And now, near and ever nearer, creeps the waggon; and now it seems close at hand; and now we see it far away down the road, slowly moving toward us.
But it is no baggage-wain,—no transport cart that approaches us. The two horses are caparisoned in bright harness; the driver wears a red waistcoat and is a negro, and powdered. The vehicle is a private coach which lurches, though driven cautiously.
"Good God!" said I, "that is Sir John's family coach! Tahioni, hold your Oneidas! For I mean to find out who rides so carelessly to Oneida Lake, confiding too much in the army which has passed this way!"
Slowly, slowly the coach drew near our ambush. I recognized Colas as the coachmanpro tem; I knew the horses and the family coach; saw the Johnson arms emblazoned on the panels as I rose from the roadside weeds.
"Colas!" I said quietly.
The negro pulled in his horses and sat staring at me, astounded.
I walked leisurely past the horses to the window of the coach. And there, seated, I saw Polly Johnson and Claudia Swift.
There ensued a terrible silence and they gazed upon me as though they were looking upon a dead man.
"Jack Drogue!" whispered Claudia, "how—how come you here?"
I bowed, my cap in my hand, but could not utter a word.
"Jack! Jack, are—are you alone?" faltered Lady Johnson. "Good heavens, what does this mean, I beg of you?——"
"Where are your people, Polly?" I asked in a dead voice.
"My—my people? Do you mean my husband?"
"I mean him.... And his troops. Where are they at this moment?"
"Do you not know that the army is before Stanwix?"
"I know it now," said I gravely.
"Mercy on us, Jack!" cried Claudia, finding her voice shrilly; "will you not tell us how it is that we meet you here on the Oneida road and close to our own army?"
I shook my head: "No, Claudia, I shall not tell you. But I must ask you how you came here and whither you now are bound. And you must answer."
They gazed at my sombre face with an intentness and anxiety that made me sadder than ever I was in all my life.
Then, without a word, Lady Johnson laid aside the silken flap of her red foot-mantle. And there my shocked eyes beheld a new born baby nursing at her breast.
"We accompanied my husband from Buck Island to Oswego," she said tremulously. "And, as the way was deemed so utterly secure, we took boat at Oneida Lake and brought our horses.... And now are returning—never dreaming of danger from—from your people—Jack."
I stared at the child; I stared at her.
"In God's name," I said, "get forward then, and hail your horsemen escort. Say to them that the road is dangerous! Take to your batteau and get you to Oswego as soon as may be. And I strictly enjoin you, come not this way again, for there is now no safety in Tryon for man or woman or child, nor like to be while red-coat or green remains within this new-born nation!
"And you, Claudia, say to Sir Frederick Haldimand that he has lighted in Tryon a flame that shall utterly consume him though he hide behind the ramparts of Quebec itself! Say that to him!"
Then I stepped back and bade Colas drive on as fast as he dare. And when he cracked his long whip, I stood uncovered and looked upon the woman I once had loved, and upon the other woman who had been my childhood playmate; and saw her child at her breast, and her pale face bowed above it.
And so out of my life passed these two women forever, without any word or sign save for the white faces of them and the deadly fear in their eyes.
I stood there in the Oneida Road, watching their coach rolling and swaying until it was out of view, and even the noise of it had utterly died away.
Then I walked slowly back to the wood's edge; in silence my Oneidas rose from the weeds and stood around me where I halted, the sleeve of my buckskin shirt across my eyes.
Then, when I was ready, I turned and went forward, swiftly, in a southeasterly direction; and heard their padded footsteps falling lightly at my heels as I Hastened toward the Mohawk, a miserable, sad, yet angry man.
All that long, hot day we travelled; and in the afternoon black clouds hid the sun, and presently a most furious thunder storm burst on us in the woods, so that we were obliged to shelter us under the hemlocks and lie there while rain roared and lightning blinded, and deafening thunder shook the ground we lay on.
It was over in an hour. The forest dripped and steamed as we unwrapped our rifles and started on.
Twice, it seemed to me, far to the east I heard a duller, vaguer noise of thunder; and my Indians also noticed it.
Later, with the sky all blue above, it came again—dull, distant shocks with no rolling echo trailing after.
Tahioni came to me, and I saw in his uneasy eyes what I also now divined. For to the bravest Indian the sound of cannon is a terror and an abomination. And I now had become very sure that it was cannon we heard; for Stanwix lay far across the wilderness in that direction, and the heavy, lifeless, and superheated air might carry the solemn sound from a great distance.
But I said nothing, not choosing to share my conclusions with these young warriors who, though they had taken scalps at Big Eddy, were yet scarcely tried in war.
That night we lay near an old trail which I knew ran to Otsego and passed by Colonel Croghan's new house.
And on this trail, early the following morning, we encountered two men whom my Indians, instead of taking as they should have done, instantly shot down. Which betrayed their inexperience in war; and I rated them roundly.
The two dead men wereblue-eyedIndians in all the horror of their shameful paint and forest dress.
I knew one of them, for when Tahioni washed their lifeless visages and laid them on their backs, there, to my hot indignation, I beheld young Thomas Hare, brother to Lieutenant Henry Hare and to Captain James Hare, of the Indian Service.
Horror-stricken, bitterly mortified, I gazed down at the dead features of these two renegades who had betrayed their own race and colour; and my Indians, watching me, understood when I turned and spat upon the ground; and so they scalped both—which otherwise they had not dared in my presence.
We found on them every evidence that they were serving as a scout for McDonald. Probably when we encountered them they had been on their way to Sir John at Stanwix with verbal intelligence. But now it was idle to surmise what they might have been able to tell us.
We found upon their bodies no papers to shew where McDonald might be lurking; and so, as I would not trouble to bury the carrion, my Oneidas despoiled them, hid their weapons, pouched their money and ammunition, and left them lying on the trail for their more respectable relatives, the wolves, to devour.
Now, on the Otsego trail, which was but a vile one and nigh impassable with undergrowth, we beat toward the Mohawk like circling hounds cast out and at fault to find a scent.
And at evening of that day, the seventh of August, I saw a man in the woods, and, watching, ordered my Indians to surround him and bring him in alive.
Judge, then, of my chagrin when presently comes walking up, and arm in arm with my Oneidas, one Daniel Wemple in his militia regimentals, a Torloch farmer whom I knew.
"Great God, John!" says he, "what are you doing here with your tame panthers and a pair o' raw scalps that smell white in my nostrils?"
I told him, and asked in turn for news.
"You know nothing?" he demanded.
"Nothing, Dan, only that we heard cannon to the eastward yesterday."
"Well," says he, "there has been a bloody fight at Oriska, John; and Tryon must mourn her sons.
"For our fine regiments marched into an ambuscade on our way to drive Sir John from Stanwix, which he had invested. Colonel Cox is dead, and Majors Eisinlord and Klepsattle and Van Slyck. Colonel Paris is taken, and our brigade surgeon, Younglove, and Captain Martin of the batteaux service. John Frey, Major of brigade, is missing, and so is Colonel Bellinger. Scarce an inferior officer but is slain or taken; our dead soldiers are carted off by waggon-loads; our wounded lie in their alder-litters. And among them our general,—old Honikol Herkimer!—and I myself saw that brave Oneida die—our interpreter, Spencer——"
A cry escaped me, instantly checked as I looked at Thiohero. The girl came and rested her arm on my left shoulder and gazed steadily at the militia man.
He passed his hand wearily through his hair: "Only one regiment ran," he said dully. "I shall not name it to you because it was not entirely their fault; and afterward they lost heavily and fought bravely. But this is a dreadful blow to Tryon, John Drogue."
"We were routed, then?"
"No. We drove them from the field pell mell! We cut Brant's savages to pieces. We went at Sir John's Greens with our bayonets and tore the guts out of them! We put the fear o' God into Butler's green-coats, too, and there'll be caterwauling in Canada when the news is carried, for I saw young Stephen Watts[39]dead in his blood, and Hare running off with a broken arm a-flapping and he a-screaming like a singed wildcat——"
"Steve Watts! Dead!"
