The night came on and I was uneasy. Many things disturbed me. The house was a sore spot in my mind, and with the dusk the signs of battle seemed to increase. Upon this dark background the flashes from the skirmishing grew in size and intensity. From under the horizon’s rim came the deep murmur of the artillery. I knew that Burgoyne was feeling his way, and more than ever it was impressed upon me that either he would break out soon or we would close in upon him and crush him. The faint pop-pop of the distant rifles was like the crackling that precedes the conflagration.
To the south there was peace, apparent peace, but I knew Burgoyne must turn his face hopefully many a time that way, for if rescue came at all it must come thence.
“Another day nearer the shutting of thetrap,” said Whitestone, walking up and down with his arm in a sling. I found that he could manage his pipe as well with one hand as with two.
The night was darker than usual, for which I was sorry, as it was against us and in favor of the others. Again asking Whitestone to stand sponsor for the hollow, I approached the house. I had repeated my precautions of the day before, placing one sentinel in front of it and another behind it. But in the darkness two men could be passed, and I would watch with them.
From the hill top the flashes of the skirmishing seemed to multiply, and for a few moments I forgot the house that I might watch them. Even I, who had no part in the councils of my generals and elders, knew how much all this meant to us, and the intense anxiety with which every patriot heart awaited the result. More than ever I regretted my present duty.
The house was dark, but I felt sure in my heart that Kate would make another attempt to escape us. Why should she wait?
I thought it my best plan to walk in an endless circle around the house; it would keep sleep away and give me the greater chance to seeanything that might happen. It was but dull and tiresome work at the best. Around and around I walked, stopping once in a while to speak to my sentinels. Time was so slow that it seemed to me the night ought to have passed, when the size of the moon showed that it was not twelve.
I expected Kate to look from the windows again and spy out the ground before making the venture; so I kept faithful watch upon them, but found no reward for such vigilance and attention. Her face did not appear; no light sparkled from the house. Perhaps after her failures her courage had sunk. Certainly the time for her venture, if venture she would make, was passing.
As I continued my perpetual circle I approached the beat of the sentinel who was stationed behind the house. I saw him sooner than I expected; he had come farther toward the side of the house than his orders permitted him to do, and I was preparing to rebuke him when I noticed of a sudden that he seemed to be without his rifle. The next moment his figure disappeared from me like the shadow of something that had never been.
Twenty yards away I saw the sentinel, upright, stiff, rifle on shoulder, no thought but of his duty. I knew the first figure was that of Kate Van Auken, and not of the sentinel. How she had escaped from the house unseen I did not know and it was no time to stop for inquiry. I stepped among the trees, marking as closely as I could that particular blotch of blackness into which she had disappeared, and I had reward, for again I saw her figure, more like shadow than substance.
I might have shouted to the sentinels and raised hue and cry, but I had reasons—very good, it seemed to me—for not doing so. Moreover, I needed no assistance. Surely I could hold myself sufficient to capture one girl. She knew the grounds well, but I also knew them. I had played over them often enough.
The belt of woods began about fifty yards back of the house, and was perhaps the same number of yards in breadth. But the trees seemed not to hinder her speed. She curved lightly among them with the readiness of perfect acquaintance, and I was sure that the elation coming from what she believed to be escape was quickening her flight.
She passed through the trees and into the stretch of open ground beyond. Then for the first time she looked back and saw me. At least I believe she saw me, for she seemed to start, and her cloak fluttered as she began to run with great speed.
A hundred yards farther was a rail fence, and beyond that a stretch of corn land. With half a leap and half a climb, very remarkable in woman, who is usually not expert in such matters, she scaled this fence in a breath and was among the cornstalks. I feared that she might elude me there, but I, too, was over the fence in a trice and kept her figure in view. She had shown much more endurance than I expected, though I knew she was a strong girl. But we had come a good half mile, and few women can run at speed so far.
She led me a chase through the cornfield and then over another fence into a pasture. I noted with pleasure that I was gaining all the time. In truth, I had enjoyed so much exercise of this kind in the last day that I ought to have been in a fair way of becoming an expert.
Our course lengthened to a mile and I was within fifteen yards of her. Despite mygeneral disrelish for the position I felt a certain grim joy in being the man to stop her plans, inasmuch as she had deceived me more perhaps than any one else.
It was evident that I could overtake her, and I hailed her, demanding that she stop. For reply she whirled about and fired a pistol at me, and then, seeing that she had missed, made an effort to run faster.
I was astounded. I confess it even after all that had happened—but she had fired at Whitestone before; now she was firing at me. I would stop this fierce woman, not alone for the good of our cause, but for the revenge her disappointment would be to me. The feeling gave me strength, and in five minutes more I could almost reach out my hands and touch her.
“Stop!” I shouted in anger.
She whirled about again and struck at me, full strength, with the butt of her pistol. I might have suffered a severe, perhaps a stunning, blow, but by instinct I threw up my right hand, and her wrist gliding off it the pistol struck nothing, dashing with its own force from her hand. I warded off another swift blow aimed with the left fist, and then saw that I stood face to facenot with Kate Van Auken but with her brother Albert.
There was a look upon his face of mingled shame and determination. How could he escape shame with his sister’s skirts around him and her hood upon his head?
My own feelings were somewhat mixed in character. First, there was a sensation of great relief, so quick I had not time to make analysis, and then there came over me a strong desire to laugh. I submit that the sight of a man caught in woman’s dress and ashamed of it is fair cause for mirth.
It was dark, but not too dark for me to see his face redden at my look.
“You’ll have to fight it out with me,” he said, very stiff and haughty.
“I purpose to do it,” I said, “but perhaps your clothes may be in your way.”
He snatched the hood off his head and hurled it into the bushes; then with another angry pull he ripped the skirt off, and, casting it to one side stood forth in proper man’s attire, though that of a citizen and not of the British soldier that he was.
He confronted me, very angry. I did notthink of much at that moment save how wonderfully his face was like his sister Kate’s. I had never taken such thorough note of it before, though often the opportunity was mine.
