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 anoldwar-axenewlypolished. 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, butit 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.
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 asomething—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.
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 thatotherfigure 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.