"I saw him. I saw one of our soldiers take his watch from his body. God! What a shambles was there at Oriska!"
But I was thinking of young Stevie Watts, Polly Johnson's brother, and my one-time friend, lying dead in his blood. And I thought of his boyish passion for Penelope. And her kindness for him. And remembered how last I had seen him.... And now he lay dead; and I had seen his sister but a few hours ago—seen her for the last time I should ever behold her.
I drew a breath like a deep and painful sigh.
"And the Fort?" I asked in a low voice.
"Stanwix holds fast, John Drogue. Willett is there, and Gansevoort with the 3rd New York of the Line."
"Have you news of McDonald, Dan?"
"None."
"Whither do you travel express?"
"To Johnstown with the news if I can get there."
I warned him concerning conditions in Schoharie. We shook hands, and I watched the brave militia man stride away through the forest all alone.
When we camped that night, Thiohero touched her brow and breasts with ashes from our fire. That was her formal symbol of mourning for Spencer. Later we all should mourn him in due ceremony.
Then she came and lay down close against me and rested her child's face on my hollow'd arm. And so slept all night long, trembling in her dreams.
I know not how it chanced that I erred in my scouting and lost direction, but on the tenth day of August my Indians and I came out into a grassy place where trees grew thinly.
The first thing I saw was an Indian, hanging by the heels from a tree, and lashed there with the traces from a harness.
At the same time one of my Oneidas discovered a white man lying with his feet in a pool of water. But when Tahioni drew the cocked hat from his head to see his countenance, hair and skin stuck to it, and a most horrid smell filled the woods.
And now, everywhere, we beheld evidences of the Oriska combat, for here lay a soldier's empty knapsack, and yonder a ragged shirt, and there a rusting tin cup, and here a boot all bloody and slit to the toe.
And now, looking about me, I suddenly comprehended that we were nearer to Stanwix Fort than to Oriska; and had no business any nearer to either place.
We now were in a most perilous region and must proceed with every caution, for in this forest Brant's Iroquois must be roaming everywhere in the rear of the troops which had invested Stanwix.
My Oneidas understood this without explanation from me; and they and I also became further alarmed when, to our astonishment, we came upon a broad road running through a forest where I swear no road had existed a twelve-month past.
Where this road led, and from whence, neither my Oneidas nor I knew. It was a raw and new road, yet it had been heavily travelled both ways by horse, foot, and waggons. It seemed to have as many windings as the Kennyetto at Fonda's Bush; and I saw it had been builded to run clear of hills and swampy land, as though made for a traffic heavier than a log road might easily sustain.
We left the road but scouted eastward along its edge, I desiring to learn more of it; for it seemed to bear toward Wood Creek; and if there were enemy batteaux to be seen I wished to count them.
Suddenly Thiohero touched my arm,—caught my sleeve convulsively.
"Hahyion—Royaneh—my elder brother—O my white Captain!" she stammered, clinging to me in her excitement, "here is theplace! Here is the place I saw in my vision! Here I saw strange uniforms and cannon smoke—and a strange white shape—and you—O Hahyion—my Captain!—--"
I looked around me, suddenly chilled and shivering in spite of the heat of a summer afternoon. But I perceived nobody except my Oneidas. We were on a long, sparsely-wooded hillock where juniper spread waist high. Below I could see the new road curving sharply to the eastward. But nobody moved down there; there was not a sound to be heard, not a movement in the forest. All around us was still as death.
Something about the abrupt bend in the empty road below me attracted my attention. I examined it intently for a while, then, cautioning my Indians, I ventured to move forward and around the south slope of the hillock, wading waist-deep in juniper, in order to get a look at what might lie behind the bend in this road of mystery.
The road appeared to end abruptly just around the curve, as though it had been opened only so far and then abandoned. This first amazed me and then alarmed me, because I knew it could not be so as I had seen on the roadbed evidences of recent and heavy travel.
I stood peering down at it where it seemed to stop short against the green and tangled barrier of the woods which blocked it like a living abattis——
God! Itwasan abattis!—a mask!
As I realized this I saw a man in a strange, outlandish uniform run out from the green and living barrier, look up at me where I stood in the juniper, shout out somethingin German, and stand pointing up at me while a score of soldiers, all in this same outlandish uniform, swarmed out upon the road and started running toward where I stood.
Then I came to my senses, clapped my rifle to my cheek and fired, stopping one of these strange soldiers and curing him of his running habits forever.
To me arrived swiftly my Oneidas, and dropped in the juniper, kneeling and firing upon the soldiers below. Two among them fell down flat on the road, and then the others turned and fled straight into their green barrier of branches. From there they fired at us wildly, keeping up a strange, hoarse shouting.
"Hessian chasseurs!" I exclaimed. "These troops can be no other than the filthy Germans hired by King George to come here and cut our throats!"
"Those men wear the uniform I saw in my vision of this place!" whispered Thiohero, quietly reloading her rifle. "I think that this is truly your battle, my Captain."
Then, as her prophecy of cannon came into my mind, there was a blinding flash from that green barrier below; a vast cloud blotted it from view; the pine beside which I stood shivered as though thunder-smitten; and the entire top of it crashed down upon us, burying us all in lashing, writhing branches.
So stunned and stupefied was I that I lay for an instant without motion, my ears still deafened by that clap of thunder.
But now I floundered to my feet amid the pine-top's débris; around me rose my terrified Oneidas, nearly paralyzed with fright.
"Come," said I, "we should pull foot ere they blow us into pieces with their damned artillery. Thiohero, where are you?"
"I come, Royaneh!"
"Tahioni! Kwiyeh! Hanatoh!" I called anxiously.
Then I saw them all creeping like weasels from under the green débris.
"Hasten," I muttered, "for we shall have all the Iroquois in North America on our backs in another moment."
As we started to retreat, the Germans emptied their muskets after us; but I did not think anybody had been hit.
We now were running in single file, our rifles a-trail, Tahioni leading, and I some distance in the rear, turning my head over my shoulder from moment to moment to see if we were followed.
And now, as I ran on, I understood that this accursed road had been made expressly to transport their siege artillery; that their guns were still in transit; that they had masked a cannon and manned it with Hessian chasseurs to keep their gun-road safe against surprise from any party scouting out of Oriska.
Lord, what an ambuscade! And what an escape for us!
As I jogged on at the heels of my Indians, still dazed and shaken by the deadly surprise of it all, I saw Thiohero, who was some little distance in front of me, reel sideways as though out o' breath, and stand still near a beech tree, holding her scarlet blanket against her body.
When I came up to her she was leaning against the tree, clutching her blanket to her face and breast with both hands. But she heard me and lifted her head from the gaily coloured folds.
"Hahyion—Royaneh!" she panted, "thiswas your battle.... And now—it is over ... and you shall live!..."
My Oneidas had halted and were looking back at us. And now they returned rapidly and clustered around us.
"Are you exhausted, little sister?" I demanded, drawing nearer. "Are you hurt——"
"Listen—my brother and—my Captain!" she burst out breathlessly. "Thiswas the battle of my vision!—the strange uniforms—the cannon-cloud—the white shape!... I saw it near you where—where you stood in the cannon smoke!—a shape like mist at sunrise.... Haihee! It was the face and shape of the Caughnawaga girl!... It was Yellow Hair who floated there beside you in the cannon smoke!—covered to her eyes in white and flowers——"
The Little Maid of Askalege clutched her gay blanket closer to her breast and began to sway gently on her feet as though the thumping of a distant partridge were a witch-drum.
"Haihya Hahyion!" she whispered—"Thiohero Oyaneh salutes—her Captain.... I speak—as one dying.... Haiee! Haie—e! Yellow Hair is—is quite—a witch!—--"
Her voice failed; down on her knees she sank. And, as I snatched her from the ground and lifted her, she looked up into my face and smiled. Then, in a long-drawn sigh, her soul escaped between my arms that could not stay its flight to Tharon.