Our pause had given him breath, and he stood awaiting my attack like one who fights with his fists in the ring. My loaded pistol was in my belt, but he did not seem to think that I would use it; nor did I think of it myself. His, unloaded, lay on the ground. I advanced upon him, and with his right fist he struck very swiftly at my face. I thrust my head to one side and the blow glanced off the hard part of it, leaving his own face unprotected. I could have dealt him a heavy return blow that would have made his face look less like his sister Kate’s, but I preferred to close with him and seize him in my grasp.
Though lighter than I he was agile, and sought to trip me, or by some dexterous turn otherwise to gain advantage of me. But I was wary, knowing full well that I ought to be so, and presently I brought him down in a heap, falling upon him with such force that he lay a few moments as if stunned, though it was but the breath knocked out of him.
“Do you give up?” I asked, when he had returned to speaking condition.
“Yes,” he replied. “You were always too strong for me, Dick.”
Which was true, for there never was a time, even when we were little boys, when I could not throw him, though I do not say it as a boast, since there were others who could throw me.
“Do you make complete and unconditional surrender to me as the sole present representative of the American army, and promise to make no further effort to escape?” asked I, somewhat amazed at the length of my own words, and a little proud of them too.
“Yes, Dick, confound it! Get off my chest! How do you expect me to breathe?” he replied with a somewhat unreasonable show of temper.
I dismounted and he sat up, thumping his chest and drawing very long breaths as if he wished to be sure that everything was right inside. When he had finished his examination, which seemed to be satisfactory, he said:
“I’m your prisoner, Dick. What do you intend to do with me?”
“Blessed if I know,” I replied.
In truth, I did not. He was in citizens’ clothes, and he had been lurking inside our lines for at least a day or so. If I gave him up to our army, as my duty bade me to do, he might be shot, which would be unpleasant to me as well as to him for various reasons. If I let him go he might ruin us.
“Suppose you think it over while I rest,” he said. “A man can’t run a mile and then fight a big fellow like you without getting pretty tired.”
In a few minutes I made up my mind. It was not a way out of the matter, but it was the only thing I could think of for the present.
“Get up, Albert,” I said.
He rose obediently.
“You came out of that house unseen,” I resumed, “and I want you to go back into it unseen. Do exactly as I say. I’m thinking of you as well as of myself.”
He seemed to appreciate the consideration and followed close behind me as I took my way toward the house. I had no fear that he would attempt escape. Albert was always a fellow of honor, though I could never account for the perversion of his political opinions.
He walked back slowly. I kept as good a lookout as I could in the darkness. It was barely possible that I would meet Whitestone prowling about, and that was not what I wanted.
“Albert,” I asked, “why did you shoot at Whitestone from the house? I can forgive your shooting at me, for that was in fair and open strife.”
“Dick,” he said so earnestly that I could not but believe him, “to tell you the truth, I feel some remorse about the shot, but the man you were pursuing was Trevannion of ours, my messmate, and such a fine fellow that I knew only one other whom I’d rather see get through with the news of our plight, and that’s myself. I couldn’t resist trying to help him. Suppose we say no more about it; let it pass.”
“It’s Whitestone’s affair, not mine,” I said. I was not making any plans to tell Whitestone about it.
When we came to the edge of the wood behind the house I told him to stop. Going forward, I sent the sentinel to the other side of the building, telling him to watch there with his comrade for a little, while I took his place. As soon as his figure disappeared behind thecorner of the house Albert came forward and we hurried to the side door. We knocked lightly upon it and it was promptly opened by his sister. I could guess the anxiety and dread with which she was waiting lest she should hear sounds which would tell of an interrupted flight, and the distress with which she would see us again. Nor was I deceived. When she beheld us standing there in the dark, her lips moved as if she could scarce repress the cry that rose.
I spoke first.
“Take him back in the house,” I said, “and keep him there until you hear from me. Hurry up, Albert!”
Albert stepped in.
“And don’t forget this,” I continued, for I could not wholly forgive him, “if you shoot at me or Whitestone or anybody else, I’ll see you hanged as a spy, if I have to do it myself.”
They quickly closed the door, and recalling the sentinel, I went in search of Whitestone.
I had some notion of confiding in Whitestone, but, after thought, I concluded I had best not, at least not fully.
I found him walking up and down in the valley.
“Whitestone,” I said, “do me a favor? if anybody asks you how you got that scratch on your arm, tell him it was in the skirmish, and you don’t know who fired the shot.”
He considered a moment.
“I’ll do it,” he said, “if you’ll agree to do as much for me, first chance.”
I promised, and, that matter off my mind, tried to think of a plan to get Albert out of the house and back to his own army unseen by any of ours. Thinking thus, the night passed away.
The relief came early in the morning, bringing with it the news that our army, which was stronger every day than on the yesterday, had moved still closer to Burgoyne. My blood thrilled as ever at this, but I had chosen a new course of action for myself. It would be an evil turn for me if Albert Van Auken were taken at the house and should run the risk of execution as a spy; it might be said that I was the chief cause of it.
I was very tired, and stretching myself on the turf beneath the shade of a tree in the valley, I fell into a sound sleep in two minutes. When I awoke at the usual time I found that the guard had been re-enforced, and, what was worse, instead of being first in command I was now only second. This in itself was disagreeable, but the character of the man who had supplanted me was a further annoyance. I knewLieutenant Belt quite well, a New Englander much attached to our cause, but of a prying disposition and most suspicious. The re-enforcements had been sent because of the previous attempt to break through the line at this point, the lay of the ground being such that it was more favorable for plans of escape than elsewhere.
“You need not stay unless you wish,” said Belt. “No positive instructions were given on that point. As for myself, I confess I would rather be with the army, since much is likely to happen there soon.”
“I think things will drag for some time yet,” I said with as careless an air as I could assume, “and I suspect that they have been more active here than they are with the army. Another attempt to break through our line may be made at this point, and I believe I’d rather remain for a day or two.”
But just then, as if for the sole purpose of belying my words about dullness at the front, there was a sharp crackle of distant skirmishing and the red flare of a cannon appeared on the horizon. It called the attention of both of us for a moment or two.
“The bullets appear to be flying over there, but if you prefer to remain here, of course you can have your wish,” said Belt with sarcasm.
