The Reckoning

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER III

  THE COQ D'OR

  The days that followed were brilliant links in a fierce sequence ofgaiety; and this though the weather was so hot that the very candles intheir sconces drooped, dripping their melted wax on egrette and lace,scarlet coat and scarf. A sort of midsummer madness attacked the city;we danced in the hot moonlit nights, we drove at noontide, with the sunflaring in a sky of sapphire, we boated on the Bronx, we galloped outto the lines, escorted by a troop of horse, to see the Continentaloutposts beyond Tarrytown--so bold they had become, and no "skinners,"either, but scouts of Heath, blue dragons if our glasses lied not, wellhorsed, newly saddled, holsters of bearskin, musket on thigh, and theJuly sun a-flashing on crested helmet and crossed sling-buckles. Andhow my heart drummed and the red blood leaped in me to beat in neck andtemple, at sight of my own comrades! And how I envied them, free toride erect and proud in the light of day, harnessed for battle, flyingno false colors for concealment--all fair and clean and aboveboard! AndI a spy!

  We were gay, I say, and the town had gone mid-summer mad of its ownfancy--a fevered, convulsive reaction from a strain too long endured;and while the outlook for the King was no whit better here, and muchworse in the South, yet, as it was not yet desperate, the garrison, thecommander, and the Governor made a virtue of necessity, and, rousingfrom the pent inertia of the dreadful winter and shaking off thelethargy of spring, paced their cage with a restlessness that quickenedto a mania for some relief in the mad distraction of folly andfrivolity.

  And first, Sir Peter gave a ball at our house in honor of Elsin Grey,and we danced in the state drawing-room, and in the hallway, and in thesouth drawing-room, and Sir Henry walked a minuet with the Hon. ElsinGrey, and I had her to wine and later in a Westchester reel. Too muchpunch was drunk, iced, which is a deadly thing, and worse still whenthe foundation is laid in oranged tea! Too many officers, too manywomen, and all so hot, so suffocating, that the red ran from lip andcheek, streaking the face-powder, and the bare enameled shoulders ofthe women were frosted with perspiration like dew on wet roses.

  That was the first frolic given in her honor, followed by that wilddance at the Governor's, where the thickets of clustered candlesdrooped like lilies afire, and great islands of ice melted in thepunch-bowls ere they had been emptied a third. And yet the summermadness continued; by day we drove in couples, in Italian chaises, ormade cherry-parties to Long Island, or sailed the bay to the Narrows,or played rustic and fished in the bay; at night we danced, danced,danced, and I saw little of Elsin Grey save through a blaze ofcandle-light to move a minuet with her, to press her hand in a reel, orto conduct her to some garden pavilion where servants waited with icesamid a thirsty, breathless, jostling throng.

  The heat abated nothing; so terrible was it in the city that spite ofthe shade afforded by elm, lime, and honey-locust, men and horses werestricken on the streets, and the Tea Water ran low, and the Collect,where it flows out into a stream, dried up, and Mr. Rutger's swampsstank. Also, as was noted by men like me, who, country-bred, concernthemselves with trifles, the wild birds which haunted the trees instreet and lane sang no more, and I saw at times Lord Baltimore'sorioles and hedge-birds, beaks open, eyes partly closed, panting fromthe sun, so fierce it beat upon us in New York that summertide.

  As for the main Sir Peter had meant to fight with his Flatbush birds,we tried a shake-bag, stags, which, though fairly matched and handledby past masters, billed and pecked and panted without a blow from wingor spur, till we understood that the heat had stunned them, and so gaveup to wait for cooler sport.

  We waited, but not in idleness; the cage-fever drove us afield, and theDe Lanceys had us to the house for bowls and cricket, which the ladiesjoined, spoiling it somewhat for my taste; and we played golf at Mr.Lispenard's, which presently lost all charm for me, as Elsin Greyremained at the pavilion and touched no club, neither wood nor iron,save to beat the devil's tattoo upon the grass and smile into the boldeyes of Captain O'Neil.