Her face became as wax; her head fell forward on my breast; her eyes rolled upward. And, as I pressed her in my arms, all my body grew warm and wet with bright blood pouring from her softly parted lips.
It was the 12th day of August when we came again to the Wood of Brakabeen,—we four young warriors of the clan of the Little Red Foot.
We were ragged and bruised and weary, and starving; but the fierce rage burning in our breasts gave to each a strength and purpose that nerved our briar-torn and battered bodies to effort inexhaustible.
Under scattered and furtive shots from German muskets we had retreated through the forest with our dead prophetess, until night ended pursuit by the chasseurs, and we ourselves had lost our direction.
All the next day we travelled southwest with our dead. On the tenth day we came out on Otsego Lake, near to Croghan's new house.
Where he had cleared the bush and where Indian grass was growing as tall as a man's head, we made a deep grave. And here we four clansmen buried the Little Maid of Askalege; and sodded the mound with wild grasses where strawberries grew, and blue asters and plumes of golden-rod.
A Canada whitethroat called sweetly, sadly, from the forest in the sunset glow. We made for the grave a white cross of silver birch. We placed parched corn and a cup of water at the foot of the cross; and her bow and scarlet arrows against her needs where deer, God willing, should be plenty. And near these we set her little moccasins lest in that unknown land her tender feet should suffer on the trail.
In the morning we made a fire of ozier, sweet-birch, cherry wood, and samphire.
When the aromatic smoke blew over us I rose and spoke. After I had finished, the others in turn rose and spoke their mind, saying very simply what was in their hearts concerning their little prophetess, who had died wearing a little red foot painted on her body.
So we left her at rest under the wild flowers and Indian grass, near to Croghan's empty house, with a vast wilderness around to guard the sanctuary, and the sad whitethroats to mourn her.
And now, fierce and starved and ragged, we came once more to the Wood of Brakabeen. And heard McDonald's guns in the valley and his pibroch on the hills.
The afternoon was still and hot, the deep blue sky cloudless. Over Vrooman's Land a brown smoke hung; more smoke was rising above Clyberg; more rolled up beyond the swampy ground near the Flockey.
From the edge of Brakabeen Wood, looking out over the valley, we could hear firing in the direction of Stone House, more musketry toward Fox Creek.
"McDonald is in Schoharie," I said to Tahioni. "There will be many dead here, women and children and the grey-haired. Are my brothers of the Little Red Foot too weary to strike?"
The young Oneida warrior laughed. I looked at my ragged comrades where they crouched in their frightful paint, listening excitedly to the distant firing, and I saw their lean cheeks twitching and their nostrils a-flare as they scented the distant fighting.
The wild screaming of the pibroch, too, seemed to madden them; and it enraged me, also, because I saw that Sir John's Highlanders were here with McDonald's fantastic crew and had come to slaughter us all with their dirks and broad-swords as they had threatened before Sir John fled North.
We turned to the left and I led my Oneidas in a file through the ferny glades of Brakabeen Wood, and amid still places where clear streams ran deep in greenest moss; where tall lilies nodded their yellow Chinese caps in the flowery swale; where, in the demi-light of forest aisles, nothing grew save the great trees bedded there since the dawn of time, which sprung their vast arches high above us to support their glowing tapestry of leaves.
It was mid-afternoon when, smelling hot smoke, we came near the woods by the river; and saw, close to us, a barn afire, and three men carrying guns, running hither and thither in a hay field and setting every stack aflame with their torches.
One o' the fellows was a drummer in the green uniform of Butler's Rangers, and his drum was slung on his back. And I knew him. He was Michael Reed of Fonda's Bush, and cousin to Nick Stoner.
And then, to my astonishment and rage, I saw Dries Bowman in his farmer's clothes; and the other man was a huge German—one of their chasseurs, who wore a stiff pig-tail that was greased, and a black mustache, and waist-high spatter-dashes—a very barbarian in red and blue and green; and grunting and puffing as he ran about in the hot sunshine to set the hay-cocks afire with his torch.
I remember giving no command; we sprang out of the woods, trailing our rifles in our left hands; and Bowman fired at me and, missing, started to run; but I got him by his collar and knocked him over with my gun-butt.
The Hessian chasseur instantly drew up and fired in our direction; and Tahioni shot him dead in his tracks, where he fell heavily on his back and lay in the grass with limbs outspread.
"You may take his scalp! I care not!" shouted I, watching my Oneidas, who had got at Micky Reed and were striving to take him alive as I had ordered.
But Reed had a big dragoon's pistol in his belt and would have used it had not Kwiyeh killed him swiftly with his hatchet.
But I would not permit them to take Reed's scalp, and bade them despoil the body quickly and bring the leather cross-belts and girdle to me.
Hanatoh ran up and caught Dries Bowman by the collar; and we jerked him to his feet and dragged and hustled him into the woods. And here despoiled him, pulling from his pockets a Royal Protection and a bundle of papers, which revealed him as a spy sent down to preach treason in Schoharie and carry what men he might corrupt as recruits to McDonald and Sir John.
"That's enough to hang him!" I said sharply to Tahioni. "Link me up those drummer's cross-belts!"
"What—what do you mean, John Drogue!" stammered the wretch. "Would you murder an old neighbour?"
"That same old neighbour would have murdered me at Howell's house. And now is come disguised in civilian clothing to Schoharie with a spy's commission, to raise the district in arms against us."
"My God!" he shrieked, as Tahioni flung the leather halter about his neck, "is it a crime if honest men stand by their King?"
"Not when they stand out in plain day and wear a red coat or a green," said I, flinging the leather halter over the oak tree's limb.
Hanatoh swiftly pinioned his arms and tied his wrists; I tossed the halter's end to Kwiyeh. Tahioni also took hold of it.
"Hoist that spy!" I said coldly. And in a second more his feet were kicking some half dozen inches above the ground.
My Oneidas fastened the halter to a stout bush; I was shaking all over and felt sick and dizzy to hear him raling and choking in the leather noose which was too stiff for the ghastly business.
But at that instant Tahioni shouted a shrill warning; I looked over my shoulder and saw a great number of soldiers wearing red patches on their hats, running across the burning hayfield to surround us.
Yet it needed better men than McDonald's to take me and my Oneidas in Brakabeen Wood. We turned and plunged into the bush, leaving the wretched spy[40]hanging to the oak, his convulsed body now spinning dizzily round and round above the ground.
Looking back as I ran, I soon saw that the men who were chasing us had little stomach for a pursuit which must presently lead to bush-fighting. They shouted and halooed, but lagged as they arrived at the denser woods; and they seemed to have no officers to encourage them, or if they indeed possessed any I saw none.
Tahioni came fiercely to me, where I had halted, to watch the red-patch soldiers, saying that we had now been out thirteen days and had taken but three scalps. He said that to hang a man was not a proper vengeance to atone the death of Thiohero; and wanted to know why my prisoners should not be delivered to him and his Oneida comrades, who knew how to punish their enemies.
Which speech so angered me that I had a mind to take him by the throat. Only the sudden memory of our Red Foot clan-ship, and of Thiohero, deterred me. Also, that was no way to treat any Indian; and to lose my self-control was to lose the Oneidas' respect and my authority over them.
"My brother, Tahioni," said I coldly, "should not forget that he is myyoungerbrother.
"If Tahioni were older, and possessed of more wisdom and experience, he would know that unless a chief asks opinions none should be offered."
The youth's eyes flashed at me and he stiffened under a rebuke that is hard for any Iroquois to swallow.
"My younger brother," said I, "ought to know that I am not like an officer of Guy Johnson's Indian Department, who delivers prisoners to the Mohawks. I deliver no prisoner to any Indian. I obey my orders, and expect my Indians to obey mine. They are free always to take Indian scalps. The scalps of white men they take only if permitted by me."