I did not answer, as no good excuse happened to my mind, and we went up the hillside together. I looked about carefully to see what arrangements he had made, but it was merely a doubling of the guard. Otherwise he had followed my dispositions. Belt looked at the house.
“I hear that some people are there. Who are they?” he asked.
“Only two,” I replied, “women both—Madame Van Auken and her daughter.”
“For us, or against us?” he asked.
“Against us,” I replied. “The son and brother is in the English army with Burgoyne, over there; moreover, the daughter is betrothed to an Englishman who has just been taken prisoner by us.”
I thought it best to make no disguise of these matters.
“That looks suspicious,” he said, his hawk face brightening at the thought of hidden things to be found.
“They might do us harm if they could,” Isaid, “but they have not the power. Our lines surround the house; no one save ourselves can go to them, nor can they go to any one.”
“Still, I would like to go through the house,” he said, some doubt yet showing in his tone.
“I have searched it twice and found nothing,” I said indifferently.
He let the matter drop for the time and busied himself with an examination of the ground; but I knew he was most likely to take it up again, for he could not suppress his prying nature. I would have been glad to give warning to Kate, but I could think of no way to do it.
“Who is the best man that you have here?” he asked presently.
“Whitestone—Sergeant Whitestone,” I replied, glad to place the sergeant in his confidence, for it might turn out to my advantage. “There is none more vigilant, and you can depend upon all that he says.”
We separated there, our work taking us in different directions. When we returned to the valley, which we had made a kind of headquarters, I heard him asking Whitestone about the Van Aukens.
“Tartars, both of ’em,” said the good sergeant; “if you go in there, leftenant, they’ll scold you till they take your face off.”
The look on Belt’s face was proof that not even Whitestone’s warning would deter him. At least it so seemed to me. In a half hour I found that I had judged aright. He told me he was not in a state of satisfaction about the house, and since the responsibility for it lay with him he proposed to make a search of it in person. He requested me to go with him.
“This seems to be the main entrance,” he said, leading the way to the portico, which faced the north, and looking about with very inquiring eyes. “Madame Van Auken and her daughter must be much frightened by the presence of troops, for I have not yet seen the face of either at door or window.”
He knocked loudly at the door with the hilt of his sword, and Kate appeared, very calm as usual. I made the introductions as politely as I was able.
“Lieutenant Belt is my senior, Miss Van Auken,” I said, “and therefore has superseded me in command of the guard at this point.”
“Then I trust that Lieutenant Belt willrelax some of the rigors of the watch,” she said, “and not subject us to the great discomfort of repeated searches of our house.”
She turned her shoulder to me as if she would treat me with the greatest coldness. I understood her procedure, and marveled much at her presence of mind. It seemed to be successful too, for Belt smiled, and looked ironically at me, like one who rejoices in the mishap of his comrade.
She took us into the house, talking with much courtesy to Belt, and ignoring me in a manner that I did not altogether like, even with the knowledge that it was but assumption. She led us into the presence of madame, her mother, who looked much worn with care, though preserving a haughty demeanor. As usual, she complained that our visits were discourtesies, and Belt apologized in his best manner. Glad that the brunt did not now fall upon me, I deemed it best to keep silence, which I did in most complete manner.
Madame invited us to search the house as we pleased, and we took her at her word, finding nothing. I was much relieved thereat. I had feared that Albert, knowing I would not makeanother search so long as I was in command, would not be in proper concealment. With my relief was mingled a certain perplexity that his place of hiding should evade me.
Belt was a gentleman despite his curiosity, which I believe the New England people can not help, and for which, therefore, they are not to be blamed, and when he had finished the vain quest he apologized again to Madame Van Auken and her daughter for troubling them. He was impressed by the fine looks of the daughter, and he made one or two gallant speeches to her which she received very well, as I notice women mostly do whatever may be the circumstances. I felt some anger toward Belt, though there seemed to be no cause for it. When we left the house he said:
“Miss Van Auken doesn’t look so dangerous, yet you say she is a red-hot Tory.”
“I merely included her in a generality,” I replied. “The others of the family are strong Tories, but Miss Van Auken, I have reason to think, inclines to our cause.”
“That is good,” he said, though he gave no reason why it should seem good to him. After that he turned his attention to his main duty,examining here and there and displaying the most extreme vigilance. The night found him still prowling about.
Directly after nightfall the weather turned very cool in that unaccountable way it sometimes has in the late summer or early autumn, and began to rain.
It was a most cold and discouraging rain that hunted every hole in our worn uniforms, and displayed a peculiar knack of slipping down our collars. I found myself seeking the shelter of trees, and as the cold bit into the marrow my spirits drooped until I felt like an old man. Even the distant skirmishers were depressed by the rainy night, for the shots ceased and the hills and the valleys were as silent and lonely as ever they were before the white man came.
I was thinking it was a very long and most dismal night before us, when I heard a chattering of teeth near me, and turning about saw Belt in pitiable condition. He was all drawn with the cold damp, and his face looked as shriveled as if it were seventy instead of twenty-five. Moreover, he was shaking in a chill. I had noticed before that the man did not look robust.
“This is a little hard on me, Shelby,” he said, his tone asking sympathy. “I have but lately come from a sick-bed, and I fear greatly this rain will throw me into a fever.”
He looked very longingly at the house.
I fear there was some malice in me then, for he had put aspersions upon my courage earlier in the day, which perhaps he had a right to do, not knowing my secret motives.
“The weather is a trifle bad, one must admit, lieutenant,” I said, “but you and I will not mind it; moreover, the darkness of the night demands greater vigilance on our part.”
He said nothing, merely rattled his teeth together and walked on with what I admit was a brave show for a man shaking in a bad chill. As his assistant I could go and come pretty much as I chose, and I kept him in view, bent on seeing what he would do.
He endured the chill most handsomely for quite a time, but the wet and the cold lent aggravation to it, and presently he turned to me, his teeth clicking together in most formidable fashion.
“I fear, Shelby, that I must seek shelter in the house,” he said. “I would stick to thewatch out here, but this confounded chill has me in its grip and will not let go. But, as you have done good work here and I would not seem selfish, you shall go in with me.”
