XIV
ON DUTY
As we galloped into Broadalbin Bush a house on our right loomed up blackand silent, and I saw shutters and doors swinging wide open, and thestars shining through. There was something sinister in this stark andtenantless homestead, whose void casements stared, like emptyeye-sockets.
"They have gone to the Middle Fort--all of them except the Stoners,"said Mount, pushing his horse up beside mine. "Look, sir! See what thisred terror has already done to make a wilderness of County Try on--andnot a blow struck yet!"
We passed another house, doorless, deserted; and as I rode abreast ofit, to my horror I saw two shining eyes staring out at me from theempty window.
"A wolf--already!" muttered Mount, tugging at his bridle as his horsesheered off, snorting; and I saw something run across the front stepsand drop into the shadows.
The roar of the Kennyetto sounded nearer. Woods gave place tostump-fields in which the young corn sprouted, silvered by the stars.Across a stony pasture we saw a rushlight burning in a doorway; and,swinging our horses out across a strip of burned stubble, we camepresently to Stoner's house and heard the noise of the stream rushingthrough the woods below.
I saw Sir George Covert immediately; he was sitting on a log under thewindow, dressed in his uniform, a dark military cloak mantling hisshoulders and knees. When he recognized me he rose and came to my side.
"Well, Ormond," he said, quietly, "it's a comfort to see you. Leave yourhorses with Elerson. Who is that with you--oh, Jack Mount? These are theriflemen, Elerson and Murphy--Morgan's men, you know."
The two riflemen saluted me with easy ceremony and sauntered over towhere Mount was standing at our horses' heads.
"Hello, Catamount Jack," said Elerson, humorously. "Where 'd ye stealthe squaw-buckskins? Look at the macaroni, Tim--all yellow andpurple fringe!"
Mount surveyed the riflemen in their suits of brown holland and beltedrifle-frocks.
"Dave Elerson, you look like a Quakeress in a Dutch jerkin," heobserved.
"'Tis the nate turrn to yere leg he grudges ye," said Murphy to Elerson."Wisha, Dave, ye've the legs av a beau!"
"Bow-legs, Dave," commented Mount. "It's not your fault, lad. I've seen'em run from the Iroquois as fast as Tim's--"
The bantering reply of the big Irishman was lost to me as Sir George ledme out of earshot, one arm linked in mine.
I told him briefly of my mission, of my new rank in the army. Hecongratulated me warmly, and asked, in his pleasant way, for news of themanor, yet did not name Dorothy, which surprised me to the verge ofresentment. Twice I spoke of her, and he replied courteously, yet seemednothing eager to learn of her beyond what I volunteered.
And at last I said: "Sir George, may I not claim a kinsman's privilegeto wish you joy in your great happiness?"
"What happiness?" he asked, blankly; then, in slight confusion, added:"You speak of my betrothal to your cousin Dorothy. I am stupid beyondpardon, Ormond; I thank you for your kind wishes.... I suppose Sir Lupustold you," he added, vaguely.
"My cousin Dorothy told me," I said.
"Ah! Yes--yes, indeed. But it is all in the future yet, Ormond." Hemoved on, switching the long weeds with a stick he had found. "All inthe future," he murmured, absently--"in fact, quite remote, Ormond....By-the-way, you know why you were to meet me?"
"No, I don't," I replied, coldly.
"Then I'll tell you. The General is trying to head off Walter Butler andarrest him. Murphy and Elerson have just heard that Walter Butler'smother and sister, and a young lady, Magdalen Brant--you met her atVaricks'--are staying quietly at the house of a Tory named Beacraft. Wemust strive to catch him there; and, failing that, we must watchMagdalen Brant, that she has no communication with the Iroquois." Hehesitated, head bent. "You see, the General believes that this younggirl can sway the False-Faces to peace or war. She was once theirpet--as a child.... It seems hard to believe that this lovely andcultivated young girl could revert to such savage customs.... And yetMurphy and Elerson credit it, and say that she will surely appear at theFalse-Faces' rites.... It is horrible, Ormond; she is a sweet child--byHeaven, she would turn a European court with her wit and beauty!"
"I concede her beauty," I said, uneasy at his warm praise, "but as toher wit, I confess I scarcely exchanged a dozen words with her thatnight, and so am no judge."
"Ah!" he said, with an absent-minded stare.
"I naturally devoted myself to my cousin Dorothy," I added, irritated,without knowing why.