Tahioni hung his head, the Screech-owl and the Water-snake nodded emphatic assent.
"Yonder," said I, "are the red-patch soldiers. They are Tory marauders and outlaws. If you can ambush and cut off any of them, do so. And I care not if you scalp them, either. But if any are taken I shall not deliver them to any Oneida fire. No prisoner of this flying scout shall burn."
The Water-snake twitched my sleeve timidly.
"Hahyion," he said, "we obey. But an Iroquois prefers the fire and torment to the noose. Because he can sing his death songs and laugh at his enemies through the flames. But what man can sing or boast when a rope chokes his speech in his throat?"
I scarcely heeded him, for I was watching the red-patch soldiers, who now were leaving the woods and crossing the hayfield, which still was smoking where the fire made velvet-black patches in the dry grass.
The barn had fallen in and was only a great heap of glowing coals, over which a pale flame played in the late afternoon sunshine.
Listening and looking after the red-patches, I heard very distinctly the sound of guns in the direction of Stone House.
Now, while it was none of my business to hang on McDonald's flanks for prisoners and scalps, itwasmy business to observe him and what he might be about in Schoharie; and to carry this news to Saratoga by way of Johnstown, along with my budget concerning Stanwix and St. Leger.
Besides, Stone House lay on my way. So I signalled my Indians and started west. And it was not very long before we came upon two Schoharie militia-men whom I knew, Jacob Enders and George Warner, who took to a tree when they discovered my Oneidas in their paint, but came out when I called them by name, and gave an account that they were hunting a notorious Tory,—a renegade and late officer in the Schoharie Regiment,—a certain George Mann, a captain, who would have carried his entire company to McDonald, but was surprised in his villainy and had fled to the woods near Fox Creek.
I told them that we had not seen this fellow, and asked for news; and Warner showed me a scalp which he said he took an hour ago from Ogeyonda, after shooting that treacherous savage at the Flockey.
He gave it to Tahioni, which pleased the Oneida mightily and contented me; for I hate to see any white man take a scalp, though Tim Murphy and Dave Elerson took them as coolly as they took any other peltry.
Warner said that McDonald was up the valley, murdering and burning his way westward; that cavalry from Albany had just arrived, had raided Brick House and taken prisoner a lot of red-patch militia, forced them to tear up their Royal Protections, tied up the most obnoxious, and kicked out the remainder with a warning.
He said, further, that Adam Crysler and Joseph Brown, of Clyberg, were great villains and had joined McDonald with Billy Zimmer and others; and that McDonald had a motley army, full of kilted Highlanders, chasseurs, red-patches, Indians, and painted Tories; and that the cavalry from Albany were marching to meet them, reinforced by Schoharie mounted-militia under Colonel Harper.
And now, even as Warner was still speaking, we heard the trumpet of the cavalry on the river road below; and, running out to the forest's edge, we saw the Albany Riders marching up the river,—two hundred horsemen in bright new helmets and uniforms, finely horsed, their naked sabers all glittering in the sun, and their trumpeter trotting ahead on a handsome white charger.
The horses, four abreast, were at a fast walk; flankers galloped ahead on either wing. And, as we hurried down to the road, an officer I knew, Lieutenant Wirt, came spurring forward to meet and question us, followed by two troopers,—one named Rose and the other was Jake Van Dyck, whom I also recognized.
"Jack Drogue, by all the gods of war!" cried the handsome lieutenant, as I saluted and spoke to him by name.
"Dave Wirt!" I exclaimed, offering my hand, which he grasped, leaning wide from his saddle.
He turned his mount toward the road again, and I and my Oneidas walked along beside him.
"Are those your tame panthers?" he demanded, pointing toward my Oneidas with his sword. "If they are, then we should have agreeable work for them and for you, Jack Drogue. For Vrooman and his men are in Stone House and the red-patches fire on them whenever they show a head; and our cavalry are like to strike McDonald at any moment now. We caught two of his damned spies——"
At that instant, far down the road I saw a woman; and even at that distance I recognized her.
"Yonder walks a bad citizen," said I sharply. "That is Madame Staats!"
We had now arrived beside the moving column of riders; and, as I spoke, a dozen cavalrymen shouted: "Here comes Rya's Pup!"
A captain of cavalry who spoke English with a French accent shouted to the Pup and beckoned her; but she turned and ran the other way.
Immediately two troopers spurred after her and caught her as she was fording the river; and each seized her by a hand, turned their horses, and trotted back to us with their prisoner, amid shouts of laughter.
Rya's Pup, breathless from her enforced run, fairly spat at us in her fury, cursing and threatening and holding her panting flanks in turn.
"You dirty rebel dogs!" she screamed, "wait till McDonald catches you! Ah—there'll be blood enow for you all to wade in as I waded in the river yonder, when your filthy cavalry headed me!"
Wirt tried to question her, but she mocked us all, boasted that McDonald had a huge army at the Flockey, and that he was now on his way to Stone House to destroy us all.
"Turn that slut loose!" said the Captain sharply.
So we let go the Pup, and she turned and legged it, yelling her scorn and fury as she ran; and we saw her go floundering and splashing across the river, doubtless to carry news of us to McDonald.
And it contented us that she so do, because now we came upon Stone House, where the small garrison under a Lieutenant Wallace had ventured out and were a-digging of a ditch and piling fence rails across the road to stop McDonald's riders in a charge.
Here, also, were Harper's mounted militia, sitting their saddles, poorly armed with militia fire-locks.
But we had a respectable force and were ashamed to await the outlaws behind ditch and rail; so we marched on through the gathering dusk to a house about two miles further, where a dozen strangely painted horsemen galloped away as we approached.
A yell of rage at sight of those blue-eyed Indians arose from our riders. Our trumpet sounded; the cavalry broke into a gallop.
It was now twilight.
I begged some mounted militia-men to take me and my Oneidas up behind them; and they were obliging enough to do so; and we jogged away into the rosy dusk of an August evening.
Almost immediately I saw the Flockey ahead, and Adam Crysler's house on the bank; and on the lawn in front of it I saw McDonald's grotesque legion drawn up in line of battle.
As I came up our cavalry was forming to charge; Lieutenant Wirt had just turned in his saddle to speak to me, when one of the outlaws ran out to the edge of the lawn and called across the road to Wirt that he should never live to marry Angelica Vrooman,[41]but would die a dog's death as he deserved.
As the cavalry charged, Wirt rode directly at this man, who coolly shot him out of his saddle.
I saw and recognized the outlaw, who was a Tory named Shafer.
As Wirt fell to the grass, stone dead, his horse knocked down Shafer. The Tory got up, streaming with blood but not badly hurt, and, clubbing his piece, attempted to dash out Wirt's dead brains; but Trooper Rose swung his horse violently against Shafer, sabred him, and, in turn, fell from his own saddle, fatally wounded.
Another trooper dismounted to pick up poor Rose, who was in a bad way, but one of McDonald's painted Tories fired on them and both fell.
I fired at this man and wounded him, and Tahioni chased him, caught him, and slew him by the fence.
Then, above the turmoil of horses and gun-shots, the Oneida's terrific scalp-yell rang out in the deepening dusk; and at that dread panther-cry a panic seemed to seize McDonald's men, for their grotesque riders suddenly whirled their horses and stampeded ventre-à-terre, riding westward like damned men; and I saw their Highlanders and Chasseurs and renegade Greens break and scatter into the forest on every side, melting away into the night before our eyes.
Into the brush leaped my Oneidas; their war-yells awoke the shuddering echoes of Brakabeen Wood. I saw a chasseur leap a rail fence, stumble, and fall with the Screech-owl on top of him. Again the awful Oneida scalp-yelp rang out under the first dim stars.