  At Rivington's we found tennis, too, and good rackets, and I played onewhole morning with Elsin Grey, nor wearied of her delight that she beatme easily; though why I permitted it and why her victory gave mepleasure is more than I can comprehend, I always desiring to appearwell in trials of skill at which it is a shame for gentlemen not toexcel, and not ungallant to do one's best with ladies to oppose.

  Every Tuesday, at Bayard's Hill near the pump, a bull was baited; butthat bloody sport, and the matching of dogs, was never to my taste,although respectable gentlemen of fashion attended.

  However, there was racing at many places--at Newmarket on Salisburyplain, and at Jamaica; also Mr. Lispenard had a fine course atGreenwich village, near the country house of Admiral Warren, and Mr. DeLancey another between First and Second streets, near the Bowery Lane;but mostly we drove to Mr. Rutger's to see the running horses; and Iwas ashamed not to bet when Elsin Grey provoked me with her banteringchallenge to a wager, laying bets under my nose; but I could not riskmoney and remember how every penny saved meant to some prisoner aboardthe _Jersey_ more than a drop of water to a soul in torment.

  And how it hurt me--I who love to please, and who adore in others thathigh disregard of expense that I dared now never disregard! And toappear poor-spirited in her eyes, too! and to see the others stare attimes, and to be aware of quiet glances exchanged, and of meaning eyes!

  It was late in July that the cooling change came--a delicious breathfrom the Narrows blowing steady as a trade; and the change having beenpredicted a week since by Venus, a negro wench of Lady Coleville's, SirPeter had wisely taken precaution to send word to Horrock in Flatbush;and now the main was to be fought at the cockpit in Great GeorgeStreet, at the Frenchman's "Coq d'Or," a tavern maintained mostjealously by the garrison's officers, and most exclusive though scarcedecent in a moral sense, it being notorious for certain affairs inwhich even the formality of Gretna Green was dispensed with.

  Many a daintily cloaked figure stole, masked, to the rendezvous in thegarden under the cherry-trees, and many a duel was fought in thepleasant meadows to the south which we called Vauxhall; and there Ihave seen silent men waiting at dawn, playing with the coffee theyscarce could swallow, while their seconds paced the path beyond thestile, whistling reflectively, switching the wild roses, with awatchful eye for the coming party.

  But now, concerning that cocking-main at the Coq d'Or, and how it cameabout. The day was to be a merry one, Lady Coleville and Elsin Greysleeping until afternoon from the dissipation of the dance at theAssembly, which lasted until the breakfast hour; Sir Peter, CaptainsHarkness and O'Neil, and I to see the main in the morning, lunch at thetavern, and return to rest until time to dress for the great ball andsupper given by the officers of the artillery at Fort George.

  The day, the 28th of July, broke cloudless and sweetly cool. Dressing,I saw the jack flying straight in the sea-wind and a schooner in theNorth River heeled over and scudding south, with a white necklace offoam trailing from her sprit back along half her water-line.

  Sir Peter, in riding-boots and coat, came in high spirits to drink amorning cup with me, saying his birds had arrived and Horrock had goneforward with them, and that we must bolt breakfast and mount, for theFifty-fourth's officers were early risers, and we should not detainthem. And so he chattered on, joyously, pacing my chamber while Dennisbuckled my spurs.

  At breakfast we bolted what was set before us, with many a glancethrough the windows where, in the garden drive, our horses stoodsaddled in the shade of an elm, a black at each bit, and the wholestable-force out, all a-grinning to wish the master luck of hisFlatbush birds and the main to boot.

  "Carus," said Sir Peter, fork poised, glass in hand, "it's a thousandon the main, a hundred on each battle, and I must win. You know that!"

