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The Maid-At-Arms, a novel by Robert W. Chambers |
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Chapter 19. The Home Trail |
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_ CHAPTER XIX. THE HOME TRAIL For eleven days we lay at German Flatts, Colonel Visscher begging us to aid in the defence of that threatened village until the women and children could be conveyed to Johnstown. But Sir John Johnson remained before Stanwix, and McCraw's riders gave the village wide berth, and on the 18th of August we set out for Varicks'. Warned by our extreme outposts, we bore to the south, forced miles out of our course to avoid the Oneida country, where a terrific little war was raging. For the Senecas, Cayugas, a few Mohawks, and McCraw's renegade Tories, furious at the neutral and pacific attitude of the Oneidas towards our people, had suddenly fallen upon them, tooth and nail, vowing that the Oneida nation should perish from the earth for their treason to the Long House. We skirted the doomed region cautiously, touching here and there the fringe of massacre and fire, often scenting smoke, sometimes hearing a distant shot. Once we encountered an Oneida runner, painted blue and white, and naked save for the loin-cloth, who told us of the civil war that was already rending the Long House; and I then understood more fully what Magdalen Brant had done for our cause, and how far-reaching had been the effects of her appearance at the False-Faces' council-fire. The Oneida appeared to be disheartened. He sullenly admitted to us that the Cayugas had scattered his people and laid their village in ashes; he cursed McCraw fiercely and promised a dreadful retaliation on any renegade captured. He also described the fate of the Oriskany prisoners and some bateaux-men taken by Walter Butler's Rangers near Wood Creek; and I could scarcely endure to listen, so horrid were the details of our soldiers' common fate, where Mohawk and Tory, stripped and painted alike, conspired to invent atrocities undreamed of for their wretched victims. It was then that I heard for the second time the term "Blue-eyed Indian," meaning white men stained, painted, and disguised as savages. More terrifying than the savages themselves, it appeared, were the blue-eyed Indians to the miserable settlers of Tryon. For hellish ingenuity and devilish cruelty these mock savages, the Oneida assured us, had nothing to learn from their red comrades; and I shall never be able to efface from my mind the memory of what we saw, that very day, in a lonely farm-house on the flats of the Mohawk; nor was it necessary that McCraw should have left his mark on the shattered door--a cock crowing, drawn in outline by a man's forefinger steeped in blood--to enlighten those who might not recognize the ghastly work as his. We stayed there for three hours to bury the dead, an old man and woman, a young mother, and five children, the youngest an infant not a year old. All had been scalped; even the watch-dog lay dead near the bloody cradle. We dug the shallow graves with difficulty, having nothing to work with save our hunting-knives and some broken dishes which we found in the house; and it was close to noon before we left the lonely flat and pushed forward through miles of stunted willow growth towards the river road which led to Johnstown. I shall never forget Mount's set face nor Murphy's terrible, vacant stare as we plodded on in absolute silence. Elerson led us on a steady trot hour after hour, till, late in the afternoon, we crossed the river road and wheeled into it exhausted. The west was all aglow; cleared land and fences lay along the roadside; here and there houses loomed up in the red, evening light, but their inhabitants were gone, and not a sign of life remained about them save for the circling swallows whirling in and out of the blackened chimneys. So still, so sad this solitude that the sudden chirping of a robin in the evening shadows startled us. The sun sank behind the forest, turning the river to a bloody red; a fox yapped and yapped from a dark hill-side; the moon's yellow light flashed out through the trees; and, with the coming of the moon, far in the wilderness the owls began and the cries of the night-hawks died away in the sky. The first human being that we encountered was a miller riding an ancient horse towards a lane which bordered a noisy brook. When he discovered us he whipped out a pistol and bade us stand where we were; and it took all my persuasion to convince him that we were not renegades from McCraw's band. We asked for news, but he had none, save that a heavy force of our soldiers was lying by the roadside some two miles below on their way to relieve Fort Stanwix. The General, he believed, was named Arnold, and the troops