"Flammadiddle!Paddadiddle!Flammadiddle dandy!My Love's kissesAre sweet as sugar-candy!Flammadiddle!Paddadiddle!Flammadiddle dandy!She makes fun o' meBecause my legs are bandy——"
"Flammadiddle!Paddadiddle!Flammadiddle dandy!My Love's kissesAre sweet as sugar-candy!Flammadiddle!Paddadiddle!Flammadiddle dandy!She makes fun o' meBecause 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!"
"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 seeOur 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!"
"O Boston wives and maids draw near and seeOur 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.
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 manœuvring 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-drummingthe long rollall 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 tobears, and also what I said concerning thedrummingof 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.
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 whoisone, 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.