The cavalry returned and camped at Stone House that night. They brought in their dead by torch-light; and I saw Wirt's body borne on a stretcher, and the corpse of Trooper Rose, and others.
One by one my Oneidas returned like blood-slaked and weary hounds. All had taken scalps, and sat late at our fire to hoop and stretch them, and neatly plait the miserable dead hair that hung all draggled from the pitiful shreds of skin.
At a cavalry watch-fire near to ours were also some people I knew—Mayfield men of a scout of six, just come in; and I went over to their fire and greeted them and questioned them concerning news from home.
Truman Christie was their lieutenant; Sol and Seely Woodworth, the two Reynolds, and Billy Dunham composed the scout; and all were in rifle-dress and keen to try their rifles on McDonald, but were arrived too late, and feared now that the outlaws were on their way to Canada.
Christie told me that the alarm in Johnstown and at Mayfield was great; that hostile Indians had been seen near Tribes Hill, and had killed a farmer there; that some people were leaving Caughnawaga and moving their household goods down the river to Schenectady.
"By God," says he, "and I don't blame 'em, John Drogue! No! For a Mohawk war party is like to strike Caughnawaga at any hour; and why foolish folk, like old Douw Fonda, remain there is beyond my comprehension."
"Douw Fonda!" said I, astonished. "Why, he is gone to Albany."
"He came back a week ago," says Christie. "They tell me that the young Patroon tried to dissuade the old gentleman from going, but could do nothing with him—Mr. Fonda being childish and obstinate—and so he had his way and summoned his coach and his three niggers and drove in state up the river to Caughnawaga. We passed that way on scout, and I saw the old gentleman two days ago sitting on his porch with his gold-headed walking stick and his book, and dozing there in the sun; and the yellow-haired girl knitting at his feet——"
"What!"
He looked at me, startled by my vehemence.
"Sir," said he, "did I say aught to offend you?"
"Good God, no. You say that the—the yellow-haired girl, Penelope Grant, is at Caughnawaga with Douw Fonda!"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you see her?"
"I did; and spoke with her."
"What did she say?" I asked unsteadily.
"She said that Mr. Fonda had sent a negro servant to Johnstown to fetch her, because, having returned to Caughnawaga, he needed her."
"I think Mr. Fonda's three sons and their families must all be mad to permit the old gentleman to come to Caughnawaga in such perilous times as these!" I said sharply.
"And so do I think likewise," rejoined Christie. "Let them think and say what they like, but, Mr. Drogue, I am an old Indian fighter and have served under Colonel Claus and Sir William Johnson. I know the Iroquois; I know their ways and wiles and craft and subtle designs; and I know how they think, and what they are most likely to do.
"And I say to you very solemnly, Mr. Drogue, that were I Joseph Brant I would strike Caughnawaga before snow flies. And, sir, under God, it is my honest belief that he will do exactly that very thing. And it will be a sorry business for the Valley when he does so!"
It was a dreadful thing for me to hear this veteran affirm what I myself already feared.
But I had never dreamed that the aged Douw Fonda would return to Caughnawaga, or that his sons would permit the obstinate, helpless, and childish old gentleman to so have his say and way in times like these.
Nor did I dream that Penelope would go to him again. I knew, of course, that she would surely go if he asked for her; but thought he had too completely forgotten her—as the Patroon wrote—and that his childishness and feeble memory no longer retained any remembrance of the young girl he had loved and had offered to adopt and to make his legatee.
The news that Captain Christie brought was truly dismal news for me and most alarming.
What on earth I could do about it I had no idea. Penelope, the soul of loyalty, believed that her duty lay with Mr. Fonda, and that, if he asked for her, she must go and care for him, who had been to her a father when she was poor, shelterless, and alone.
I realized that no argument, no plea of mine could move her to abandon him now. And what logic could I employ to arouse this childish and obstinate old gentleman to any apprehension of his own peril or hers?
To think of it madded me, because Mr. Fonda had three wealthy sons living near him, who could care for him properly with their ample means and all their servants and slaves. And why in God's name Captain John Fonda, Major Jelles Fonda, or Major Adam Fonda did not take some means of moving themselves and their families into the Queens Fort, or, better still, into Albany, I can not comprehend.
But it was a fact, as Christie related to me, that scarce a soul had fled from Caughnawaga. All the landed gentry remained; all people of high or low degree were still there—folk like the Veeders, Sammons, Romeyns, Hansens, Yates, Putmans, Stevens, Fishers, Gaults.
That night my dreams were horrible: I seemed to see Dries Bowman's body spinning in the sunshine, whilst he darted his swollen tongue at me like a snake. And always I seemed all wet with blood and could not dry myself or escape the convulsed embrace of the Little Maid of Askalege.
Moaning, waking with a cry on my lips to gaze on the red embers of our fire and see my Indians stir under their blankets and open slitted eyes at me—or to lie exhausted in body and all trembling in my thoughts, while the slow, dark hours dragged to the dead march beating in my heart—thus passed the night at Stone House, full of visions of the dead.
Long ere the cavalry trumpet pealed and the tired troopers awakened after near fifty miles of riding the day before, I had dragged my weary Indians from their sleep; and almost immediately we were on our way, eating a pinch of salted corn from the palms of our hands as we moved forward. For, after a brief ceremony in the Wood of Brakabeen, I meant to make Johnstown without a halt. My mind was full of anxiety for Caughnawaga, and for her who had promised herself to me when again I should come to seek her.
But first we must halt in the Wood of Brakabeen to fulfill in ceremony that office due to the memory of a brave and faithful Oneida warrior—our little Maid of Askalege.
It was not yet dawn, and the glades of Brakabeen Wood were dark and still; and on the ferns and grasses rested myriads of fire-flies, all pulsating with faint phosphorescence.
I thought of Thiohero as I had beheld her in this glade, swaying on her slender feet amid a dizzy whirl of fire-flies.
Tahioni had gathered a dry faggot; Kwiyeh carried a bundle of cherry-birch, samphire, and witch-hopple. The Water-snake laid the fire.
All seated themselves; I struck flint, blew the tinder to a coal, and lighted a silver birch-shred.
The scented smoke mounted straight up through the trees; I rose in silence; and when the first burning stick fell into soft white ashes, I took a few flakes in my palm and rubbed them across my forehead. Then I spoke, facing the locked gates of morning in the dark:
"Now—now I hear your voice coming to us through the forest in the night.
"Now our hearts are heavy, little sister. The gates of morning are still locked; the forest is still; everywhere there is thick darkness.
"Thiohero, listen!
"Now we Oneidas are depressed in our minds. You were a prophetess. You foretold events. You were a warrior. We were your clansmen of the Little Red Foot. You were a sorceress. Empty moccasins danced when you touched the witch-drum. Now, in white plumes, you have mounted to the stars like morning mist.
"Oyaneh! Continue to listen.
"Our lodge is empty without you. Our fire is lonely without you. Our hearts are desolate, O Thiohero Oyaneh!
"Little Sister, continue to listen!
"We have heard your voice at this hour coming to us through the Wood of Brakabeen. It comes in darkness like light when the gates of morning open.
"Thiohero Oyaneh, virgin warrior of the People of the Rock, we are come to the Wood of Brakabeen to greet and thank you.
"We give you gratitude and love. You were a warrior and wore the Little Red Foot. You struck your enemies where you found them. They are dead and without scalps, your enemies. The Canienga howl. Your war-axe sticks in their heads. The Hessians are swine. Your scarlet arrows turn them into porcupines. The green-coats flee and your bullets burn their bowels.
"O my little sister, listen now!
"Our trail is very lonely without you. We are dejected. We move like old men and sick. We need your wisdom. We are less wise than those littlest ones still strapped to the cradle board.
"Thiohero!
"We have placed food and a cup of water for you lest you hunger and thirst.
"We have laid a bow and scarlet arrows near you so that you shall hunt when you wish.
"We have given you moccasins so that the strange, bright trail shall not hurt your feet.