were Massachusetts men; that was all he knew. He seemed stupid or perhaps stunned, having lost three sons in a battle somewhere near Bennington, and had that morning received word of his loss. How the battle had gone he did not know; he was on his way up the creek to lock his mill before joining the militia at Johnstown. He was not too old to carry the musket he had carried at Braddock's battle. Besides, his boys were dead, and there was no one in his family except himself to help our Congress fight the red-coats. We watched him ride off into the darkness, gray head erect, pistol shining in his hand; then moved on, searching the distance for the outpost we knew must presently hail us. And, sure enough, from the shadow of a clump of trees came the smart challenge: "Halt! Who goes there?" "Officer from Herkimer and scout of three with news for General Schuyler!" I answered. "Halt, officer with scout! Sergeant of the guard! Post number three!" Dark figures swarmed in the road ahead; a squad of men came up on the double. "Advance officer!" rang out the summons; a torch blazed, throwing a red glare around us; a red-faced old officer in brown and scarlet walked up and took the packet of papers which I extended. "Are you Captain Ormond?" he asked, curiously, glancing at the endorsement on my papers. I replied that I was, and named Murphy, Elerson, and Mount as my scout. When the soldiers standing about heard the notorious names of men already famed in ballad and story, they craned their necks to see, as my tired riflemen filed into the lines; and the staff-officer made himself exceedingly agreeable and civil, conducting us to a shelter made of balsam branches, before which a smudge was burning. "General Arnold has despatches for you, Captain Ormond," he said; "I am Drummond, Brigade Major; we expected you at Varick Manor on the ninth--you wrote to your cousin, Miss Varick, from Oriskany, you know." A soldier came up with two headquarters lanterns which he hung on the cross-bar of the open-faced hut; another soldier brought bread and cheese, a great apple-pie, a jug of spring water, and a bottle of brandy, with the compliments of Brigadier-General Arnold, and apologies that neither cloth, glasses, nor cutlery were included in the camp baggage. "We're light infantry with a vengeance, Captain Ormond," said Major Drummond, laughing; "we left at twenty-four hours' notice! Gad, sir! the day before we started the General hadn't a squad under his orders; but when Schuyler called for volunteers, and his brigadiers began to raise hell at the idea of weakening the army to help Stanwix, Arnold came out of his fit of sulks on the jump! 'Who'll follow me to Stanwix?' he bawls; and, by gad, sir, the Massachusetts men fell over each other trying to sign the rolls." He laughed again, waving my papers in the air and slapping them down on a knapsack. "You will doubtless wish to hand these to the General yourself," he said, pleasantly. "Pray, sir, do not think of standing on ceremony; I have dined, Captain." Mount, who had been furtively licking his lips and casting oblique glances at the bread and cheese, fell to at a nod from me. Murphy and Elerson joined him, bolting huge mouthfuls. I ate sparingly, having little appetite left after the sights I had seen in that lonely house on the Mohawk flats. The gnats swarmed, but the smoke of the green-moss smudge kept them from us in a measure. I asked Major Drummond how soon it might be convenient for General Arnold to receive me, and he sent a young ensign to headquarters, who presently returned saying that General Arnold was making the rounds and would waive ceremony and stop at our post on his return. "There's a soldier, sir!" said Major Drummond, emphasizing his words with a smart blow of his riding-cane on his polished quarter-boots. "He's had us on a dog-trot since we started; up hill, down dale, across the cursed Sacandaga swamps, through fords chin-high! By gad, sir! allow me to tell you that nothing stopped us! We went through windfalls like partridges; we crossed the hills like a herd o' deer in flight! We ran as though the devil were snapping at our shanks! I'm half dead, thank you--and my shins!