  I knew it only too well and said so, speaking cheerfully yet seriouslyof his affairs, which had become so complicated since the closerblockade of the city. But he was ever gaily impatient of details and ofpounds and pence. Accounts he utterly refused
to audit, leaving it tome to pay his debts, patch up gaps left by depreciated securities, andfind a fortune to maintain him and his wife in the style which, Godknows, befitted him, but which he could no longer properly afford. Andwhen it came to providing money to fling from race-track to cockpit,and from coffee-house to card-room, I told him plainly he had none,which made him laugh and swear and vow I was treating him mostshabbily. And it was no use; he would have his pin-money, and I mustsell or pledge or borrow, at an interest most villainous, from thethrifty folk in Duke Street.

  So now, when I offered to discuss the danger of extravagance, he sworehe would not have a day's pleasure ruined by a sermon, and presently werose and went into the garden to mount, and I saw Sir Peterdistributing silver among the servants, so that all could share thepleasure and lay wagers among their kind for the honor of the Flatbushbirds and the master who bred them.

  "Come, Carus," he sang out from his saddle, and I followed him at agallop out into Broadway and up the street, keeping under the shade ofthe trees to save our horses, though the air was cool and we had notfar to go.

  Presently he drew bridle, and we walked our horses past PartitionStreet, past Barckley, and the common, where I glanced askance at theominous row of the three dread buildings, the Bridewell, the Almshouse,the Prison, with the Provost's gallows standing always ready between;and it brought sullen thoughts to me which four years of patience couldnot crush; nor had all these years of inaction dulled the fierce sparkthat flashed to fire within me when I looked up at the barred windowsand at the sentinels, and thought of mine own people rotting there, andof Mr. Cunningham, the Provost, whom hell should one day be the worsefor.

  "Is aught amiss, Carus?" asked Sir Peter, catching my eye.

  "Yes, the cruelty practised yonder!" I blurted out. Never before had Isaid as much to any man.

  "You mean the debtors--or those above in the chain-room?" he asked,surprised.

  "I was not speaking of the Bridewell, but of the Prison," I said.

  "What cruelty, Carus? You mean the rigor Cunningham uses?"

  "Rigor!" I said, laughing, and my laugh was unpleasant.

  He looked at me narrowly. We rode past Warren Street and the UpperBarracks in silence, saluting an officer here and there withpreoccupied punctiliousness. Already I was repenting of my hardiness inmixing openly with politics or war--matters I had ever avoided or letpass with gay indifference.

  "Carus," he said, patting his horse's mane, "you will lay a bet for thehonor of the family this time--will you not?"

  "I have no money," I replied, surprised; for never before had heoffered to suggest an interference into my own affairs--never by wordor look.

  "No money!" he repeated, laughing. "Gad, you rake, what do you do withit all?" And as I continued silent, he said more gravely, "May I speakplainly to a kinsman and dear friend?"

  "Always," I said uneasily.

  "Then, without offense, Carus, I think that, were I you, I should bet alittle--now and again--fling the guineas for a change--now and then--ifI were you, Carus."

  "If you were I you would not," I said, reddening to the temples.

  "I think I should, nevertheless," he persisted, smiling. "Carus, youknow that if you need money to bet with----"

  "I'll tell you what I need, Sir Peter," said I, looking him in the eye."I need your faith in me that I am not by choice a niggard."

  "God forbid!" he cried.

  "Yet I pass among many for that," I said hotly. "I know it, I suffer.Yet I can not burn a penny; it belongs to others, that's all."

  "A debt!" he murmured.

  "Call it as you will. The money you overpay me for my poor services isnot even my own to enjoy."

  Sir Peter dropped his bridle and slapped his gloved hands together witha noise that made his horse jump. "I knew it," he cried, "I knew it,and so I told Elsin when she came to me, troubled, because in you thisone flaw appeared; yet though she questioned me, in the same breath shevowed the marble perfect, and asked me if you had parents or kindependent. She is a rare maid, my pretty kinswoman--" He hesitated,glancing cornerwise at me.

  "Do you know Walter Butler well?" I asked carelessly.

  "No, only a little. Why, Carus?"

  "Is he married?"

  "I never heard it. He is scarcely known to me save through Sir JohnJohnson, and that his zeal led him to what some call a privatereprisal."