"We have placed paint for you so that Tharon shall know you by your clan. And we have made for your grave a cross of silver-birch, so that our white Lord Christ shall meet you and take you by the hand in a land so new and strange.
"Oyaneh!
"We have said what is in our hearts and minds. We think that is all we have to say. We turn our eyes to the morning. When the gates open we shall depart."
As I ended, the three Oneidas rose and faced the east in silence. All the sky had become golden. Minute after minute passed. Suddenly a blinding lance of light pierced the Wood of Brakabeen.
"Haih!" they exclaimed softly. "Nai Thiohero Oyaneh!"
Tahioni covered the fire. The Screech-owl marked us all with a coal still warm.
Then, in silence, I led my people from the misty Wood of Brakabeen.
On the evening of the 15th of August, the Commandant of Johnstown Fort stood aghast to see a forest-running ragamuffin and three scare-crow Indians stagger into headquarters at the jail.
"Gad a-mercy!" says he as I offered the salute, "is ityou, Mr. Drogue!"
I was past all speech; for we had wolf-jogged all the way up from the river, but from my rags I fished out my filthy papers and thrust them at him. He was kind enough to ask me to sit; I nodded a like permission to my Oneidas and dropped onto a settle; a sergeant fetched new-baked bread, meat, buttermilk, and pipes for my Indians; and for me a draught of summer cider, which presently I swallowed to the dregs when I found strength to do it.
This refreshed me. I asked permission to lodge my Oneidas in some convenient barn and to draw for them food, pay, tobacco, and clothing; and very soon a corporal of Continentals arrived with a lantern and led the Oneidas out into the night.
Then, at the Commandant's request, I gave a verbal account of my scout, and reminded him of my instructions, which were to report at Saratoga.
But he merely shuffled my papers together and smiled, saying that he would attend to that matter, and that there were new orders lately arrived for me, and a sheaf of letters, among which two had been sent in with a flag, and seals broken.
"Sir," he said, still smiling in kindly fashion, "I have every reason to believe that patriotic service faithfully performed is not to remain too long unrecognized at Albany. And this business of yours amounts to that, Mr. Drogue."
He laughed and rubbed his powerful hands together, peering good-humouredly at me out of a pair of small and piercing eyes.
"However," he added, "all this is for you to learn from others in higher places than I occupy. Here are your letters, Mr. Drogue."
He laid his hand on a sheaf which lay near his elbow on the table and handed them to me. They were tied together with tape which had been sealed.
"Sir," said he, "you are in a woeful plight for lack of sleep; and I should not detain you. You lodge, I think, at Burke's Tavern. Pray, sir, retire to your quarters at your convenience, and dispose of well-earned leisure as best suits you."
He rose, and I got stiffly to my feet.
"Your Indians shall have every consideration," said he. "And I dare guess, sir, that you are destined to discover at the Tavern news that should pleasure you."
We saluted; I thanked him for his kind usage, and took my leave, so weary that I scarce knew what I was about.
How I arrived at the Tavern without falling asleep on my two legs as I walked, I do not know. Jimmy Burke, who had come out with a light to greet me, lifted his hands to heaven at sight of me.
"John Drogue! Is it yourself, avic? Ochone, the poor lad! Wirra the day!" says he,—"and luk at him in his rags and thin as a clapperrail!" And, "Magda! Betty!" he shouts, "f'r the sake o' the saints, run fetch a wash-tub above, an' b'ilin' wather in a can, and soft-soap, too, an' a-bite-an'-a-sup, or himself will die on me two hands——"
I heard maids running as I climbed the stairway, gripping at the rail to steady me. I was asleep in my chair when some one shook me.
Blindly I pulled the dirty rags from my body and let them fall anywhere; and I near died o' drowning in the great steaming tub, for twice I fell asleep in the bath. I know not who pulled me out. I do not remember eating. They say I did eat. Nor can I recollect how, at last, I got me into bed.
I was still deeply asleep when Burke awoke me. He had a great bowl of smoking soupaan and a pitcher of sweet milk; and I ate and drank, still half asleep. But now the breeze from the open window and the sunshine in my room slowly cleared my battered senses. I began to remember where I was, and to look about the room.
Mine was the only bed; and there was nobody lying in it save only myself, yet it was evident that another gentleman shared this room with me; for yonder, on a ladder-back chair, lay somebody's clothing neatly folded,—a Continental officer's uniform, on which I perceived the insignia of a staff-captain.
Spurred boots also stood there, and a smartly cocked hat.
And now, on a peg in the wall, I discovered this unknown officer's watch-coat, and his sword dangling by it, and a brace o' pistols.
But where the devil the owner of these implements might be I could not guess.
And now my eyes fell upon the sheaf of letters lying on the table beside me. I broke the sealed tape that bound them; they fell upon the bed clothes; and I picked up the first at hazard, which was a packet, and broke the seal of it. And sat there in my night shift, utterly astounded at what I beheld.
For within the packet were two papers. One was a captain's commission in the Continental Line; and my own name was writ upon it.
And the other paper was a letter, sent express from the Forest of Dean, five days since, and it was from Major General Lord Stirling to me, acquainting me that he had taken the liberty to request a captain's commission in the Line for me; that His Excellency had concurred in the request; that a commission had been duly granted and issued; and that—His Excellency still graciously concurring and General Schuyler endorsing the request—I had been transferred from the State Rangers to the Line, and from the Line to the military family of General Lord Stirling. And should report to him at the Forest of Dean.
To this elegant and formal and amazing letter, writ by a secretary and signed by my Lord Stirling, was appended in his own familiar hand this postscript:
"Jack Drogue will not refuse his old friend, Billy Alexander. So for God's sake leave your rifle-shirt and moccasins in Johnstown and put on the clothing which I have bespoken of the same Johnstown tailoress who made your forest dress and mine when in happier days we hunted and fished with Sir William in the pleasant forests of Fonda's Bush."
I sat there quite overcome, gazing now upon my commission, now upon my friend's kind letter, now at my beautiful new uniform which his consideration had procured for me while I was wandering leagues away in the Northern bush, never dreaming that a celebrated Major General had time to waste on any thought concerning me.
There was a bell-rope near my bed, and now I pulled it, and said to the buxom wench who came that I desired a barber to trim me instantly, and that the pot-boy should run and fetch him and bid him bring his irons and powder and an assortment of queue ribbons for a club.
The barber arrived as I, having bathed me, was dressing in fresh underwear which I found rolled snug in the pack I had left here when I went away.
Lord, but my beard and hair were like Orson's; and I gave myself to the razor with great content; and later to the shears, bidding young Master Snips shape my pol for a club and powder in the most fashionable and military mode then acceptable to the service.
Which he swore he knew how to accomplish; so I took my letters from the bed and disposed myself in a chair to peruse them while Snips should remain busy with his shears.
The first letter I unsealed was from Nick Stoner, and written from Saratoga:
"Friend Jack,"I take quill and ink to acquaint you how it goes with us here in the regiment."I am fifer, and when in action am stationed near to the colours for duty. Damn them, they should give me a gun, also, as I can shoot better than any of 'em, as you know."My brother John is a drummer in our regiment, and has learned all his flamms and how to beat all things lively save the devil."My father is a private in our regiment, which is pleasant for all, and he is a dead shot and afeard of nothing save hell."I have got into mischief and been punished on several occasions. I like not being triced up between two halbards."I long to see Betsy Browse. She hath a pretty way of kissing. And sometimes I long to see Anne Mason, who has her own way, too. You are not acquainted with that saucy baggage, I think. But she lives only two miles from where my Betsy abides. And I warrant you I was put to it, sparking both, lest they discover I drove double harness. And there was Zuyler's pretty daughter, too—but enough of tender memories!"Anna has raven hair and jet black eyes and is snowy otherwise. I don't mean cold. Angelica Zuyler is fair of hair but brown for the rest——"Well, Jack, I think on you every day and hope you do well with your Oneidas, who, we hear, are out with you on the Schoharie."Our headquarters runner is your old Saguenay, and he is much trusted by our General, they say. Sometimes the fierce fellow comes to visit me, but asks only for news of you, and when I say I have none he sits in silence. And always, when he leaves, he says very solemnly: 'Tell my Captain that I am a real man. But did not know it until my Captain told me so.'"Now the news is that Burgoyne finds himself in a pickle since the bloody battle at Oriskany. I think he flounders like a big chain-pike stranded belly-deep in a shallow pool which is slowly drying up around him."We are no longer afeard of his Germans, his General Baum-Boom, his famous artillery, or his Indians."What the Tryon County lads did to St. Leger we shall surely do to that big braggart, John Burgoyne. And mean to do it presently."I send this letter to you by Adam Helmer, who goes this day to Schenectady, riding express."I give you my hand and heart. I hope Penelope is well."And beg permission to remain, sir, your most humble and obliged and obedient servant,"Nicholas Stoner."
