, sir: I am Jan Myndert, Bouw-Meester to
Douw Fonda. I saw Mistress Grant this morning. It was after sunrise and
our servants and black slaves had been long a-stirring, and soupaan
a-cooking, and none dreamed of any trouble. No, sir! Why--God help us
all!--the black wenches were at their Monday washing, and the farm bell
was ringing, and I was at the new barrack a-sorting out seed.

"And the old gentleman, _he_ was up and dressed and supped his porridge
along with me, sir; for he rose always with the sun, sir, feeble though
he seemed.

"I----" he passed a cinder-blackened hand across his hair; drew it away
red and sticky; stood gazing at the stain with a stupid air until I
could not endure his silence; and burst out:

"Where did you last see Mistress Grant?"

But my violence confused him, and it seemed difficult for him to speak
when finally he found voice at all:

"Sir--as I have told you, I had been sorting seeds for early planting,
in the barracks," he said tremulously, "and I was walking, as I
remember, toward the house, when, of a sudden, I heard musket-firing
toward Johnstown, and not very far distant.

"With that comes a sound of galloping and rattle o' wheels, and I see
Barent Wemple standing up in his red-painted farm waggon, and whipping
his fine colts, and a keg o' rum bouncing behind him in the
waggon-box,--which rolled off as the horses reached the river--and
galloped into it--them two colts, sir,--breast deep in the river!

"Then I shouts down to him: 'Barent! Barent! Is it them red devils of
Sir John? Or why be you in such a God-a'mighty hurry?'

"But Barent he is too busy cutting his traces to notice me; and up onto
one o' the colts he jumps and seizes t'other by the head, and away
across the shoals, leaving his new red waggon there in the water,
hub-deep.

"Then I run to the house and I fall to shouting: 'Look out! Look out!
Sir John is in the Valley!' And then I run to the house, where my gun
stands, and where the black boys and wenches are all a-screeching and
a-praying.

"Somebody calls out that Captain Fisher's house is on fire; and then, of
a sudden, I see a flock o' naked, whooping devils come leaping down the
road.

"Then, sir, I saw Mistress Grant in her shift come out in the dew and
stand yonder in her bare feet, a-looking across at them red devils,
bounding and leaping about the Fisher place.

"Then, out o' the house toddles Douw Fonda with his gold headed cane and
his favorite book. Sir, though the poor old gentleman was childish, he
still knew an Indian when he saw one. 'Fetch me a gun!' he cries. 'I
take command here!' And then he sees Mistress Grant, and he pipes out in
his cracked voice: 'Stand your ground, Penelope! Have no fear, my child.
I command this post! I will protect you!'

"The green-coats and savages were now swarming around the house of Major
Jelles, whooping and yelling and capering and firing off their guns.
Bang-bang-bang! Jesus! the noise of their musketry stopped your ears.

"Then Mistress Grant she took the old gentleman by the arm and was
begging him to go with her through the orchard, where we now could see
Mrs. Romeyn running up the hill and carrying her two little children in
her arms.

"I also went to Mr. Fonda and took him by the other arm, but he walked
with us only to the porch and there seized my gun that I had left
there.

"'Stand fast, Penelope!' he pipes up, 'I will defend your life and
honour!' And further he would not budge, but turns mulish, yet too
feeble to lift the gun he clung to with a grip I could not loosen lest I
break his bones.

"We got him, with his gun a-dragging, into the house, but could force
him no farther, for he resisted and reproached me, demanding that I
stand and face the enemy.

"At that, through the window of the library wing I see a body of
green-coats,--some three hundred or better,--marching down the
Schenectady road. And some score of these, and as many Indians, were
leaving the Major's house, which they had fired; and now all began to
run toward us, firing off their muskets at our house as they came on.

"I was grazed, as you see, sir, and the blow dashed out my senses for a
moment. But when I came alive I found I had fallen beside the wainscot
of the east wall, where is a secret spring panel made for Mr. Fonda's
best books. My fall jarred it open; and into this closet I crawled; and
the next moment the library was filled with the trample of yelling men.

"I heard Mistress Grant give a kind of choking cry, and, through the
crack of the wainscot door, I saw a green-coat put one hand over her
mouth and hold her, cursing her for a rebel slut and telling her to hush
her damned head or he'd do the proper business for her.

"An Indian I knew, called Quider, and having only one arm, took hold of
Mr. Fonda and led him from the library and out to the lawn, where I
could see them both through the west window. The Indian acted kind to
the old gentleman, gave him his hat and his book and cane, and conducted
him south across the lawn. I could see it all plainly through the
wainscot crack.