I understood his motive, which was to provide that in case he should incur censure for going into the house, I could share it and divide it with him. It was no very admirable action on Belt’s part, but I minded it not; in truth I rather liked it, for since he was to be in the house, I preferred to be there too, and at the same time, and not for matters concerning my health. I decided quickly that I must seem his friend and give him sympathy; in truth I was not his enemy at all; I merely found him inconvenient.
We went again to the front door and knocked many times before any answer came to us. Then two heads—the one of Mistress Kate, the other of her mother—were thrust out of an upper window and the usual question was propounded to us.
“Lieutenant Belt is very ill,” I said, taking the word from his lips, “and needs must have shelter from the cruelty of the night. We would not trouble you were not the case extreme.”
I could see that Belt was grateful for the way I had put the matter. Presently they opened the door, both appearing there for the sake of company at that hour, I suppose. Belt tried to preserve an appearance in the presence of the ladies, but he was too sick. He trembled with his chill like a sapling in a high wind, and I said:
“Lieutenant Belt’s condition speaks for itself; nothing else could have induced us to intrude upon you at such an untimely hour.”
I fancy I said that well, and both Madame Van Auken and her daughter showed pity for Belt; yet the elder could not wholly repress a display of feeling against us.
“We can not turn any one ill, not even an enemy, away from our door,” she said, “but I fear the rebel armies have left us little for the uses of hospitality.”
She said this in the stiff and rather precise way that our fathers and mothers affected, but she motioned for us to come in, and we obeyed her. I confess I was rather glad to enter the dry room, for my clothes were flapping wet about me.
“Perhaps the lieutenant would like to liedown,” said Madame Van Auken, pointing to a large and comfortable sofa in the corner of the room that we had entered.
But Belt was too proud to do that, though it was needful to him. He sat down merely and continued to shiver. Mistress Kate came presently with a large draught of hot whisky and water which smelled most savorously. She insisted that Belt drink it, and he swallowed it all, leaving none for me. Madame Van Auken placed a lighted candle upon a little table, and then both the ladies withdrew.
Belt said he felt better, but he had a most wretched appearance. I insisted that he let me feel his pulse, and I found he was bordering upon a high fever, and most likely, if precautions were not taken, would soon be out of his senses. The wet clothes were the chief trouble, and I said they must come off. Belt demurred for a while, but he consented at last when I told him persistent refusal might mean his death.
I roused up the ladies again, explaining the cause of this renewed interruption, and secured from them their sympathy and a large bedquilt. I made Belt take off his uniform, and then I spread the quilt over him as he lay on the sofa,telling him to go to sleep. He said he had no such intention; but a second hot draught of whisky which Kate brought to the door gave him the inclination, if not the intention. But he fought against it, and his will was aided by the sudden revival of sounds which betokened that the skirmishing had begun again. Through the window I heard the faint patter of rifles, but the shots were too distant, or the night too dark to disclose the flash. This sudden spurt of warlike activity told me once again that the great crisis was approaching fast, and I hoped most earnestly that events at the Van Auken house would culminate first.
Belt was still struggling against weakness and sleep, and he complained fretfully when he heard the rifle shots, bemoaning his fate to be seized by a wretched, miserable chill at such a time.
“Perhaps after all the battle may be fought without me,” said he with unintended humor.
I assured him that he would be all right in the morning. His resistance to sleep, I told him, was his own injury, for it was needful to his health. He took me at my word and let his eyelids droop. I foresaw that he would beasleep very soon, but he roused up a bit presently and showed anxiety about the guard. He wanted to be sure that everything was done right, and asked me to go out and see Whitestone, whom we had left in charge when we entered the house.
I was averse in no particular and slipped quietly out into the darkness. I found Whitestone in the valley.
“All quiet,” he reported. “I’ve just come from a round of the sentinels and there’s nothing suspicious. I’m going back myself presently to watch in front of the house.”
I knew Whitestone would ask no questions, so I told him the lieutenant was still very ill and I would return to him; I did not know how long I would stay in the house, I said. Whitestone, like the good, silent fellow he was, made no reply.
I returned to the front door. I was now learning the way into the house very well. I had traveled it often enough. I stood for a moment in the little portico, which was as clean and white as if washed by the sea. The rain had nearly ceased to fall, and the blaze of the distant skirmishing suddenly flared up on thedark horizon like a forest fire. I wondered not that the two women in the house should be moved by all this; I wondered rather at their courage. In the yard stood Whitestone, his figure rising up as stiff and straight as a post.
I found Belt fast asleep. The two draughts of whisky, heavy and hot, had been a blanket to his senses, and he had gone off for a while to another world to think and to struggle still, for he muttered and squirmed in his restless slumber. His hand when I touched it was yet hot with fever. He might, most likely would, be better when he awoke in the morning, but he would be flat aback the remainder of the night. He could conduct no further search in that house before the next day.
I was uncertain what to do, whether to remain there with Belt or go out and help Whitestone with the watch. Duty to our cause said the latter, but in truth other voices are sometimes as loud as that of duty. I listened to one of the other.
I drew a chair near to Belt’s couch and satdown. He was still muttering in his hot, sweaty sleep like one with anger at things, and now and then threw out his long thin legs and arms. He looked like a man tied down trying to escape.
The candle still burned on the table, but its light was feeble at best. Shadows filled the corners of the room. I like sick-bed watches but little, and least of all such as that. They make me feel as if I had lost my place in a healthy world. To such purpose was I thinking when Belt sat up with a suddenness that made me start, and cried in a voice cracked with fever:
“Shelby, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” I replied with a cheeriness that I did not feel. “Lie down and go to sleep, lieutenant, or you’ll be a week getting well.”
“I can’t go to sleep, and I haven’t been to sleep,” he said, raising his voice, which had a whistling note of illness in it.
His eyes sparkled, and I could see that the machinery of his head was working badly. I took him by the shoulders with intent to force him down upon the couch; but he threw meoff with sudden energy that took me by surprise.
“Let me go,” he said, “till I say what I want to say.”
“Well, what is it?” I asked, thinking to pacify him.
“Shelby,” said he, belief showing all over his face, “I’ve seen a ghost!”