"Friend Jack,
"I take quill and ink to acquaint you how it goes with us here in the regiment.
"I am fifer, and when in action am stationed near to the colours for duty. Damn them, they should give me a gun, also, as I can shoot better than any of 'em, as you know.
"My brother John is a drummer in our regiment, and has learned all his flamms and how to beat all things lively save the devil.
"My father is a private in our regiment, which is pleasant for all, and he is a dead shot and afeard of nothing save hell.
"I have got into mischief and been punished on several occasions. I like not being triced up between two halbards.
"I long to see Betsy Browse. She hath a pretty way of kissing. And sometimes I long to see Anne Mason, who has her own way, too. You are not acquainted with that saucy baggage, I think. But she lives only two miles from where my Betsy abides. And I warrant you I was put to it, sparking both, lest they discover I drove double harness. And there was Zuyler's pretty daughter, too—but enough of tender memories!
"Anna has raven hair and jet black eyes and is snowy otherwise. I don't mean cold. Angelica Zuyler is fair of hair but brown for the rest——
"Well, Jack, I think on you every day and hope you do well with your Oneidas, who, we hear, are out with you on the Schoharie.
"Our headquarters runner is your old Saguenay, and he is much trusted by our General, they say. Sometimes the fierce fellow comes to visit me, but asks only for news of you, and when I say I have none he sits in silence. And always, when he leaves, he says very solemnly: 'Tell my Captain that I am a real man. But did not know it until my Captain told me so.'
"Now the news is that Burgoyne finds himself in a pickle since the bloody battle at Oriskany. I think he flounders like a big chain-pike stranded belly-deep in a shallow pool which is slowly drying up around him.
"We are no longer afeard of his Germans, his General Baum-Boom, his famous artillery, or his Indians.
"What the Tryon County lads did to St. Leger we shall surely do to that big braggart, John Burgoyne. And mean to do it presently.
"I send this letter to you by Adam Helmer, who goes this day to Schenectady, riding express.
"I give you my hand and heart. I hope Penelope is well.
"And beg permission to remain, sir, your most humble and obliged and obedient servant,
"Nicholas Stoner."
I laid aside Nick's letter, half smiling, half sad, at the thoughts it evoked within me.
Young Master Snips was now a-drying of my hair. I opened another letter, which bore the inscription, 'By flag.' It had been unsealed, which, of course, was the rule, and so approved and delivered to me:
"Dear Jack,"I am fearfully unhappy. This day news is brought of the action at Oriska, and that my dear brother is dead."I pray you, if it be within your power, to give my poor Stephen decent burial. He was your boyhood friend. Ah, God, what an unnatural strife is this that sets friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son!"Can you not picture my wretchedness and distress to know that my darling brother is slain, that my husband is at this moment facing the terrible rifle-fire of your infuriated soldiery, that many of my intimate friends are dead or wounded at this terrible Oriskany where they say your maddened soldiers flung aside their muskets and leaped upon our Greens and Rangers with knife and hatchet, and tore their very souls out with naked hands."I pray that you were not involved in that horrible affair. I pray that you may live through these fearful times to the end, whatever that end shall be. God alone knows."I thank you for your generous forbearance and chivalry to us on the Oneida Road. I saw your painted Oneida Indians crouching in the roadside weeds, although I did not tell you that I had discovered them. But I was terrified for my baby. You have heard how Iroquois Indians sometimes conduct."Dear Jack, I can not find in my heart any unkind thought of you. I trust you think of me as kindly."And so I ask you, if it be within your power, to give my poor brother decent burial. And mark the grave so that one day, please God, we may remove his mangled remains to a friendlier place than Tryon has proven for me and mine."I am, dear Jack, with unalterable affection,"Your unhappy,"Polly."
"Dear Jack,
"I am fearfully unhappy. This day news is brought of the action at Oriska, and that my dear brother is dead.
"I pray you, if it be within your power, to give my poor Stephen decent burial. He was your boyhood friend. Ah, God, what an unnatural strife is this that sets friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son!
"Can you not picture my wretchedness and distress to know that my darling brother is slain, that my husband is at this moment facing the terrible rifle-fire of your infuriated soldiery, that many of my intimate friends are dead or wounded at this terrible Oriskany where they say your maddened soldiers flung aside their muskets and leaped upon our Greens and Rangers with knife and hatchet, and tore their very souls out with naked hands.
"I pray that you were not involved in that horrible affair. I pray that you may live through these fearful times to the end, whatever that end shall be. God alone knows.
"I thank you for your generous forbearance and chivalry to us on the Oneida Road. I saw your painted Oneida Indians crouching in the roadside weeds, although I did not tell you that I had discovered them. But I was terrified for my baby. You have heard how Iroquois Indians sometimes conduct.
"Dear Jack, I can not find in my heart any unkind thought of you. I trust you think of me as kindly.
"And so I ask you, if it be within your power, to give my poor brother decent burial. And mark the grave so that one day, please God, we may remove his mangled remains to a friendlier place than Tryon has proven for me and mine.
"I am, dear Jack, with unalterable affection,
"Your unhappy,"Polly."
My eyes were misty as I laid the letter aside, resolving to do all I could to carry out Lady Johnson's desires. For not until long afterward did I hear that Steve Watts had survived his terrible wounds and was finally safe from the vengeance of outraged Tryon.
Another letter, also with broken seal, I laid open and read while Snips heated his irons and gazed out of the breezy window, where, with fife and drum, I could hear the garrison marching out for exercise and practice.
And to the lively marching music ofThe Huron, I read my letter from Claudia Swift:
"Oneida; Aug: 7th, 1777."My dearest Jack,"I am informed that I may venture to send this epistle under a flag that goes out today. No doubt but some Yankee Paul Pry in blue-and-buff will crack the seal and read it before you receive it."But I snap my fingers at him. I care not. I am bold to say that I do love you. And dearly! So much for Master Pry!"But, alas, my friend, now indeed I am put to it; for I must confess to you a sadder and deeper anxiety. For if I love you, sir, I am otherwise in love. And with another! I shall not dare to confess his name. Butyou saw and recognized himat Summer House when Steve was there a year ago last spring."Now you know. Yes, I am madly in love, Jack. And am racked with terrors and nigh out o' my wits with this awful news of the Oriska battle."We hear that Captain Walter Butler is taken out o' uniform within your lines; and so, lacking the protection of his regimentals, he is like to suffer as a spy. My God! Was healonewhen apprehended by Arnold's troops? And will General Arnold hang him?"This is the urgent news I ask of you. I am horribly afraid. In mercy send me some account; for there are terrible rumours afloat in this fortress—rumours of other spies taken by your soldiery, and of brutal executions—I can not bring myself to write of what I fear. Pity me, Jack, and write me what you hear."Could you not beg this one mercy of Billy Alexander, that he send a flag or contrive to have one sent from your Northern Department, explaining to us poor women what truly has been,—and is like to be—the fate of such unfortunate prisoners in your hands?"And remember who it is appeals to you, dear Jack; for even if I have not merited your consideration,—if I, perhaps, have even forfeited the regard of Billy Alexander,—I pray you both to remember that you once were a little in love with me."And so, deal with me gently, Jack. For I am frightened and sick at heart; and know very little about love, which, for the first time ever in my life, has now undone me."Will you not aid and forgive your unhappy, "Claudia."