  "Yes, he burned our house, or his Indians did, making pretense thatthey did not know who lived there, but thought the whole Bush a rebelhotbed. It is true the house was new, built while Sir John lay broodingthere in Canada over his broken parole. Perhaps Walter Butler did notknow the house was ours."

  "You are very generous, Carus," said Sir Peter gravely.

  "No, not very. You see, my father and my mother were in France, and Ihere, and Butler's raiders only murdered one old man--a servant, allalone there, a man too old and deaf to understand their questions. Iknow who slew that ancient body-servant to my father, who often held meon his knees. No, Sir Peter, I am not generous, as you say. But thereare matters which must await the precedence of great events ere theirturn comes in the mills which grind so slow, so sure, and so exceedingfine."

  Sir Peter looked at me in silence, and in silence we rode on until wecame to the tavern called the Coq d'Or.

  They were there, the early risers of the Fifty-fourth--a jolly, noisycrowd, all scarlet and gold; and they set up a cheer, which was halfwelcome, half defiance, when we rode into the tavern yard anddismounted, bowing right and left; and the landlord came to receive us,and servants followed with champagne-cup, iced; and there was oldHorrock, too, hat in hand, to attend Sir Peter, with a shake of hiswise old head and a smile on his furrowed face--Horrock, the prince ofhandlers, with his chicken-men, and his scales, and his Flatbush birdsa-crowing defiance to the duck-wings, spangles, pyles, and Lord knowswhat, that his Majesty's Fifty-fourth Regiment of Foot had backed towin with every penny and farthing they could scrape to lay against us.

  I heard old Horrock whisper to Sir Peter, who was reading over thematch-list, "They're the best we can do, sir; combs low-cut, wingsrounded, hackle and saddle trimmed to a T, and the vanes perfect." Helaughed: "What more can I do, sir? They had aniseed in their bread onthe third day, and on the weighing-day sheep-heart, and not two teacupsof water in the seven. They came from the walks in prime condition, andtartar and jalap did the rest. They sparred free in the boots and tookto the warm ale and sweet-wort, and the rooms were dark except atfeeding. What more can I do, sir, except heel them to ahair's-breadth?"

  "You have no peer, Horrock, and you know it," said Sir Peter, kindly,and the old man's furrowed face shone as he trotted off to thecovert-room.

  Meanwhile I had been hailed by a dozen friends of a dozen differentregiments, good fellows all: Major Jamison of the Partisans; EnsignHalvar, young Caryl of the Fortieth Foot; Helsing of the Artillery, andapparently every available commissioned officer of the Fifty-fourth,including Colonel Eyre, a gentleman with a scientific taste for the pitthat gained him the title of "The Game 'Un" from saucy subalterns,needless to say without his knowledge.

  "A good bird, well handled, freely backed--what more can a gentlemanask?" said Major Neville, waddling beside Sir Peter as we filed intothe tavern. "My wife calls it a shameful sport, but the cockpit is afashionable passion, damme! and a man out o' fashion is worse than anaddled cluck-egg! Eh, Renault? Good gad, sir! Do not cocks fightunurged, and are not their battles with nature's spurs more cruel thanwhen matched by man and heeled with steel or even silver, whichmercifully ends the combat in short order? And so I tell my wife, SirPeter, but she calls me brute," he panted plaintively.

  "Pooh!" said Sir Peter, laughing, "I can always find a reason for anytransgression in the list from theft to murder, and justify each crimeby logic--if I put my mind to do so. But my mind is not partial tologic. I fight game-fowl and like it, be the fashion and the ethicswhat they may."

  He was unjust to himself as usual; to him there was no differencebe
tween the death of a pheasant afield and the taking off of a goodbird in the pit.