--you should see where that razor-boned nag of mine shaved bark enough off the trees with me to start every tannery between the Fish-House and Half-moon!" The ruddy-faced Major roared at the recital of his own misfortunes. Mount and Murphy looked up with sympathetic grins; Elerson had fallen asleep against the side of the shack, a bit of pie, half gnawed, clutched in his brier-torn fist. I had a pipe, but no tobacco; the Major filled my pipe, purring contentedly; a soldier, at a sign from him, took Mount and Murphy to the nearest fire, where there was a gill of grog and plenty of tobacco. I roused Elerson, who gaped, bolted his pie with a single mighty effort, and stumbled off after his comrades. Major Drummond squatted down cross-legged before the smudge, lighting his corn-cob pipe from a bit of glowing moss, and leaned back contentedly, crossing his arms behind his head. "I'm tired, too," he said; "we march again at midnight. If it's no secret, I should like to know what's going on ahead there." "It's no secret," I said, soberly; "the Senecas and Cayugas are harrying the Oneidas; the renegades are riding the forest, murdering women and infants. St. Leger is firing bombs at Stanwix, and Visscher is holding German Flatts with some Caughnawaga militia." "And Herkimer?" asked Drummond, gravely. "Dead," I replied, in a low voice. "Good gad, sir! I had not heard that!" he exclaimed. "It is true, Major. The old man died while I was at German Flatts. They say the amputation of his leg was a wretched piece of work.... He died bolt upright in his bed, smoking his pipe, and reading aloud the thirty-eighth Psalm.... His men are wild with grief, they say.... They called him a coward the morning of Oriskany." After a silence the Major's emotion dimmed his twinkling eyes; he dragged a red bandanna handkerchief from his coat-tails and blew his nose violently. "All flesh is grass--eh, Captain? And some of it devilish poor grass at that, eh? Well, well; we can't make an army in a day. But, by gad, sir, we've done uncommonly well. You've heard of--but no, you haven't, either. Here's news for you, friend, since you've been in the woods. On the sixth, while you fellows were shooting down some three hundred and fifty of the Mohawks, Royal Greens, and renegades, that sly old wolverine, Marinus Willett, slipped out of the fort, fell on Sir John's camp, and took twenty-one wagon-loads of provisions, blankets, ammunition, and tools; also five British standards and every bit of personal baggage belonging to Sir John Johnson, including his private papers, maps, memoranda, and all orders and instructions for the completed plans of campaign.... Wait, if you please, sir. That is not all. "On the sixteenth, old John Stark fell upon Baum's and Breyman's Hessians at Bennington, killed and wounded over two hundred, captured seven hundred; took a thousand stand of arms, a thousand fine dragoon sabres, and four excellent field-cannon with limbers, harness, and caissons.... And lost fourteen killed!" Speechless at the good news, I could only lean across the smudge and shake hands with him while he chuckled and slapped his knee, growing ruddier in the face every moment. "Where are the red-coats now?" he cried. "Look at 'em! Burgoyne, scared witless, badgered, dogged from pillar to post, his army on the defensive from Still water down to Half-moon; St. Leger, destitute of his camp baggage, caught in his own wolf-pit, flinging a dozen harmless bombs at Stanwix, and frightened half to death at every rumor from Albany; McDonald chased out of the county; Mann captured, and Sir Henry Clinton dawdling in New York and bothering his head over Washington while Burgoyne, in a devil of a plight, sits yonder yelling for help! "Where's the great invasion, Ormond? Where's the grand advance on the centre? Where's the gigantic triple blow at the heart of this scurvy rebellion? I don't know; do you?" I shook my head, smilingly; he beamed upon me; we had a swallow of brandy together, and I lay back, deathly tired, to wait for Arnold and my despatches. "That's right," commented the genial Major, "go to sleep while you can; the General won't take it amiss--eh? What? Oh, don't mind me, my son. Old codgers like me can get along without such luxuries as sleep. It's the young lads who require sleep. Eh? Yes, sir; I'm serious. Wait till you see sixty year! Then you'll understand.... So I'll just sit here, ... and smoke, ... and talk away in a buzz-song, ... and that will fix--" * * * * * I looked up with a start; the Major had disappeared. In my eyes a lantern was shining steadily. Then a shadow moved, and I turned and stumbled to my feet, as a cloaked figure stepped into the shelter and stood before me, peering into my eyes. "I'm Arnold; how d'ye do," came a quick, nervous voice from the depths of the military cloak. "I've a moment to stay here; we march in ten minutes. Is Herkimer dead?" I described his death in a few words. "Bad, bad as hell!" he muttered, fingering his sword-hilt and staring off into the darkness. "What's the situation above us? Gansevoort's holding out, isn't he? I sent him a note to-night. Of course he's holding out; isn't he?" I made a short report of the situation as I knew it; the General looked straight into my eyes as though he were not listening. "Yes, yes," he said, impatiently. "I know how to deal with St. Leger and Sir John--I wrote Gansevoort that I understood how to deal with them. He