"Oneida; Aug: 7th, 1777.
"My dearest Jack,
"I am informed that I may venture to send this epistle under a flag that goes out today. No doubt but some Yankee Paul Pry in blue-and-buff will crack the seal and read it before you receive it.
"But I snap my fingers at him. I care not. I am bold to say that I do love you. And dearly! So much for Master Pry!
"But, alas, my friend, now indeed I am put to it; for I must confess to you a sadder and deeper anxiety. For if I love you, sir, I am otherwise in love. And with another! I shall not dare to confess his name. Butyou saw and recognized himat Summer House when Steve was there a year ago last spring.
"Now you know. Yes, I am madly in love, Jack. And am racked with terrors and nigh out o' my wits with this awful news of the Oriska battle.
"We hear that Captain Walter Butler is taken out o' uniform within your lines; and so, lacking the protection of his regimentals, he is like to suffer as a spy. My God! Was healonewhen apprehended by Arnold's troops? And will General Arnold hang him?
"This is the urgent news I ask of you. I am horribly afraid. In mercy send me some account; for there are terrible rumours afloat in this fortress—rumours of other spies taken by your soldiery, and of brutal executions—I can not bring myself to write of what I fear. Pity me, Jack, and write me what you hear.
"Could you not beg this one mercy of Billy Alexander, that he send a flag or contrive to have one sent from your Northern Department, explaining to us poor women what truly has been,—and is like to be—the fate of such unfortunate prisoners in your hands?
"And remember who it is appeals to you, dear Jack; for even if I have not merited your consideration,—if I, perhaps, have even forfeited the regard of Billy Alexander,—I pray you both to remember that you once were a little in love with me.
"And so, deal with me gently, Jack. For I am frightened and sick at heart; and know very little about love, which, for the first time ever in my life, has now undone me.
"Will you not aid and forgive your unhappy, "Claudia."
Good Lord! Claudia enamoured! And enamoured of that great villain, Henry Hare! Why, damn him, he hath a wife and children, too, or I am most grossly in error.
I had not heard that Walter Butler was taken. I knew not whether Lieutenant Hare had been caught in Butler's evil company or if, indeed, he had fought at all with old John Butler at Oriska.
Frowning, disgusted, yet sad also to learn that Claudia could so rashly and so ignobly lavish her affections, nevertheless I resolved to ask Lord Stirling if a flag could not be sent with news to Claudia and such other anxious ladies as might be eating their hearts out at Oneida, or Oswego, or Buck Island.
And so I laid aside her painful letter, and unfolded the last missive. And discovered it was writ me by Penelope:
"You should not think harshly of me, Jack Drogue, if you return and discover that I am gone away from Johnstown."Douw Fonda is returned to Cayadutta Lodge. He has now sent a carriage for to fetch me. It is waiting while I write. I can not refuse him."If, when we meet again, you desire to know my mind concerning you, then, if you choose to look into it, you shall discover that my mind contains only a single thought. And the thought is for you."But if you desire no longer to know my mind when again—if ever—we two meet together, then you shall not feel it your duty to concern yourself about my mind, or what thought may be within it."I would not write coldly to you, John Drogue. Nor would I importune with passion."I have no claim upon your further kindness. You have every claim upon my life-long gratitude."But I offer more than gratitude if you should still desire it; and I would offer less—if it should better please you."Feel not offended; feel free. Come to me if it pleaseth you; and, if you come not, there is in me that which shall pardon all you do, or leave undone, as long as ever I shall live on earth."Penelope Grant."
"You should not think harshly of me, Jack Drogue, if you return and discover that I am gone away from Johnstown.
"Douw Fonda is returned to Cayadutta Lodge. He has now sent a carriage for to fetch me. It is waiting while I write. I can not refuse him.
"If, when we meet again, you desire to know my mind concerning you, then, if you choose to look into it, you shall discover that my mind contains only a single thought. And the thought is for you.
"But if you desire no longer to know my mind when again—if ever—we two meet together, then you shall not feel it your duty to concern yourself about my mind, or what thought may be within it.
"I would not write coldly to you, John Drogue. Nor would I importune with passion.
"I have no claim upon your further kindness. You have every claim upon my life-long gratitude.
"But I offer more than gratitude if you should still desire it; and I would offer less—if it should better please you.
"Feel not offended; feel free. Come to me if it pleaseth you; and, if you come not, there is in me that which shall pardon all you do, or leave undone, as long as ever I shall live on earth.
"Penelope Grant."
When Snips had powdered me and had tied my club with a queue-ribbon of his proper selection, he patched my cheek-bone where a thorn had torn me, and stood a-twirling his iron as though lost in admiration of his handiwork.
When I paid him I bade him tell Burke to bring around my horse and fetch my saddle bags; and then I dressed me in my regimentals.
When Burke came with the saddle-bags, we packed them together. He promised to care for my rifle and pack, took my new light blanket over his arm, and led the way down stairs, where I presently perceived Kaya saddled, and pricking ears to hear my voice.
Whilst I caressed her and whispered in her pretty ear the idle tenderness that a man confides to a beloved horse, Burke placed my pistols, strapped saddle-bags and blanket, and held my stirrup as I gathered bridle and set my spurred boot firmly on the steel.
And so swung to my saddle, and sat there, dividing bridles, deep fixed in troubled thought and anxiously concerned for the safety of the unselfish but very stubborn girl I loved.
I had said my adieux to Jimmy Burke; I had taken leave of the Commandant at the palisades jail. I now galloped Kaya through the town, riding by way of Butlersbury;[42]and saw the steep roof of the Butler house through the grove, and shuddered as I thought of the unhappy young man who had lived there and who, at that very moment, might be hanging by his neck while the drums rolled from the hollow square.
Down the steep hill I rode, careful of loose stone, and so came to the river and to Caughnawaga.[43]
All was peaceful and still in the noonday sunshine; the river wore a glassy surface; farm waggons creaked slowly through golden dust along the Fort Johnson highway; fat cattle lay in the shade; and from the brick chimneys of Caughnawaga blue smoke drifted where, in her cellar kitchen, the good wife was a-cooking of the noontide dinner.
When presently I espied Douw Fonda's great mansion of stone, I saw nobody on the porch, and no smoke rising from the chimneys, yet the front door stood open.
But when I rode up to the porch, a black wench came from the house, who said that Mr. Fonda dined at his son's that day, and would remain until evening.
However, when I made inquiry for Penelope, I found that she was within,—had already been served with dinner,—and was now gone to the library to read and knit as usual when alone.
The black wench took my mare and whistled shrilly for a slave to come and hold the horse.
But I had already mounted the stoop and entered the silent house; and now I perceived Penelope, who had risen from a chair and was laying aside her book and knitting.
She seemed very white when I went to her and drew her into my embrace; and she rested her cheek against my shoulder and took close hold of my two arms, but uttered not a word.
Under her lace cap her hair glimmered like sun-warmed gold; and her hands, which had become very fine and white again, began to move upward to my shoulders, till they encircled my neck and rested there, tight linked.
For a space she wept, but presently staunched her tears with her laced apron's edge, like a child at school. And when I made her look upon me she smiled though she still breathed sobbingly, and her lips still quivered as I kissed her.
We sat close together there in the golden gloom of the curtained room, where only a bar of dusty sunlight fell across a row of gilded books.
I had told her everything—had given an account of all that had befallen my little scout, and how I had returned to Johnstown, and how so suddenly my fortunes had been completely changed.