  Seated around the pit, there was some delay in showing, and Dr. Carmodyof the brigade staff gave me, unsolicited, his mature opinions upongame-fowl:

  "Show me a bird of bold carriage, comb bright red and upright, eye fulland bright, beak strong and in good socket, breast full, body broad atshoulder and tapering to tail, thigh short, round, and hard as a nail,leg stout, flat-footed, and spur low--a bird with bright, hardfeathers, strong in a quill, warm and firm to the hand--and I care notwhat breed he be, spangle or black-red, I'll lay my last farthing withyou, Mr. Renault, if it shall please you."

  "And what am I to back?" said I, laughing--"a full plume, a long, softhackle, a squirrel-tail, a long-thighed, in-kneed, weak-beaked,coarse-headed henning-fowl selected by you?"

  The little doctor roared with laughter; the buzz and hum ofconversation increased around us--bits of banter, jests tossed fromfriend to friend.

  "Who dubs your birds for you. Sir Peter?" cried Helsing--"the Bridewellbarber?"

  "Ten guineas to eight with you on the first battle," retorted SirPeter, courteously; and, "Done with you, sir!" said Helsing, noting thebet, while Sir Peter booked his memorandum and turned to meet a perfectshower of offers, all of which he accepted smilingly. And I--oh, I wassick to sit there without a penny laid to show my loyalty to Sir Peter.But it must be so, and I bit my lip and strove to smile and parry witha jest the well-meant offers which now and then came flying my way. ButO'Neil and Harkness backed the Flatbush birds right loyally, cautionedby Sir Peter, who begged that they wait; but they would not--and onewas Irish--so nothing would do but a bold front and an officer snappedwith, "Done, sir!"

  The judges and the referee had been chosen, the color-writers selected,and Sir Peter had won the draw, choosing, of course, to weigh first,the main being governed by rules devised by the garrison regiments,partly Virginian, partly New York custom. Matches had been made incamera, the first within the half-ounce, and allowing a stag fourounces; round heels were to be used; all cutters, twists, and slashersbarred; the metal was steel, not silver.

  And now the pitters had taken station, Horrock and a wall-eyed Bat-manof the Train, and the birds had billed three times and had been fairlydelivered on the score--a black brass-back of ours against a black-redof the Fifty-fourth. Scarcely a second did they eye one another whencrack! slap! they were at it, wing and gaffle. Suddenly the black-redclosed and held, struck like lightning five or six times, and it wasall over with Sir Peter's Flatbush brass-back, done for in a singleheat.

  "Fast work," observed Sir Peter calmly, taking snuff, with a pleasantnod to the enemy.

  Then odds on the main flew like lightning, all taken by Sir Peter andO'Neil and a few others of ours, and I biting my lip and fixing my eyeson the roof. Had I not dreaded to hurt Sir Peter I should never, neverhave come.

  We again showed a brass-back and let him run in the pit before cuttinga feather, whereupon Sir Peter rashly laid ten to five and few takers,too, for the Fifty-fourth showed a pyle of five-pounds-three--ashuffler which few fancied. But Lord! the shuffler drummed ourbrass-back to the tune of Sir Daniel O'Day, and though two ounceslight, took just eight minutes to crow for victory.

  Again we showed, this time a duck-wing, and the Fifty-fourth a bluehackle, heavily backed, who proved a wheeler, but it took twentyminutes for him to lay the duck-wing upon the carpet; and we stoodthree to the bad, but game, though the odds on the main were heavilyagainst us. Our fourth, a blinker, blundered to victory; our fifth hunghimself twice to the canvas and finally to the heels of a bewilderedspangle; our sixth, a stag, and a wheeling lunatic at that, gave to theFifty-fourth a bad quarter of an hour, and then, when at the lastmoment our victory seemed certain, was sent flying to eternity in onelast feathered whirlwind, leaving us four to split and four to go, withhopeless odds against us, and Sir Peter calmly booking side-bets onanything that anybody offered.

  When the call came we all rose, leaving the pit by the side-entrance,which gave on the cherry garden, where tables were spread for luncheonand pipes fetched for all who cared not to scorch their lips withSpanish cigars.