has only to sit tight; I'll manage the rest." His dark, lean, eager visage caught the lantern light as he turned to scan the moonlit sky. "Ten minutes," he muttered; "we should strike German Flatts by sundown to-morrow if our supplies come up." And, aloud, with an abrupt and vigorous gesture, "McCraw's band are scalping the settlers, they say?" I told him what I had seen. He nodded, then his virile face changed and he gave me a sulky look. "Captain Ormond," he said, "folk say that I brood over the wrongs done me by Congress. It's a lie; I don't care a damn about Congress--but let it pass. What I wish to say is this: On the second of August the best general in these United States except George Washington was deprived of his command and superseded by a--a--thing named Gates.... I speak of General Philip Schuyler, my friend, and now my fellow-victim." Shocked and angry at the news of such injustice to the man whose splendid energy had already paralyzed the British invasion of New York, I stiffened up, rigid and speechless. "Ho!" cried Arnold, with a disagreeable laugh. "It mads you, does it? Well, sir, think of me who have lived to see five men promoted over my head--and I left in the anterooms of Congress to eat my heart out! But let that pass, too. By the eternal God, I'll show them what stuff is in me! Let it pass, Ormond, let it pass." He began to pace the ground, gnawing his thick lower lip, and if ever the infernal fire darted from human eyes, I saw its baleful flicker then. With a heave of his chest and a scowl, he controlled his voice, stopping in his nervous walk to face me again. "Ormond, you've gone up higher--the commission is here." He pulled a packet of papers from his breast-pocket and thrust them at me. "Schuyler did it. He thinks well of you, sir. On the first of August he learned that he was to be superseded. He told Clinton that you deserved a commission for what you did at that Iroquois council-fire. Here it is; you're to raise a regiment of rangers for local defence of the Mohawk district.... I congratulate you, Colonel Ormond." He offered his bony, nervous hand; I clasped it, dazed and speechless. "Remember me," he said, eagerly. "Let me count on your voice at the next council of war. You will not regret it, Colonel. Even if you go higher--even if you rise over my luckless head, you will not regret the friendship of Benedict Arnold. For, by Heaven, sir, I have it in me to lead men; and they shall not keep me down, and they shall not fetter me--no, not even this beribboned lap-dog Gates!... Stand my friend, Ormond. I need every friend I have. And I promise you the world shall hear of me one day!" I shall never forget his worn and shadowy face, the long nose, the strong, selfish chin, the devouring flame burning his soul out through his eyes. "Luck be with you!" he said, abruptly, extending his hand. Once more that bony, fervid clasp, and he was gone. A moment later the ground vibrated; a dark, massed column of troops appeared in the moonlight, marching swiftly without drum-tap or spoken command; the dim forms of mounted officers rode past like shadows against the stars; vague shapes of wagons creaked after, rolling on muffled wheels; more troops followed quickly; then the shadowy pageant ended; and there was nothing before me but the moon in the sky above a world of ghostly wilderness. One camp lantern had been left for my use; by its nickering light I untied the documents left me by Arnold; and, sorting the papers, chose first my orders, reading the formal notice of my transfer from Morgan's Rifles to the militia; then the order detailing me to the Mohawk district, with headquarters at Varick Manor; and, finally, my commission on parchment, signed by Governor Clinton and by Philip Schuyler, Major-General Commanding the Department of the North. It was, perhaps, the last official act as chief of department of this generous man. The next letter was in his own handwriting. I broke the heavy seal and read:
"My orders I now take from General Gates, without the slightest rancor, I assure you, or the least unworthy sentiment of envy or chagrin. Congress, in its wisdom, has ordered it; and I count him unspeakably base who shall serve his country the less ardently because of a petty and personal disappointment in ambitions unfulfilled. "I remain loyal in heart and deed to my country and to General Gates, who may command my poor talents in any manner he sees fitting. "I say this to you because I am an older man, and I know something of younger men, and I have liked you from the first. I say it particularly because, now that you also owe duty and instant obedience to General Gates, I do not wish your obedience retarded, or your sense of duty confused by any mistaken ideas of friendship to me or loyalty to my person. "In these times