"Then, of a sudden, the one-armed Indian swung his hatchet and clove
that helpless and bewildered old man clean down to his neck cloth. And
there, before all assembled, he took the old man's few white hairs for a
scalp!

"Then a green-coat called out to ask why he had slain such an old and
feeble man, who had often befriended him; and the one-armed Indian,
Quider, replied that if he hadn't killed Douw Fonda somebody else might
have done so, and so he, Quider, thought he'd do it and get the
scalp-bounty for himself.

"And all this time the Indians and green-coats were running like wild
wolves all over the house, stealing, destroying, yelling, flinging out
books from the library shelves, ripping off curtains and bed-covers,
flinging linen from chests, throwing crockery about, and keeping up a
continual screeching.

"Sir, I do not know why they did not set fire to the house. I do not
know how my hiding place remained unnoticed.

"From where I kneeled on the closet floor, and my face all over blood, I
could see Mistress Grant across the room, sitting on a sofa, whither the
cursing green-coat had flung her. She was deathly white but calm, and
did not seem afraid; and she answered the filthy beasts coolly enough
when they addressed her.

"Then a big chair, which they had ripped up to look for money, was
pushed against my closet, and the back of it closed the wainscot crack,
so that I could no longer see Mistress Grant.

"And that is all I know, sir. For the firing began again outside; they
all ran out, and when I dared creep forth Mistress Grant was gone....
And I lay still for a time, and then found a jug o' rum. When I could
stand up I followed the destructives at a distance. And, an hour since,
I saw the last stragglers crossing the river rifts some three miles
above us.... And that is all, I think, sir."

       *       *       *       *       *

And that was all.... The end of all things.... Or so it seemed to me.

For now I cared no longer for life. The world had become horrible; the
bright sunshine seemed a monstrous sacrilege where it blazed down,
unveiling every detail of this ghastly Golgotha--this valley in ashes
now made sacred by my dear love's martyrdom. Slowly I looked around me,
still stupefied, helpless, not knowing where to seek my dead, which way
to turn.

And now my dulled gaze became fixed upon the glittering river, where
something was moving.... And presently I realize it was a batteau, poled
slowly shoreward by two tall riflemen in their fringes.

"Holloa! you captain-mon out yonder!" bawled one o' them, his great
voice coming to me through his hollowed hand.

Leading my horse I walked toward them as in a fiery nightmare, and the
sun but a vast and dancing blaze in my burning eyes. One of the riflemen
leaped ashore:

"Is anny wan alive in this place?" he began loudly; then: "Jasus! It's
Captain Drogue. F'r the love o' God, asthore! Are they all dead entirely
in Caughnawaga, savin' yourself, sorr, an' the Dominie's wife an'
childer, an' the yellow-haired lass o' Douw Fonda----"

I caught him by the rifle-cape. My clutch shook him; and I was shaking,
too, so I could not pronounce clearly:

"Where is Penelope Grant?" I stammered. "Where did you see her, Tim
Murphy?"

"Who's that?" he demanded, striving to loosen my grip. "Ah, the poor
lad, he's crazy! Lave me loose, avie! Is it the yellow-haired lass ye
ask for?"

"Yes--where is she?"

"God be good to you, Jack Drogue, she's on the hill yonder with Mrs.
Romeyn an' the two childer!----" He took my arm, turned me partly
around, and pointed:

"D'ye mind the pine? The big wan, I mean, betchune the two ellums? 'Twas
an hour since that we seen her foreninst the pine-tree yonder, an' the
Romeyn childer hidin' their faces in her skirt----"

I swung my horse and flung myself across the saddle.

"She's safe, I warrant," cried Murphy, as I rode off; "Sir John's divils
was gone off two hours whin we seen her safe and sound on the long
hill!"

I galloped over the shattered fence which was still afire where the
charred rails lay in the grass.

As I spurred up the bank opposite, I caught sight of a mounted officer
on the stony Johnstown road, advancing at a trot, and behind him a mass
of sweating militia jogging doggedly down hill in a rattle of pebbles
and dust.

When the mounted officer saw me he shouted through the dust-cloud that
Sir John had been at the Hall, seized his plate and papers, and a lot of
prisoners, and had murdered innocent people in Johnstown streets.

Tim Murphy and his comrade, Elerson, also came up, calling out to the
Johnstown men that they had come from Schoharie, and that both militia
and Continentals were marching to the Valley.

There was some cheering. I pushed my horse impatiently through the crowd
and up the hill. But a little way farther on the road was choked with
troops arriving on a run; and they had brought cohorns and their
ammunition waggon, and God knows what!--alas! too late to oppose or
punish the blood-drenched demons who had turned the Caughnawaga Valley
to a smoking hell.