A strong desire to laugh was upon me, but I did not let it best me, for I had respect for Belt, who was my superior officer. I don’t believe in ghosts; they never come to see me.
“You’re sick, and you’ve been dreaming, lieutenant,” I said. “Go to sleep.”
“I’ll try to go to sleep,” he replied, “but what I say is truth, and I’ve seen a ghost.”
“What did it look like?” I asked, remembering that it is best to fall in with the humor of mad people.
“Like a woman,” he replied, “and that’s all I can say on that point, for this cursed fever has drawn a veil over my eyes. I had shut them, trying to go to sleep, but something kept pulling my eyelids apart, and open they came again; there was the ghost, the ghost of a woman; it had come through the wall, I suppose. Itfloated all around the room as if it were looking for something, but not making a breath of a noise, like a white cloud sailing through the air. I tell you, Shelby, I was in fear, for I had never believed in such things, and I had laughed at them.”
“What became of the ghost?” I asked.
“It went away just like it came, through the wall, I guess,” said Belt. “All I know is that I saw it, and then I didn’t. And I want you to stay with me, Shelby; don’t leave me!”
This time I laughed, and on purpose. I wanted to chirk Belt up a bit, and I thought I could do it by ridiculing such a fever dream. But I could not shake the conviction in him. Instead, his temper took heat at my lack of faith. Then I affected to believe, which soothed him, and exhaustion falling upon him I saw that either he would slumber again or weakness would steal his senses. I thought to ease his mind, and told him everything outside was going well; that Whitestone was the best sentinel in the world, and not even a lizard could creep past him though the night might be black as coal. Whereat he smiled, and presently turning over on his side began to mutter,by which I knew that a hot sleep was again laying hold of him.
After the rain it had turned very warm again, and I opened the window for unbreathed air. Belt’s request that I stay with him, given in a sort of delirium though it was, made good excuse for my remaining. If ever he said anything about it I could allege his own words.
The candle burned down more on one side than on the other and its blaze leaned over like a man sick. It served but to distort.
I looked at Belt and wondered why the mind too should grow weak, as it most often does when disease lays hold of the body. In his healthy senses, Belt—who, like most New Englanders, believed only what he saw—would have jeered at the claims of a ghost. There was little credulity in that lank, bony frame.
But I stopped short in such thoughts, for I noticed that which made my blood quicken in surprise. Belt’s uniform was gone. I rose and looked behind the couch, thinking the lieutenant in his uneasy squirmings might have knocked it over there. But he had not done so; nor was it elsewhere in the room. It had gone clean away—perhaps through the wall, likeBelt’s ghost. I wondered what Whitestone’s emotions would be if a somewhat soiled and worn Continental uniform, with no flesh and bones in it, should come walking down his beat.
I understood that it was a time for me to think my best, and I set about it. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the wall in the manner of those who do strenuous thinking. I shifted my gaze but once, and then to put it upon Belt, who I concluded would not come back to earth for a long time.
At the end of ten minutes I rose from my chair and went out into the hall, leaving the candle still burning on the table. Perhaps I, too, might find a ghost. I did not mean to lose the opportunity which might never seek me again.
The hall ran the full width of the house and was broad. There was a window at the end, but the light was so faint I could scarce see, and in the corners and near the walls so much dusk was gathered that the eye was of no use there. Yet, by much stealing about and reaching here and there with my hands, I convinced myself that no ghost lurked in that hall. But there was a stairway leading into an upper hall,and, as silent as a ghost myself, for which I take pride, I stole up the steps.
Just before I reached the top step I heard a faint shuffling noise like that which a heavy and awkward ghost with poor use of himself would most likely make. Nay, I have heard that ghosts never make noise, but I see no reason why they shouldn’t, at least a little.
I crouched down in the shadow of the top step and the banisters. The faint shuffling noise came nearer, and Belt’s lost uniform, upright and in its proper shape, drifted past me and down the steps. I followed lightly. I was not afraid. I have never heard, at least not with the proper authenticity, that ghosts strike one, or do other deeds of violence; so I followed, secure in my courage. The brass buttons on the uniform gleamed a little, and I kept them in clear view. Down the steps went the figure, and then it sped along the hall, with me after it. It reached the front door, opened it half a foot and stood there. That was my opportunity to hold discussion with a ghost, and I did not neglect it. Forward I slipped and tapped with my fingers an arm of the uniform, which inclosed not empty air but flesh andblood. Startled, the figure faced about and saw my features, for a little light came in at the door.
“I offer congratulations on your speedy recovery from fever, Lieutenant Belt,” I said, in a subdued tone.
“It was quick, it is true,” he replied, “but I need something more.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“Fresh air,” he replied. “I think I will go outside.”
“I will go with you,” I said. “Fevers are uncertain, and one can not tell what may happen.”
He hesitated as if he would make demur, but I said:
“It is necessary to both of us.”
He hesitated no longer, but opened the door wider and stepped out into the portico. I looked with much anxiety to see what sort of watch was kept, and no doubt my companion did the same. It was good. Three sentinels were in sight. Directly in front of us, and about thirty feet away, was Whitestone. The skirmishers and their rifles had not yet gone to sleep, for twice while we stood on theportico we saw the flash of powder on the distant hills.
“Lieutenant, I think we had best walk in the direction of the firing and make a little investigation,” I said.
“The idea is good,” he replied. “We will do it.”
We walked down the steps and into the yard. I was slightly in advance, leading the way. We passed within a dozen feet of Whitestone, who saluted.
“Sergeant,” said I, “Lieutenant Belt, who feels much better, and I, wish to inquire further into the skirmishing. There may be some significance for us in it. We will return presently.”
Whitestone saluted again and said nothing. Once more I wish to commend Whitestone as a jewel. He did not turn to look at us when we passed him, but stalked up and down as if he were a wooden figure moving on hinges.
We walked northward, neither speaking. Some three or four hundred yards from the house both of us stopped. Then I put my hand upon his arm again.
“Albert,” I said, “your fortune is far better than you deserve, or ever will deserve.”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied.