the individual is nothing, the cause everything. Cliques, cabals, political conspiracies are foolish, dangerous--nay, wickedly criminal. For, sir, as long as the world endures, a house divided against itself must fall. "Which leads me with greatest pleasure to mention your wise and successful diplomacy in the matter of the Long House. That house you have most cleverly divided against itself; and it must fall--it is tottering now, shaken to its foundations of centuries. Also, I have the pleasure to refer to your capture of the man Beacraft and his papers, disclosing a diabolical plan of murder. The man has been condemned by a court on the evidence as it stood, and he is now awaiting execution. "I have before me Colonel Visscher's partial report of the battle of Oriskany. Your name is not mentioned in this report, but, knowing you as I believe I do, I am satisfied that you did your full duty in that terrible affair; although, in your report to me by Oneida runner, you record the action as though you yourself were a mere spectator. "I note with pleasure your mention of the gallantry of your riflemen, Mount, Murphy, and Elerson, and have reported it to their company captain, Mr. Long, who will, in turn, bring it to the attention of Colonel Morgan. "I also note that you have not availed yourself of the war-services of the Oneidas, for which I beg to thank you personally. "I recall with genuine pleasure my visit to your uncle, Sir Lupus Varick, where I had the fortune to make your acquaintance and, I trust, your friendship. "Mrs. Schuyler joins me in kindest remembrance to you, and to Sir Lupus, whose courtesy and hospitality I have to-day had the honor to acknowledge by letter. Through your good office we take advantage of this opportunity to send our love to Miss Dorothy, who has won our hearts.
"I shall not pretend to offer you unasked advice upon this happy occasion, though it is an old man's temptation to do so, perhaps even his prerogative. However, there are younger colonels than you, sir, in our service--ay, and brigadiers, too. So be humble, and lay not this honor with too much unction to your heart. Your friend, "PH. SCHUYLER."
"Colonel George Ormond, on Scout: "SIR,--By order of Major-General Gates, commanding this department, you will, upon reception of this order, instantly repair to Varick Manor and report your arrival by express or a native runner to be trusted, preferably an Oneida. At nine o'clock, the day following your arrival at Varicks', you will leave on your journey to Stillwater, where you will report to General Gates for further orders. "Your small experience in military matters of organization renders it most necessary that you should be aided in the formation of your regiment of rangers by a detail from Colonel Morgan's Rifles, as well as by the advice of General Gates. "You will, therefore, retain the riflemen composing your scout, but attempt nothing towards enlisting your companies until you receive your instructions personally and in full from headquarters. "Your very obedient servant, "WILKINSON,
A helpless sensation of paralysis came over me--a restless, confused impression of my possible untrustworthiness, and of unfriendliness to me in high quarters, even of a thinly veiled hostility to me. What a letter! That was not the way to get work out of a subordinate--this patronizing of possible energy and enthusiasm, this cold dampening of ardor, as though ardor in itself were a reproach and zeal required reproof. Wondering why they had chosen me if they thought me a blundering and, perhaps, mischievous zealot, I picked up a parcel, undirected, and broke the string. Out of it fell two letters. The writing was my cousin Dorothy's; and, trembling all over in spite of myself, I broke the seal of the first. It was undated:
"They tell me that you have been made colonel of a regiment, and the honor thrills yet saddens me--all those colonels killed at Oriskany! Is it a post of special danger, dear? "Oh, my brave, splendid lover! with your quiet, steady eyes and your bright hair--you angel on earth who found me a child and left me an adoring woman--can it be that in this world there is such a thing as death for you? And could the world last without you? * * * * * "Ah me! dreary me! the love that is in me! Who could believe it? Who could doubt that it is divine and not inspired by hell as I once feared; it is so beautiful, so hopelessly beautiful, like that faint thrill of splendor that passes shadowing a dream where, for an instant, we think to see a tiny corner of heaven sparkling out through a million fathoms of terrific night.... Did you ever dream that? * * * * * "We have been gay here. Young Mr. Van Rensselaer came from Albany to heal the breach with father. We danced and had games. He is a good young man, this patroon and