Now, my horse was involved with all these excited people, and I,
exasperated, thought I never should get clear of the soldiery and
cohorns, but at length pushed a way through to the woods on my right,
and spurred my mare into them and among the larger elms and pines where
sheep had pastured, and there was less brush.

I could not see the great pine now, but thought I had marked it down;
and so bore again to the right, where through the woods I could see a
glimmer of sun along cleared land.

It was rocky; my horse slipped and I was obliged to walk him upward
among stony places, where moss grew green and deep.

And now, through a fringe of saplings, I caught a glimpse of the two
elms and the tall pine between.

"Penelope!" I cried. Then I saw her.

She was standing as once she stood the first time ever I laid eyes on
her. The sun shone in her face and made of her yellow hair a glory. And
I saw her naked feet shining snow white, ankle deep in the wet grass.

As though sun-dazzled she drew one hand swiftly across her eyes when I
rode up, leaned over, and swung her up into my arms. And earth and sky
and air became one vast and thrilling void through which no sound
stirred save the wild beating of her heart and mine.

Then, as from an infinite distance, came a thin cry, piercing our still
paradise.

Her arms loosened on my neck; we looked down as in a dream; and there
were the little Romeyn children in the grass, naked in their shifts, and
holding tightly to my stirrup.

And now we saw light horsemen leading their mounts this way, and the
poor Dominie's lady carried on a trooper's saddle, her bare foot
clinging to the shortened stirrup.

Other troopers lifted the children to their saddles; a great hubbub
began below us along the Schenectady highway, where I now heard drums
and the shrill marching music of an arriving regiment.

I reached behind me, unstrapped my military mantle, clasped it around
Penelope, swathed her body warmly, and linked up the chain. Then I
touched Kaya with my left knee--she guiding left at such slight
pressure--and we rode slowly over the sheep pasture and then along the
sheep-walk, westward until we arrived at the bars. The bars were down
and lay scattered over the grass. And thus we came quietly out into the
Johnstown road.

So still lay Penelope in my arms that I thought, at times, she was
asleep; but ever, as I bent over her, her dark eyes unclosed, gazing up
at me in tragic silence.

Cautiously we advanced along the Johnstown road, Kaya cantering where
the way was easy.

We passed ruined houses, still smoking, but Penelope did not see them.
And once I saw a dead man lying near a blackened cellar; and a dead
hound near him.

Long before we came in sight of Johnstown I could hear the distant
quaver of the tocsin, where, on the fort, the iron bell rang ceaselessly
its melancholy warning.

And after a while I saw a spire above distant woods, and the setting sun
brilliant on gilt weather-vanes.

I bent over Penelope: "We arrive," I whispered.

One little hand stole out and drew aside the collar of the cloak; and
she turned her head and saw the roofs and chimneys shining red in the
westering sun.

"Jack," she said faintly.

"I listen, beloved."

"Douw Fonda is dead."

"Hush! I know it, love."

"Douw Fonda is with God since sunrise," she whispered.

"Yes, I know.... And many others, too, Penelope."

She shook her head vaguely, looking up at me all the while.

"It came so swiftly.... I was still abed.... The guns awoke me.... And
the blacks screaming. I ran to the window of my chamber.

"A Continental soldier was driving an army cart toward the Johnstown
road. And I saw him jump out of his cart,[46] cut his traces, mount,
turn his horse, and gallop down the valley.... That was the first real
fear that assailed me, when I saw that soldier flee.... I went below
immediately; and saw Indians near the Fisher place.... But I could not
persuade Mr. Fonda to escape with me through the orchard.... He would
not go, Jack--he would not listen to me or to the Bouw-Meester, who also
had hold of him.

[Footnote 46: The gossipy, industrious, and diverting historian, Simms,
whose account of this incident would seem to imply that Penelope Grant
herself related it to him, gives a different version of her testimony.
The statement he offers is signed: "_Mrs. Penelope Fortes. Her maiden
name was Grant._" So Simms may have had it first hand.]

"And when we went into the library somebody fired through the window and
hit the Bouw-Meester.... I don't know what happened to him or where he
fell.... For the next moment the house was full of green-coats and
savages.... They led Mr. Fonda out of the house.... An Indian killed him
with a hatchet.... A green-coat took hold of me and said he meant to
cut my throat for a damned rebel slut! But an Indian pushed him away....
They disputed. An officer of the Indian Department came into the library
and told me to go out to the orchard and escape if I was able.