"Quite so--quite so," he mused. "As I was saying, it seems cruel tosuspect Magdalen Brant, but the General believes she can sway theOneidas and Tuscaroras.... It is a ghastly idea. And if she does attemptthis thing, it will be through the infernal machinations and devilishpersuasions of the Butlers--mark that, Ormond!"
He turned short in his tracks and made a fierce gesture with his stick.It broke short, and he flung the splintered ends into the darkness.
"Why," he said, warmly, "there is not a gentler, sweeter disposition inthe world than Magdalen Brant's, if no one comes a-tampering to wake theIroquois blood in her. These accursed Butlers seem inspired by hellitself--and Guy Johnson!--What kind of a man is that, to take this younggirl from Albany, where she had forgotten what a council-fire meant, andbring her here to these savages--sacrifice her!--undo all those years ofculture and education!--rouse in her the dormant traditions and passionswhich she had imbibed with her first milk, and which she forgot when shewas weaned! That is the truth, I tell you! I know, sir! It was my unclewho took her from Guy Park and sent her to my aunt Livingston. She hadthe best of schooling; she was reared in luxury; she had every advantagethat could be gained in Albany; my aunt took her to London that shemight acquire those graces of deportment which we but roughlyimitate.... Is it not sickening to see Guy Johnson and Sir John exercisetheir power of relationship and persuade her from a good home back tothis?... Think of it, Ormond!"
"I do think of it," said I. "It is wrong--it is cruel and shameful!"
"It is worse," said Sir George, bitterly. "Scarce a year has she beenat Guy Park, yet to-day she is in full sympathy with Guy and Sir Johnand her dusky kinsman, Brant. Outwardly she is a charming, modest maid,and I do not for an instant mean you to think she is not chaste! TheIrish nation is no more famed for its chastity than the Mohawk, but Iknow that she listens when the forest calls--listens with savant ears,Ormond, and her dozen drops of dusky blood set her pulses flying to thefree call of the Wolf clan!"
"Do you know her well?" I asked.
"I? No. I saw her at my aunt Livingston's. It was the other night that Italked long with her--for the first time in my life."
He stood silent, knee-deep in the dewy weeds, hand worrying hissword-hilt, long cloak flung back.
"You have no idea how much of a woman she is," he said, vaguely.
"In that case," I replied, "you might influence her."
He raised his thoughtful face to the stars, studying the Twin Pointers.
"May I try?" he asked.
"Try? Yes, try, in Heaven's name, Sir George! If she must speak to theOneidas, persuade her to throw her influence for peace, if you can. Atall events, I shall know whether or not she goes to the fire, for I amcharged by the General to find the False-Faces and report to him everyword said.... Do you speak Tuscarora, Sir George?"
"No; only Mohawk," he said. "How are you going to find the False-Faces'meeting-place?"
"If Magdalen Brant goes, I go," said I. "And while I'm watching her,Jack Mount is to range, and track any savage who passes the Iroquoistrail.... What do you mean to do with Murphy and Elerson?"
"Elerson rides back to the manor with our horses; we've no further usefor them here. Murphy follows me.... And I think we should be on ourway," he added, impatiently.
We walked back to the house, where old man Stoner and his two big boysstood with our riflemen, drinking flip.
"Elerson," I said, "ride my mare and lead the other horses back toVaricks'. Murphy, you will pilot us to Beacra
ft's. Jack, go forwardwith Murphy."
Old Stoner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bit into a twistof tobacco, spat derisively, and said: "This pup Beacraft swares he'lllift my haar 'fore he gits through with me! Threatened men live long.Kindly tell him me an' my sons is to hum. Sir George."
The big, lank boys laughed, and winked at me as I passed.
"Good trail an' many skelps to ye!" said old Stoner. "If ye see FrancyMcCraw, jest tell him thar's a rope an' a apple-tree waitin' fur himdown to Fundy's Bush!"
"Tell Danny Redstock an' Billy Bones that the Stoner boys is smellin'almighty close on their trail!" called out the elder youth.
Elerson, in his saddle, gathered the bridles that Mount handed him androde off into the darkness, leading Mount's horse and Sir George's at atrot. We filed off due west, Murphy and Mount striding in the lead, thenoise of the river below us on our left. A few rods and we swung south,then west into a wretched stump-road, which Sir George said was theMayfield road and part of the Sacandaga trail.