patriot. Listen, dear: he permitted all his tenants to join the army of Gates, cancelled their rent-rolls during their service, and promised to provide for their families. It will take a fortune, but his deeds are better than his words. "Only one thing, dear, that troubled me. I tell it to you, as I tell you everything, knowing you to be kind and pitiful. It is this: he asked father's permission to address me, not knowing I was affianced. How sad is hopeless love! "There was a battle at Bennington, where General Stark's men whipped the Brunswick troops and took equipments for a thousand cavalry, so that now you should see our Legion of Horse, so gay in their buff-and-blue and their new helmets and great, spurred jack-boots and bright sabres! "Ruyven was stark mad to join them; and what do you think? Sir Lupus consented, and General Schuyler lent his kind offices, and to-day, if you please, my brother is strutting about the yard in the uniform of a Cornet of Legion cavalry! "To-night the squadron leaves to chase some of McDonald's renegades out of Broadalbin. You remember Captain McDonald, the Glencoe brawler?--it's the same one, and he's done murder, they say, on the folk of Tribes Hill. I am thankful that Ruyven is in Sir George Covert's squadron. "And, dear, what do you think? Walter Butler was taken, three days since, by some of Sir George Covert's riders, while visiting his mother and sister at a farm-house near Johnstown. He was taken within our lines, it seems, and in civilian's clothes; and the next day he was tried by a drum-court at Albany and condemned to death as a spy. Is it not awful? He has not yet been sentenced. It touches us, too, that an Ormond-Butler should die on the gallows. What horrors men commit! What horrors! God pity his mother! * * * * * "I am writing at a breathless pace, quill flying, sand scattered by the handful--for my feverish gossip seems to help me to endure. "Time, space, distance vanish while I write; and I am with you ... until my letter ends. "Then, quick! my budget of gossip! I said that we had been gay, and that is true, for what with the Legion camping in our quarters and General Arnold's men here for two days, and Schuyler's and Gates's officers coming and going and always remaining to dine, at least, we have danced and picnicked and played music and been frightened when McDonald's men came too near. And oh, the terrible pall that fell on our company when news came of poor Janet McCrea's murder by Indians--you did not know her, but I did, and loved her dearly in school--the dear little thing! But Burgoyne's Indians murdered her, and a fiend called The Wyandot Panther scalped her, they say--all that beautiful, silky, long hair! But Burgoyne did not hang him, Heaven only knows why, for they said Burgoyne was a gentleman and an honorable soldier! "Then our company forgot the tragedy, and we danced--think of it, dear! How quickly things are forgotten! Then came the terrible news from Oriskany! I was nearly dead with fright until your letter arrived.... So, God help us I we danced and laughed and chattered once more when Arnold's troops came. "I did not quite share the admiration of the women for General Arnold. He is not finely fibred; not a man who appeals to me; though I am very sorry for the slight that the Congress has put upon him; and it is easy to see that he is a brave and dashing officer, even if a trifle coarse in the grain and inclined to be a little showy. What I liked best about him was his deep admiration and friendship for our dear General Schuyler, which does him honor, and doubly so because General Schuyler has few friends in politics, and Arnold was perfectly fearless in showing his respect and friendship for a man who could do him no favors. * * * * * "Dear, a strange and amusing thing has happened. A few score of friendly Oneidas and lukewarm Onondagas came here to pay their respects to Magdalen Brant, who, they heard, was living at our house. "Magdalen received them; she is a sweet girl and very good to her wild kin; and so father permitted them to camp in the empty house in the sugar-bush, and sent them food and tobacco and enough rum to please them without starting them war-dancing. "Now listen. You have heard me tell of the Stonish Giants--those legendary men of stone whom the Iroquois, Hurons, Algonquins, and Lenape stood in such dread of two hundred years ago, and whom our historians believe to have been some lost company of Spaniards in armor, strayed northward from Cortez's army. "Well, then, this is what occurred: "They were all at me to put on that armor which hangs in the hall--the same suit which belonged to the first Maid-at-Arms, and which she is painted in, and which I wore that last memorable night--you remember. "So, to please them, I dressed in it--helmet and all--and