  Sir Peter, hard hit, moved about in great good humor, a seed-cake inone hand, a mug of beer in t'other; and who could suppose he stood tolose the thousand guineas he had such need of--and more besides!--somuch more that it turned me cold to think of Duke Street, and how onearth I was to find funds for the bare living, luxuries aside.

  As for O'Neil, the crazy, warm-hearted Irishman went about blusteringfor odds--pure, generous bravado!--and the Fifty-fourth, to theircredit, let him go unharmed, and Harkness, too. As for me, I was veryquiet, holding my peace and my opinions to myself, which was proper, asI had laid not one penny on a feather that day.

  Sir Peter, seeing me sitting alone under a cherry-tree, came strollingover, followed by Horrock.

  "Well, Carus," he said, smiling blandly, "more dealing with DukeStreet, eh? Pooh! There's balm in Gilead and a few shillings left stillin the Dock-Ward!" He laughed, but I said nothing. "Speak out, man!" hesaid gaily; "what do you read by the pricking of your thumbs?"

  "Ask Horrock," I said bluntly. He turned to the grim-visaged retainer,laying his hand familiarly on the old man's shoulder.

  "Horrock begs me to ride for an even break," he said; "don't you, Oparagon among pitters?"

  "Yes, sir, I do. Ask Mr. Renault what Sir William Johnson's Huron Redsdid to the Patroon's Tartars in every main fought 'twixt Johnstown andAlbany in '72 and '73."

  I looked up, astounded. "Have you four Hurons to show?" I asked SirPeter, incredulously.

  "I have," he said.

  A desperate hope glimmered in my mind--nay, not merely a hope but afair certainty that ruin could be held at arm's length for a while. Sopossessed was I by absolute faith in Sir William Johnson's strain,called Hurons, that I listened approvingly to Sir Peter's plans for adashing recoup. After all, it was now or never; the gamblers' feverseized me, too, in a vise-like grip. Why should I not win a thousandguineas for my prisoners, risking but a few hundred on such a hazard!

  "You will be there, of course," he said. And after a long silence, Ianswered:

  "No, I shall walk in the garden until you finish. The main should beended at five."

  "As you choose, Carus," he answered pleasantly, glancing at his watch.Then turning, he cried: "Time, gentlemen--and four to ten we split themain!"

  "Done with you, Sir Peter!" came the answering shout as from a singlethroat; and Sir Peter, smiling to himself, booked briefly and saunteredtoward the tavern door, old Horrock trotting faithfully at heel.

  I had risen and was nervously pacing the grass under the cherry-trees,miserable, full of bitterness, depressed, already bitterly regrettingthe chance lost, arguing that it was a certainty and no hazard. Yet,deep in my heart, I knew no gentleman can bet on certainty, and wherethere is no certainty there is risk. That risk I had not taken; theprisoners were to gain or suffer nothing. Thinking of these matters Istarted to stroll through the cherry grove, and as I stepped from theshade out upon the sunny lawn the shadow of an advancing figure warnedme, and I looked up to behold a young officer, in a black and greenuniform, crossing my path, his head turned in my direction, his dark,luminous gaze fastened curiously upon me.

  Dazzled somewhat by the sun in my eyes, I peered at him as he passed,noting the strange cut of his regimentals, the silver buttons stampedwith a motto in relief, the curious sword-knot of twisted buck-thongheavily embroidered in silver and scarlet wampum. Wampum? And what wasthat devil's device flashing on button and shoulder-knot?

  "Butler's Rangers!"

  Slowly I turned to stare; he halted, looking back at me, a slim,graceful figure in forest-green, his own black hair gathered in a club,his dark amber eyes fixed on mine with that veiled yet detached glare Ihad not forgotten.

  "Captain Butler," I said mechanically.

  Hats in hand, heels together, we bowed low in the sunshine--so low thatour hands on our hilts a
lone retained the blades in their scabbards,while our hats swept the short grass on the lawn; then, leisurelyerect, once more we stood face to face, a yard of sod betwixt us, thesunshine etching our blue shadows motionless.