The roar of the Kennyetto accompanied us, then for a while was lost inthe swaying murmur of the pines. Twice we passed trodden carrying-placesbefore the rushing of the river sounded once more far below us in agorge; and we descended into a hollow to a ford from which an Indiantrail ran back to the north. This was the Balston trail, which joinedthe Fish-House road; and Sir George said it was the trail I should havefollowed had it not been necessary for me to meet him at Fonda's Bush torelieve him of his horse.
Now, journeying rapidly west, our faces set towards the Mayfield hills,we passed two or three small, cold brooks, on stepping-stones, where thedark sky, set with stars, danced in the ripples. Once, on a clearedhill, we saw against the sky the dim bulk of a lonely barn; then nothingmore fashioned by human hands until, hours later, we found Murphy andMount standing beside some rough pasture bars in the forest. How theyhad found them in the darkness of the woods--for we had long since leftthe stump-road--I do not know; but the bars were there, and a brushfence; and Murphy whispered that, beyond, a cow-path led toBeacraft's house.
Now, wary of ambuscade, we moved on, rifles primed and cocked,traversing a wet path bowered by willow and alder, until we reached acornfield, fenced with split rails. The path skirted this, continuingunder a line of huge trees, then ascended a stony little hill, on whicha shadowy house stood.
"Beacraft's," whispered Murphy.
Sir George suggested that we surround the house and watch it till dawn;so Mount circled the little hill and took station in the north, SirGeorge moved eastward, Murphy crept to the west, and I sat down underthe last tree in the lane, cocked rifle on my knees, pan sheltered undermy round cap of doeskin.
Sunrise was to be our signal to move forward. The hours dragged; thestars grew no paler; no sign of life appeared in the ghostly house savewhen the west wind brought to me a faint scent of smoke, invisible asyet above the single chimney.
But after a long while I knew that dawn was on the way towards thewestern hills, for a bird twittered restlessly in the tree above me, andI began to feel, rather than hear, a multitude of feathered stirringsall about me in the darkness.
Would dawn never come? The stars seemed brighter than ever--no, one onthe eastern horizon twinkled paler; the blue-black sky had faded;another star paled; others lost their diamond lustre; a silvery pallorspread throughout the east, while the increasing chorus of the birdsgrew in my ears.
Then a cock-crow rang out, close by, and the bird o' dawn's clearfanfare roused the feathered world to a rushing outpour of song.
All the east was yellow now; a rose-light quivered behind the forestlike the shimmer of a hidden fire; then a blinding shaft of light fellacross the world.
Springing to my feet, I shouldered my rifle and started across thepasture, ankle deep in glittering dew; and as I advanced Sir Georgeappeared, breasting the hill from the east; Murphy's big bulk loomed inthe west; and, as we met before the door of the house, Jack Mountsauntered around the corner, chewing a grass-stem, his long, brown riflecradled in his arm.
"Rap on the door, Mount," I said. Mount gave a round double rap, chewedhis grass-stem, considered, then rapped again, humming to himself in anunder-tone:
"Is the old fox in? Is the old fox out? Is the old fox gone to Glo-ry? Oh, he's just come in, But he's just gone out, And I hope you like my sto-ry! Tink-a-diddle-diddle-diddle, Tink-a-diddle-diddle-dum--"
"Rap louder," I said.
Mount obeyed, chewed reflectively, and scratched his ear.
"Is the Tory in? Is the Tory out? Is the Tory gone to Glo-ry? Oh, he's just come in. But he's just gone out--"
"Knock louder," I repeated.
Murphy said he could drive the door in with his gun-butt; I shook myhead.
"Somebody's coming," observed Mount--
"Tink-a-diddle-diddle--"
The door opened and a lean, dark-faced man appeared, dressed in hissmalls and shirt. He favored us with a sour look, which deepened to ascowl when he recognized Mount, who saluted him cheerfully.
"Hello, Beacraft, old cock! How's the mad world usin' you these palmy,balmy days?"
"Pretty well," said Beacraft, sullenly.
"That's right, that's right," cried Mount. "My friends and I thoughtwe'd just drop around. Ain't you glad, Beacraft, old buck?"
"Not very," said Beacraft.
"Not very!" echoed Mount, in apparent dismay and sorrow. "Ain't youenj'yin' good health, Beacraft?"
"I'm well, but I'm busy," said the man, slowly.
"So are we, so are we," cried Mount, with a brisk laugh. "Come in,friends; you must know my old acquaintance Beacraft better; a King'sman, gentlemen, so we can all feel at home now!"