“I do,” I said. “Now, beyond those hills are the camp-fires of Burgoyne. You came thus far easily enough in your effort to get out, though Martyn, who came with you, failed, and you can go back the same way; but, before you start, take off Belt’s uniform. I won’t have you masquerading as an American officer.”
Without a word he took off the Continental uniform and stood in the citizen’s suit in which I had first seen him, Belt being a larger man than he. I rolled them up in a bundle and put the bundle under my arm.
“Shake hands,” he said. “You’ve done me a good turn.”
“Several of them,” I said, as I shook his hand, “which is several more than you have done for me.”
“I don’t bear you any grudge on that account,” he said with a faint laugh, as he strode off in the darkness toward Burgoyne’s army.
Which, I take it, was handsome of him.
I watched him as long as I could. You may not be able sometimes to look in the darknessand find a figure, but when that figure departs from your side and you never take your eyes off it, you can follow it for a long way through the night. Thus I could watch Albert a hundred yards or more, and I saw that he veered in no wise from the course I had assigned to him, and kept his face turned to the army of Burgoyne. But I had not doubted that he would keep his word and would not seek to escape southward; nor did I doubt that he would reach his comrades in safety.
I turned away, very glad that he was gone. Friends cause much trouble sometimes, but girls’ brothers cause more.
I took my thoughts away from him and turned them to the business of going back into the house with the wad of uniform under my arm, which was very simple if things turned out all right. I believed that Whitestone would be on guard at the same place, which was what I wanted. I knew Whitestone would be the most vigilant of all the sentinels, but I was accustomed to him. One prefers to do business with a man one knows.
I sauntered back slowly, now and then turning about on my heels as if I would spy out thelandscape, which in truth was pretty well hid by the thickness of the night.
As I approached the yard my heart gave a thump like a hammer on the anvil; but there was Whitestone on the same beat, and my heart thumped again, but with more consideration than before.
I entered the yard, and Whitestone saluted with dignity.
“Sergeant,” said I, “Lieutenant Belt is looking about on the other side of the house. He fears that his fever is coming on him again, and he will re-enter the house, but by the back door. I am to meet him there.”
Sergeant Whitestone saluted again. I said naught of the bundle in the crook of my arm, which he could plainly see.
“Sergeant,” said I, “what do you think of a man who tells all he knows?”
“Very little, sir,” he replied.
“So do I,” I said; “but be that as it may, you know that you and I are devoted to the patriot cause.”
“Aye, truly, sir!” he said.
We saluted each other again with great respect, and I passed into the house.
Belt was still asleep upon the sofa and his fever was going down, though he talked now and then of the things that were on his brain when awake. The candle was dying, the tallow sputtering as the blaze reached the last of it, and without another the thickness of the night would be upon us.
I ascended the stairway into the upper hall again, but this time with no attempt to rival a ghost in smoothness of motion. Instead, I stumbled about like a man in whose head hot punch has set everything to dancing. Presently Mistress Kate, bearing a candle in her hand and dressed as if for the day—at which I was not surprised—appeared from the side door.
I begged her for another candle, if the supply in the house were not exhausted, and stepping back she returned in a moment with what I desired; then in a tone of much sympathy she inquired as to the state of Lieutenant Belt’s health. I said he was sleeping peacefully, and suggested that she come and look at him, as she might have sufficient knowledge of medicine to assist me in the case. To which she consented, though ever one of the most modest of maidens.
I held the candle near Belt’s face, but in such position that the light would not shine into his eyes and awaken him.
“But the lieutenant would rather be on his feet again and in these garments,” I said, turning the light upon Belt’s uniform, which I had carefully spread out again on the foot of the couch. Then I added:
“The wearer of that uniform has had many adventures, doubtless, but he has not come to any harm yet.”
I might have talked further, but I knew that naught more was needed for Kate Van Auken.
Moreover, no words could ever be cited against me.
Belt awoke the next morning in fairly good health, but very sour of temper. Like some other people whom I know, he seemed to hold everybody he met personally responsible for his own misfortunes, which I take it is most disagreeable for all concerned. He spoke to me in most churlish manner, though I am fair to say I replied in similar fashion, which for some reason seemed to cause him discontent. Then he went out and quarreled with Whitestone and the others, who had been doing their duty in complete fashion.
But a few minutes after he had gone out, Madame Van Auken, who was a lady in the highest degree, though a Tory one, came to me and said she and her daughter had prepared breakfast; scanty, it is true, for the rebels had passed that way too often, but it would mostlikely be better than army fare, and would be good for invalids; would I be so kind as to ask Lieutenant Belt to come in and share it with them, and would I do them the further kindness to present myself at the breakfast also? I would be delighted, and I said so, also hurrying forth to find Belt, to whom I gave the invitation. He accepted in tone somewhat ungracious, I thought, but improved in manner when he entered the presence of the ladies; for, after all, Belt was a gentleman, and I will admit that he had been unfortunate. As we went in to the breakfast table I said to Belt:
“You’ve come out of that chill and fever very well, lieutenant. You look a little weak, but all right otherwise.”
“You seem to have had your own worries,” he replied a bit slowly, “for something has been painting night under your eyes.”
Well, it was natural; it had been an anxious time for me in truth. But I suggested it was due to long night watches.
The ladies, as they had said, had not a great deal to offer, but it was well prepared by their own hands. They had some very fine coffee, to which I am ever partial, especially in themornings, and we made most excellent progress with the breakfast, even Belt waxing amiable. But about the middle of the breakfast he asked quite suddenly of us all:
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
I was a bit startled, I will admit, but I rejoice to think that I did not show it. Instead, I looked directly at Mistress Kate, who in truth looked very handsome and light-hearted that morning, and asked:
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Of a certainty—of a certainty,” she said with emphasis.
“So do I,” said I with equal emphasis.
Madame Van Auken drank her coffee.
“I don’t,” said Belt. “I thought I did for a while last night. I even thought I saw one while Shelby was away from me for a while.”
I rallied Belt, and explained to the ladies that the fever had given him an illusion the night before. They joined me in the raillery, and trusted that the gallant lieutenant would not see double when he met his enemies. Belt took it very well, better than I had thought. But after the breakfast, when we had withdrawn again, he said to me with a sour look:
“I do not trust those ladies, Shelby.”