  "Mr. Renault," he said, in that colorless voice he used at times, "Ihad thought to know you, but you are six years older. Time'salchemy"--he hesitated, then with a perfect bow--"refines even thenoblest metal. I trust your health and fortune are all that you coulddesire. Is madam, your mother, well, and your honorable father?"

  "I thank you, Captain Butler."

  He looked at me a moment, then with a melancholy smile and a gesturewholly graceful: "It is poor reparation to say that I regret the errorof my Cayugas which committed your house to the flames."

  "The fortune of war, Captain Butler. I trust your home at Butlersburystill survives intact."

  A dull color crept into his pallid cheeks.

  "The house at Butlersbury stands," he said, "as do Johnson Hall, GuyPark, and old Fort Johnson. We hope erelong to open them again to ourfriends, Mr. Renault."

  "I have understood so," I said politely. "When do you march fromThendara?"

  Again the dark color came into his face. "Sir Frederick Haldimand is ababbler!" he said, between tightening lips. "Never a secret, never aplan, but he must bawl it aloud to all who care to listen, or sound itas he gads about from camp to city--aye, and chatters it to the foresttrees for lack of audience, I suppose. All New York is humming with it,is it not, Mr. Renault?"

  "And if it is, what harm?" I said pleasantly. "Who ever heard ofThendara, save as a legend of a lost town somewhere in the wilderness?Who in New York knows where Thendara lies?"

  He looked at me with unwinking eyes--the empty stare of a bird of prey.

  "_You_ know, for one," he said; and his eyes suddenly became piercing.

  I smiled at him without comprehension, and he took the very vaguenessof my smile for acquiescence.

  Like the luminous shadow of summer lightning the flame flickered in hiseyes, and went out, leaving them darkly drowned in melancholy. Hestepped nearer.

  "Let us sit under the trees for a moment--if I am not detaining you,Mr. Renault," he said in a low, pleasant voice. I bowed. We turned,walking shoulder to shoulder toward the shade of the cherry-trees, nowin full foliage and heavily fruited. With perfect courtesy he halted,inclining his head, a gesture for me to pass before him. We seatedourselves at a rustic table beneath the trees; and I remember the ripecherries which had dropped upon it from the clusters overhead, and how,as we talked, I picked them up, tasting them one by one.

  "I am here," he began abruptly, "of my own idea. No one, not even SirHenry, is aware that I am in New York. I came from Halifax by the_Gannet_, schooner, landing at Coenties Slip among the fishing-smack intime for breakfast; then to Sir Peter Coleville's, learning he washere--cock-fighting!" A trace of a sneer edged his finely cut nostrils.

  "If you desire concealment, is it wise to wear that uniform?" I asked.

  "I am known on the fighting-line, not in this peaceful garrison of NewYork," he said haughtily. "We of the landed gentry of Tryon County makeas little of New York as New York makes of us!" A deeper sneer twitchedhis upper lip. "Had I my way, this port should be burned from river toriver, fort, shipping, dock--all, even to the farms outlying on thehills--and the enervated garrison marched out to take the field!" Hemade a violent gesture toward the north. "I should fling every man andgun pell-mell on that rebels' rat-nest called West Point, and uprootand tear it from the mountain flank! I should sweep the Hudson withfire; I should hurl these rotting regiments into Albany and leave it asmoking ember, and I should tread the embers into the red-wet earth!That is the way to make war! But this--" He stared south across themeadows where in the distance the sunlit city lay, windows a-glitter,spires swimming in the blue, and on the bay white sails glimmering offshores of living green.

  "Mr. Renault," he said, "I am here to submit this plan to Sir HenryClinton. Lord Cornwallis advocated the abandonment of New York lastMay. I am here to urge it. If Sir Henry will approve, then the war endsbefore the snow flies; if he will not, I still shall act my part, andlay the north in ashes so that not one ear of corn may be garnered forthe rebel army, not one grain of wheat be milled, not a truss of hayremain betwixt Johnstown and Saratoga! Nothing in the north butblackened desolation and the silence of annihilation. That is how Imake war."