"Then a Tory neighbour of ours, Joseph Clement, came in and shouted out
in low Dutch: Laat de vervlukten rabble starven!'[47] ... A green-coat
clubbed his musket to slay me, but the Indian officer caught the gun and
called out to me: 'Run! Run, you yellow-haired slut!'

[Footnote 47: In Valley Dutch: "Let the accursed rebel die!"]

"But I dared not stir to pass by where Clement stood with his gun. I
caught up a heavy silver candle-stick, broke the window with two blows,
and leaped out into the orchard.... Clement ran around the house and I
saw him enter the orchard, carrying a gun and looking for me; but I lay
very still under the lilac hedge; and he must have thought I had run
down to the river, for he went off that way.

"Then I got to my feet and crept up the hill.... And presently saw Mrs.
Romeyn and the children toiling up the hill; and helped her carry
them.... All the morning we hid there and looked down at the burning
houses.... And after a long while the firing grew more distant.

"And then--and then--_you_ came! My dear lord!--my lover.... My own
lover who has come to me at last!"




AFTERMATH


I know not how it shall be with me and mine! In this year of our Lord,
1782, in which I write, here in the casemates at West Point, the war
rages throughout the land, and there seems no end to it, nor none likely
that I can see.

That horrid treason which, through God's mercy, did not utterly confound
us and deliver this fortress to our enemy, still seems to brood over
this calm river and the frowning hills that buttress it, like a low,
dark cloud.

But I believe, under God, that our cause is now clean purged of all
villainy, and all that is sordid, base, and contemptible.

I believe, under God, that we shall accomplish our freedom and recover
our ancient and English liberties in the end.

That dull and German King, who sits yonder across the water, can never
again stir in any American the faintest echo of that allegiance which
once all offered simply and without question.

Nor can his fat jester, my Lord North, contrive any new pleasantry to
seduce us, or any new and bloody deviltry to make us fear the wrath of
God's anointed or the monkey chatter of his clown.

For us, the last king has sat upon a throne; the last privilege has been
accorded to the last and noble drone; the last slave's tax has long been
paid.

Yet--and it sounds strange--_England_ still seems _home_ to us.... We
think of it as home.... It is in our blood; and I am not ashamed to say
it. And I think a hundred years may pass, and, in our hearts, shall
still remain deep, deep, a tenderness for that far, ocean-severed home
our grandsires knew as England.

I say it spite o' the German King, spite of his mad ministers, spite o'
British wrath and scorn and jibes and cruelty. For, by God! I believe
that we ourselves who stand in battle here are the true mind and heart
and loins of England, fighting to slay her baser self!

Well, we are here in the Highlands, my sweetheart-wife and I.... I who
now wear the regimentals of a Continental Colonel, and have a regiment
as pretty as ever I see--though it be not over-strong in numbers. But,
oh, the powder toughened line o' them in their patched blue-and-buff!
And their bright bayonets! Sir, I would not boast; and ask I pardon if
it seems so....

Below us His Excellency, calm, imperturbable, holds in his hand our
destinies, juggling now with Sir Henry Clinton, now with my Lord
Cornwallis, as suits his temper and his purpose.

The traitor, Arnold, ravages where he may; the traitor, Lee, sulks in
retreat; and Conway has confessed his shame; and the unhappy braggart,
Gates, now mourns his laurels, wears his willows, and sits alone, a
broken and preposterous man.

I think no day passes but I thank God for my Lord Stirling, for our wise
Generals Greene and Knox and Wayne, for the gallant young Marquis, so
loved and trusted by His Excellency.

But war is long--oh, long and wearying!--and a dismal and vexing
business for the most.

I, being in garrison at this fortress, which is the keystone of our very
liberties, find that, in barracks as in the field, every hour brings its
anxieties and its harassing duties.

Yet, thank God, I have some hours of leisure.... And we have leased a
pretty cottage within our works--and our two children seem wondrous
healthy and content.... Both have yellow hair. I wish they had their
mother's lovely eyes!... But, for the rest, they have her beauty and her
health.

And shall, no doubt, inherit all the beauty of her mind and heart.

       *       *       *       *       *

Comes a soldier servant where I sit writing:

"Sir: Colonel Forbes' lady; her compliments to Colonel Forbes, and
desires to be informed how soon my Colonel will be free to drink a dish
of tea with my lady?"

"Pray offer my compliments and profound respect to my lady, Billy, and
say that I shall have the honour of drinking a dish of tea with my lady
within no more than five amazing minutes!"

And so he salutes and off he goes; and I gather up the sheaf of memoirs
I have writ and lock them in my desk against another day.

And so take leave of you, with every kindness, because Penelope should
not sit waiting.





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