“Well, as for that,” I replied, “I told you that Madame Van Auken was a hot Tory, of which fact she seeks to make no concealment. But I don’t see what harm they could do us, however much they might wish it.”
“Maybe,” he said; then with a sudden change:
“Why did you say this morning that you believed in ghosts, when last night you said you didn’t?”
I fixed upon him the sharp stare of one amazed at such a question.
“Belt,” said I, “I am a believer in ghosts. I am also a devout believer in the report that the moon is made of moldy green cheese.”
He sniffed a bit, and let me alone on that point, but he returned to the attack on the ladies. I do not know what idea had found lodgment in his head; in truth it may have been due to biliousness, but he suspected them most strongly of what he called treasonable correspondence with the enemy. I asked him what course he intended to take in the matter, and he returned a vague answer; but I soon received intimation of his purpose, for in anhour, leaving me in charge for the time, he returned to the army. He made a quick trip, and when he came back he told me he had reported the case at headquarters. The general, not knowing what else to do with the ladies, had directed that they be sent to Burgoyne’s army, where, he understood, they had relatives.
“He said to me,” said Belt, “that at this time it would be just as well for the British to take care of their own.”
Reflecting a little, I decided that the matter had fallen out very well. If they were in Burgoyne’s camp it would release us all from some troubles and doubts.
“You had best go into the house and notify them,” said Belt, “for they are to be taken to Burgoyne under a white flag this very afternoon.”
I found Mistress Kate first and told her what Belt had done. She did not seem to be much surprised. In truth, she said she had expected it.
“I trust, Mistress Kate,” I said, “that while you are in Burgoyne’s army you will not let your opinions be influenced too much by your surroundings.”
“My opinions are my own,” she said, “and are not dependent upon time and place.”
Then I said something about its being a pity that Captain Chudleigh was a prisoner in our hands at such a time and was not with his own army, but she gave me such a sharp answer that I was glad to shut my mouth.
Madame Van Auken said she was glad to go, but she would revisit her house when she came southward with Burgoyne after he had scattered the rebels, provided the rebels in the meantime had not burned the house down. Which, considering many things, I felt I could overlook. Both promised to be ready in an hour. I went outside and found that Belt was able to surprise me again.
“You are to take the ladies into Burgoyne’s camp,” he said. “I wished to do it myself, but I was needed for other work.”
I was not at all averse to this task, though it had never occurred to me that I would enter the British lines, except possibly as a prisoner.
“I wish you luck,” said Belt, somewhat enviously. “I think the trip into the British lines is worth taking.”
Right here I may say—for Belt does notcome into this narration again—that after the war I told him the whole story of these affairs, which he enjoyed most heartily, and is at this day one among my best friends.
The preliminaries about the transfer of the ladies to Burgoyne’s camp were but few, though I was exposed on the way to much censure from Madame Van Auken because of my rebel proclivities. In truth, Mistress Catherine, I think, took after her deceased and lamented father rather than her mother, who I knew had made the signal of the light to Martyn, and to Albert, who was on foot near him. But I bore it very well, inasmuch as one can grow accustomed to almost anything.
I found that during my few days’ absence our army had pushed up much closer to Burgoyne, and also that we had increased greatly in numbers. Nothing could save Burgoyne, so I heard, but the arrival of Clinton from New York with heavy re-enforcements, and even then, at the best for Burgoyne, it would be but a problem. My heart swelled with that sudden elation one feels when a great reward looks certain after long trial.
Protected by the flag of truce weapproached Burgoyne’s lines. There were but the three of us, the two ladies and I. Mistress Kate was very silent; Madame Van Auken, for whom I have the utmost respect, be her opinions what they may, did the talking for all three. She was in somewhat exuberant mood, as she expected to rejoin her son, thus having all her immediate family together under the flag that she loved. She had no doubt that Burgoyne would beat us. I could not make out Mistress Kate’s emotions, nor in truth whether she had any; but just after we were hailed by the first British sentinel she said to me with an affectation of lightness, though she could not keep her voice from sounding sincere:
“My brother will never forget what you have done for him, Dick.”
“He may or may not,” I replied, “but I hope your brother’s sister will not.”
Which may not have been a very gallant speech, but I will leave it to every just man if I had not endured a good deal in silence. She did not take any exceptions to my reply, but smiled, which I did not know whether to consider a good or bad sign.
I showed a letter from one of our generals tothe sentinel, and we were quickly passed through the lines. We were received by Captain Jervis, a British officer of much politeness, and I explained to him that the two ladies whom I was proud to escort were the mother and sister of Albert Van Auken, who should be with Burgoyne’s army. He answered at once that he knew Albert, and had seen him not an hour before. Thereat the ladies rejoiced greatly, knowing that Albert was safe so far; which perhaps, to my mind, was better luck than he deserved. But in ten minutes he was brought to us, and embraced his mother and sister with great warmth; then shaking hands with me—
“I’m sorry to see you a prisoner, Dick, my lad,” he said easily, “especially after you’ve been so obliging to me. But it’s your bad luck.”
“I’m not a prisoner,” I replied with some heat, “though you and all the rest of Burgoyne’s men are likely soon to be. I merely came here under a flag of truce to bring your mother and sister, and put them out of the way of cannon balls.”
He laughed at my boast, and said Burgoyne would soon resume his promenade to NewYork. Then he bestirred himself for the comfort of his mother and sister. He apologized for straitened quarters, but said he could place them in some very good company, including the Baroness Riedesel and Madame the wife of General Fraser, at which Madame Van Auken, who was always fond of people of quality, especially when the quality was indicated by a title, was pleased greatly. And in truth they were welcomed most hospitably by the wives of the British and Hessian officers with Burgoyne’s army, who willingly shared with them the scarcity of food and lodging they had to offer. When I left them, Mistress Catherine said to me with a saucy curve of the lip, as if she would but jest:
“Take good care of yourself, Dick, and my brother’s sister will try not to forget you.”
“Thank you,” I said, “and if it falls in my way to do a good turn for Captain Chudleigh while he is our prisoner, I will take full advantage of it.”
At this she was evidently displeased, though somehow I was not.