  "That is your reputation," I said calmly.

  His smile was ghastly--a laugh without sound, that touched neither eyesnor mouth.

  At that moment I heard cries and laughter and a great babel of voicesfrom the tavern. He rose instantly, I also; the stable-lads werebringing up the horses; the tavern door was flung wide, and out of itpoured the cockers, a turbulent river of scarlet and gold, the noisyvoices and laughter increasing to tumult as the officers mounted withjingle of spur and scabbard, draining the stirrup-cup and hastening totheir duties.

  "By gad, sir!" cried Jamison, turning in his saddle as he passed me,"those Hurons did the trick for Sir Peter. He's split the main, so helpme! and stands to win a fortune."

  And Dr. Carmody, galloping past, waved his hand with a hopeless laugh."We're cleaned out! cleaned out!" he cried; "that main has beggared thebrigade staff. Damme, he's beggared the entire garrison!"

  Others rode by, gaily uproarious in defeat, clean, gallant sportsmenall, saluting misfortune as cheerily and as recklessly as they mighthave greeted victory.

  "Have at thee, buck!" shouted young Caryl, waving his hand as he passedme. "We'll try it again, you villain, if there's life left in ourfasting mess!"

  And Helsing, passing at a canter, grinned and beat his gold-lacedbreast in mock despair, shouting back to me: "I'm for Duke Street andMendoza! Dine well, Carus, you who can afford to sup on chicken!"

  Then came Sir Peter, cool, debonair, surrounded by a crowd afoot,Horrock at heel, his old eyes dim with joy, his grim mouth set; andafter him two lads leading our horses, and O'Neil and Harkness mounted,curbing the triumph that glittered in their eyes.

  "Yonder comes Sir Peter," I said to Walter Butler. "Shall I have thehonor of making you known to one another?"

  "He has forgotten me, I think," said Butler slowly, as Sir Peter raisedhis hat in triumphant greeting to me and then included Butler in agraver salute.

  "You have heard the news, Carus?" he asked gaily.

  "I give you joy," I said. Then, with colorless ceremony, I made themknown to one another, and with greater ceremony they exchanged salutesand compliments--a pair matched in flawless breeding and the usages ofperfect courtesy.

  "I bear a letter," said Walter Butler, "and have this morning donemyself the honor of waiting upon Lady Coleville and the 'Hon. ElsinGrey.'"

  And as Sir Peter acknowledged the courtesy, I looked suddenly at WalterButler, remembering what Elsin Grey had told me.

  "The letter is from General Sir Frederick Haldimand," he saidpleasantly, "and I fear it bears you news not too agreeable. The Hon.Miss Grey is summoned home, Sir Peter--pending a new campaign."

  "Home!" exclaimed Sir Peter, surprised. "Why, I thought--I had hoped wewere to have her with us until winter. Gad! It is as you say, not tooagreeable news, Captain Butler. Why, she has been the life of the town,sir; she has waked us and set us all a-dancing like yokels at aMay-pole or a ring-around-a-rosy! Split me! Captain Butler, but LadyColeville will be sorry to learn this news--and I, too, sir, and everyman in New York town."

  He looked at me in genuine distress. My face was perfectlyexpressionless.

  "This should hit you hard, Carus," he said meaningly. Then, withoutseeing, I felt Walter Butler's head slowly turning, and was aware ofhis eyes on me.

  "Come, gentlemen," said Sir Peter, "the horses are here. Is not thatfine chestnut your mount, Captain Butler? You will ride with us, willyou not? Where is your baggage? At Flocks? I shall send for it--no,sir, I take no excuse. While you are in New York you shall be my guest,Captain Butler."

  And so, Sir Peter naming Butler to O'Neil
and Harkness, and salutesbeing decently exchanged, we mounted and cantered off along GreatGeorge Street, Horrock on his hunter bringing up the rear.

  And at every stride of my horse a new misgiving, a deeper distrust ofthis man Butler stirred in my troubled heart.