CHAPTER XIX.
In the room of a farm-house in the American lines near Saratoga, a large gathering of officers was assembled. The scarlet of the British, the dark green of the Hessian, and the homely blue and buff of the American officers, mingled in friendly union for the first time.
The British officers looked gloomy and depressed, while the Americans treated them with marked courtesy and consideration. A carriage rolled up to the door of the farm-house, attended by a single dragoon, and a lady with two little children was helped out by one of the American officers, whose plain uniform bore no distinctive marks of rank.
This same officer had a peculiarly kind and benevolent expression on his face. He took up the frightened little ones in his arms as readily as if he had been their proper parent, kissed them affectionately, and turned to welcome the mother, with all the kindly courtesy of a gentleman of the old school.
The lady was the Baroness Reidesel, wife of the Hessian commander, and her heart was at once won to the kind stranger.
“Oh, sir,” she said, impulsively, “you are very, very kind, to us who have injured you so much.”
“Dear madam,” said the stranger, “that was but the fortune of war. You are trembling. Do not be alarmed, I pray you. Probably it may be somewhat embarrassing to you to be the only lady in such a large company of gentlemen. Pray let me take you and the children to my tent, where I will try to entertain you as best I can.”
The tears rushed to the eyes of the lady, as she said:
“Oh, sir, you must be a husband and father to show me so much kindness. Tell me only to whom I am indebted.”
“The debt is mine, madam,” said the officer, politely. “I am General Schuyler.”
And indeed it was that noblest of all heroes of the Revolution, after Washington, the General to whose genius the capture of Burgoyne was owing, and who was yet superseded in the hour of his triumph by the intrigues of the unscrupulous Gates, around whose brows the laurels were placed that really belonged to Schuyler. The baroness in her memories has left us this little incident, illustrative of the real nobility of the man.
In Schuyler’s tent, in which the baroness soon found herself, she was greeted with respectful cordiality by a young lady, one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen, who was introduced to her by the General as “Mademoiselle Diane de Cavannes, the betrothed wife of my cousin, Captain Schuyler.”
Sitting down to dinner, the baroness was soon after introduced to a remarkably handsome young officer of hussars, as the cousin in question, who entered while they were at table.
The conversation was carried on indifferently in English, German, and French, for every one at table seemed to be a good linguist, and before half an hour had passed the baroness felt as happy as if she had been among intimate friends instead of being, as she really was in an enemy’s camp, her husband and all his army prisoners.
While they were still at table, however, an incident occurred which showed that war was not at rest entirely.
A disturbance was heard outside, some shouting, the reports of two muskets, followed by the gallop of a horse near the tent.
Adrian Schuyler jumped up, at a signal from the General, and went out to see what was the matter. The baroness full of vague fears, as was natural to a lady in her lonely position, remained silent and absent minded, in spite of the assiduous attentions of her host and Mademoiselle de Cavannes to continue the conversation.
It was not long however before she was reassured by theentrance of Adrian, who was accompanied by Baron Reidesel himself.
“Ah,mon ami,” exclaimed the anxious wife, “I feared some terrible thing had happened to thee.”
The baron, after bowing to General Schuyler, whom he seemed to know, explained the disturbance in a few words.
It seemed that Burgoyne and his principal officers had been dining with Gates and his staff, and that all were somewhat the worse for wine, as was common in those days of hard drinking.
That one of Burgoyne’s officers, who, it appeared, had held an independent command among the rangers and Indians attached to the expedition, had distinguished himself by the depths of his potations which yet had no apparent effect on him save to make him more sullen and reserved.
“He was always a surly fellow, that Butler,” said the baron; “and none of us had liked him much, but he was a valuable officer at collecting intelligence and planning surprises, and brought us in more news than all our scouts, so Sir John tolerated him. Once or twice, I believe he went out as a spy among your people, General. Pretty soon, a dispute arose at table about that unfortunate affair of Miss McCrea, and although both Generals tried to stop it, words waxed high. Then on a sudden this Butler chimed in with the disputants in the most insulting manner, and the end of it was that he gave the lie direct to Colonel Morgan of the Rifles. One of Morgan’s officers, who sat next to Butler, maddened by his potations, so far forgot himself as to strike Butler. I shall never forget the scene that followed. Butler caught up a carving-knife, and before any one could interfere he literally hacked the other to pieces. Then with a savage curse, he flung the knife at Gates, rushed from the house, knocking down two officers that tried to stop him, as if they were children, sprung on the horse of Gates himself, that stood by the door, and actually escaped. I tell you, General, that sobered us all. Such an affair I never saw before, nor hope to again. It has cured me of deep drinking for a long while.”
Even as he was finishing, a tall gentleman entered the tent,with a hasty apology, went up to Schuyler and whispered in his ear. The General looked grave and troubled but he answered, hastily:
“Certainly, count, certainly. I have no command here, and Adrian’s duties are merely honorary. He can go.”
The Count de Cavannes, for it was none other, turned to Adrian Schuyler and the young lady, who was known as Diane de Cavannes, and spoke rapidly in French:
“My children, we must be in the saddle in an hour. The enemy of my house is at large, and I have sworn never to rest till he is past doing further mischief. Make your excuses and follow.”
Then, with a hurried bow to the rest of the company that told of the highbred courtesy that even haste could not extinguish, the mysterious count left the tent.
Baron Reidesel remained staring at the tent door in blank surprise after his departure for some minutes. Then he turned to Schuyler and asked, in a low voice:
“Excuse the question, Monsieur le General, but who is that tall gentleman that has gone out?”
“The Count de Cavannes, father to this young lady,” said the General, with a wave of his hand toward Mademoiselle.
“And, excuse me, does he hold a commission in your forces?”
“That is a question, baron, I can not in honor answer,” said the other, gravely. “He is a true friend to our cause, I will say.”
“Eh,mon Dieu, it is explained, then,” muttered the baron. “He is an agent of the Secret Service.”
Schuyler smiled but made no answer, and after fidgeting for some minutes, the baron resumed:
“Will you excuse one more question?”
“Certainly, baron. If I can answer, I will.”
“The count, is he a—well, a conjuror.”
“I can answer that,” interposed Diana, who had listened to the colloquy with an amused smile. “My father was a member of the French Academy of Sciences, baron, and a pupil of the great Cagliostro himself. Have you seen him before, that you ask?”
“Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, I should think I had. Did henot enter the quarters of Burgoyne himself in spite of his sentries and frighten us all out of our senses, in the likeness of the king of evil himself?”
To his surprise, both Adrian and Diana burst into a hearty laugh, and the former said:
“I do not wonder, baron. The count frightened me, once, in a way I shall never forget. But now I know him, let me say that a more honorable and braver gentleman never made use of the artifices of war to deceive and entrap an enemy. Farewell, baron. The day will come when you will know and respect De Cavannes, as I do.”
And he left the tent with Diana.