Albert Van Auken took charge of me, and asked me into a tent to meet some of his fellowofficers and take refreshment; which invitation I promptly accepted, for in those days an American soldier, with wisdom born of trial, never neglected a chance to get something good to eat or to drink.
On my way I observed the condition of Burgoyne’s camp. It was in truth a stricken army that he led—or rather did not lead, for it seemed now to be stuck fast. The tents and the wagons were filled with the sick and the wounded, and many not yet entirely well clustered upon the grass seeking such consolation as they could find in the talk of each other. The whole in body, rank and file, sought to preserve a gallant demeanor, though in spite of it a certain depression was visible on almost every face. Upon my soul I was sorry for them, enemies though they were, and the greater their misfortune the greater cause we had for joy, which, I take it, is one of the grievous things about war.
It was a large tent into which Albert took me, and I met there Captain Jervis and several other officers, two or three of whom seemed to be of higher rank than captain, though I did not exactly catch their names, for Albertspoke somewhat indistinctly when making the introductions. There seemed to be a degree of comfort in the tent—bottles, glasses, and other evidences of social warmth.
“We wish to be hospitable to a gallant enemy like yourself, Mr. Shelby,” said Captain Jervis, “and are not willing that you should return to your own army without taking refreshment with us.”
I thanked him for his courtesy, and said I was quite willing to be a live proof of their hospitality; whereupon they filled the glasses with a very unctuous, fine-flavored wine, and we drank to the health of the wide world. It had been long since good wine had passed my lips, and when they filled the glasses a second time I said in my heart that they were gentlemen. At the same time I wondered to myself a bit why officers of such high rank, as some of these seemed to be, should pay so much honor to me, who was but young and the rank of whom was but small. Yet I must confess that this slight wonder had no bad effect upon the flavor of the wine.
Some eatables of a light and delicate nature were handed around by an orderly, and all of uspartook, after which we drank a third glass of wine. Then the officers talked most agreeably about a variety of subjects, even including the latest gossip they had brought with them from the Court of St. James. Then we took a fourth glass of wine. I am not a heavy drinker, as heavy drinkers go, and have rather a strong head, but a humming of the distant sea began in my ears and the talk moved far away. I foresaw that Richard Shelby had drunk enough, and that it was time for me to exercise my strongest will over his somewhat rebellious head.
“I suppose that you Americans are very sanguine just now, and expect to take our entire army,” said the oldest and apparently the highest of the officers—colonel or general, something or other—to me.
I noted that he was overwhelmingly polite in tone. Moreover, my will was acquiring mastery over Dick Shelby’s humming head. I made an ambiguous reply, and he went further into the subject of the campaign, the other officers joining him and indulging slightly in jest at our expense, as if they would lead me on to boast. To make a clean confession inthe matter, I felt some inclination to a little vaunting. He said something about our hope to crush Burgoyne, and laughed as if it were quite impossible.
“English armies are never taken,” said he.
“But they have never before warred with the Americans,” I said.
I recalled afterward that some of the officers applauded me for that reply, which was strange considering their sympathies. The old officer showed no offense.
“Have you heard that Sir Henry Clinton is coming to our relief with five thousand men?” he asked.
“No; have you?” I replied.
I was applauded again, and the officer laughed.
“You take me up quickly. You have a keen mind, Mr. Shelby; it’s a pity you’re not one of us,” he said.
“That would be bad for me,” I said, “as I do not wish to become a prisoner.”
This was a bit impertinent and ungenerous, I will admit, but I had drunk four glasses of wine and they were nagging me. They filled up the glasses again, and most of them drank,but I only sipped mine, meanwhile strengthening my rule over Dick Shelby’s mutinous head. The officer laughed easily at my reply and began to talk about the chances of the next battle, which he was sure the British would win. He said Burgoyne had six thousand men, English and Hessians, and in quite a careless way he asked how many we had.
By this time I had Dick Shelby’s unruly head under complete control, and his question, lightly put as it was, revealed their whole plan. Right then and there I felt a most painful regret that I had not given Albert Van Auken the worst beating of his life when I had the chance.
I replied that I could not say exactly how many men we had, but the number was somewhere between a thousand and a million, and at any rate sufficient for the purpose. He laughed gently as if he were willing to tolerate me, and continued to put questions in manner sly and most insidious. I returned answers vague or downright false, and I could see that the officer was becoming vexed at his want of success. Albert himself filled up my glass and urged me to drink again.
“You know, Dick, you don’t get good wineoften,” he said, “and this may be your last chance.”
Had not I been a guest I would have created, right then and there, a second opportunity for giving Albert the worst beating of his life. I pretended to drink, though I merely sipped the fumes. The elderly officer changed his tactics a little.
“Do you think your generals are well informed about us?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I replied.
“How?”
“We learn from prisoners,” I said, “and then, perhaps, we ask sly questions from Englishmen who come to us under flags of truce.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his face—and I was glad to see it—reddening.
“I mean,” said I, “that you have brought me into this tent with purpose to intoxicate me and get valuable information from me. It was a plot unworthy of gentlemen.”
He rose to his feet, his eyes flashing with much anger. But the wine I had drunk made me very belligerent. I was ready to fight a thousand—come one, come all. Moreover, I leave it to all if I did not have just cause forwrath. I turned from the officer to Albert, against whom my indignation burned most.
“I have just saved you from death, perhaps a most degrading death,” I said, “and I am loath to remind you of it, but I must, in order to tell your fellow officers I am sorry I did it.”
I never saw a man turn redder, and he trembled all over. It was the scarlet of shame, too, and not of righteous anger.
“Dick,” he said, “I beg your pardon. I let my zeal for our cause go too far. I—I——”
I think he would have broken down, but just then the elderly officer interfered.
“Be silent, Lieutenant Van Auken,” he said. “It is not your fault, nor that of any other present except myself. You speak truth, Mr. Shelby, when you say it was unworthy of us. So it was. I am glad it failed, and I apologize for the effort to make it a success. Mr. Shelby, I am glad to know you.”
He held out his hand with such frank manliness and evident good will that I grasped it and shook it heartily. What more he might have said or done I do not know, for just then we were interrupted by the sound of a great though distant shouting.