came down. Sir George Covert's horse stood at the stockade gate, and somebody--I think it was General Arnold--dared me to ride it in my armor. "Well, ... I did. Then a mad desire for a gallop seized me--had not mounted a horse since that last ride with you--and I set spurs to the poor beast, who was already dancing under the unaccustomed burden, and away we tore. "My conscience! what a ride that was! and the clang of my armor set the poor horse frantic till I could scarce govern him. "Then the absurd happened. I wheeled the horse into the pasture, meaning to let him tire himself, for he was really running away with me; when, all at once, I saw a hundred terror-stricken savages rush out of the sugar-house, stand staring a second, then take to their legs with most doleful cries and hoots and piteous howls. "'Oonah! The Stonish Giants have returned! Oonah! Oonah! The Giants of Stone!' "My vizor was down and locked. I called out to them in Delaware, but at the sound of my voice they ran the faster--five score frantic barbarians! And, dear, if they have stopped running yet I do not know it, for they never came back. "But the most absurd part of it all is that the Onondagas, who are none too friendly with us, though they pretend to be, have told the Cayugas that the Stonish Giants have returned to earth from Biskoona, which is hell. And I doubt not that the dreadful news will spread all through the Six Nations, with, perhaps, some astonishing results to us. For scouts have already come in, reporting trouble between General Burgoyne and his Wyandots, who declare they have had enough of the war and did not enlist to fight the Stonish Giants--which excuse is doubtless meaningless to him. "And other scouts from the northwest say that St. Leger can scarce hold the Senecas to the siege of Stanwix because of their great loss at Oriskany, which they are inclined to attribute to spells cast by their enemies, who enjoy the protection of the Stonish Giants. "Is it not all mad enough for a child's dream? "Ay, life and love are dreams, dear, and a mad world spins them out of nothing.... Forgive me ... I have been sewing on my wedding-gown again. And it is nigh finished. "Good-night. I love you. D."
"And he was astonished, I think, but kind, as he always is; and now the dreadful knowledge has come to me that for me there is no refuge, no safety in marriage which I, poor fool, fled to for sanctuary lest I do murder on my own soul! "What shall I do? What can I do? I have given my word to wed him on the morrow. If it be mortal sin to show ingratitude to a father and deceive a lover, what would it be to deceive a husband and disgrace a father? "And I, silly innocent, never dreamed but that temptation ceased within the holy bonds of wedlock--though sadness might endure forever. "And now I know! In the imminent and instant presence of my marriage I know that I shall love you none the less, shall tempt and be tempted none the less. And, in this resistless, eternal love, I may fall, dragging you down with me to our endless punishment. "It was not the fear of punishment that kept me true to my vows before; it was something within me, I don't know what. "But, if I were wedded with him, it would be fear of punishment alone that could save me--not terror of flames; I could endure them with you, but the new knowledge that has come to me that my punishment would be the one thing I could not endure--eternity without you! "Neither in heaven nor in hell may I have you. Is there no way, my beloved? Is there no place for us? * * * * * "I have been to the porch to tell Sir George that I must postpone the wedding. I did not tell him. He was standing with Magdalen Brant, and she was crying. I did not know she had received bad news. She said the news was bad. Perhaps Sir George can help her. "I will tell him later that the wedding must be postponed.... I don't know why, either. I cannot think. I can scarcely see to write. Oh, help me once more, my darling! Do not come to Varicks'! That is all I desire on earth! For we must never, never, see each other again!" * * * * * Stunned, I reeled to my feet and stumbled out into the moonlight, staring across the misty wilderness into the east, where, beyond the forests, somewhere, she lay, perhaps a bride. A deathly chill struck through and through me. To a free man, with one shred of pity, honor, unselfish love, that appeal must be answered. And he were the basest man in all the world who should ignore it and show his face at Varick Manor--were he free to choose. But I was not free; I was a military servant, pledged under solemn oath and before God to obedience--instant, unquestioning, unfaltering obedience. And in my trembling hand I held my written orders to report at Varick Manor. _ |
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