For a moment Beacraft looked as though he meant to shut the door in ourfaces, but Mount's huge bulk was in the way, and we all followed hislead, entering a large, unplastered room, part kitchen, part bedroom.
"A King's man," repeated Mount, cordially, rubbing his hands at thesmouldering fire and looking around in apparent satisfaction. "A King'sman; what the nasty rebels call a 'Tory,' gentlemen. My! Ain't this niceto be all together so friendly and cosey with my old friend Beacraft?Who's visitin' ye, Beacraft? Anybody sleepin' up-stairs, old friend?"
Beacraft looked around at us, and his eyes rested on Sir George.
"Who be you?" he asked.
"This is my friend, Mr. Covert," said Mount, fairly sweating cordialityfrom every pore--"my dear old friend, Mr. Covert--"
"Oh," said Beacraft, "I thought he was Sir George Covert.... And yonderstands your dear old friend Timothy Murphy, I suppose?"
"Exactly," smiled Mount, rubbing his palms in appreciation.
The man gave me an evil look.
"I don't know you," he said, "but I could guess your business." And toMount: "What do you want?"
"We want to know," said I, "whether Captain Walter Butler is lodginghere?"
"He was," said Beacraft, grimly; "he left yesterday."
"And I hope you like my sto-ry!"
hummed Mount, strolling about the room, peeping into closets andcupboards, poking under the bed with his rifle, and finally coming to ahalt at the foot of the stairs with his head on one side, like ajay-bird immersed in thought.
Murphy, who had quietly entered the cellar, returned empty-handed, and,at a signal from me, stepped outside and seated himself on achopping-block in the yard, from whence he commanded a view of the houseand vicinity.
"Now, Mr. Beacraft," I said, "whoever lodges above must come down; andit would be pleasanter for everybody if you carried the invitation."
"Do you propose to violate the privacy of my house?" he asked.
"I certainly do."
"Where is your warrant of authority?" he inquired, fixing hispenetrating eyes on mine.
"I have my authority from the General commanding this department. Myinstructions are verbal--my warrant is military necessity. I fear thatthis explanation must satisfy you."
; "It does not," he said, doggedly.
"That is unfortunate," I observed. "I will give you one more chance toanswer my question. What person or persons are on the floor above?"
"Captain Butler was there; he departed yesterday with his mother andsister," replied Beacraft, maliciously.
"Is that all?"
"Miss Brant is there," he muttered.
I glanced at Sir George, who had risen to pace the floor, throwing backhis military cloak. At sight of his uniform Beacraft's small eyes seemedto dart fire.
"What were you doing when we knocked?" I inquired.
"Cooking," he replied, tersely.
"Then cook breakfast for us all--and Miss Brant," I said. "Mount, helpMr. Beacraft with the corn-bread and boil those eggs. Sir George, I wantMurphy to stay outside, so if you would spread the cloth--"
"Of course," he said, nervously; and I started up the flimsy woodenstairway, which shook as I mounted. Beacraft's malignant eyes followedme for a moment, then he thrust his hands into his pockets and gloweredat Mount, who, whistling cheerfully, squatted before the fireplace,blowing the embers with a pair of home-made bellows.
On the floor above, four doors faced the narrow passage-way. I knockedat one. A gentle, sleepy voice answered:
"Very well."
Then, in turn, I entered each of the remaining rooms and searched. Inthe first room there was nothing but a bed and a bit of mirror framed inpine; in the second, another bed and a clothes-press which contained anempty cider-jug and a tattered almanac; in the third room a mattress layon the floor, and beside it two ink-horns, several quills, and a sheetof blue paper, such as comes wrapped around a sugar-loaf. The sheet ofpaper was pinned to the floor with pine splinters, as though adraughtsman had prepared it for drawing some plan, but there were nolines on it, and I was about to leave it when a peculiar odor in theclose air of the room brought me back to re-examine it on both sides.
There was no mark on the blue surface. I picked up an ink-horn, sniffedit, and spilled a drop of the fluid on my finger. The fluid left nostain, but the odor I had noticed certainly came from it. I folded thepaper and placed it in my beaded pouch, then descended the stairs, tofind Mount stirring the corn-bread and Sir George laying a cloth overthe kitchen table, while Beacraft sat moodily by the window, watchingeverybody askance. The fire needed mending and I used the bellows. And,as I knelt there on the hearth, I saw a milky white stain slowly spreadover the finger which I had dipped into the ink-horn. I walked to thedoor and stood in the cool morning air. Slowly the white staindisappeared.
"Mount," I said, sharply, "you and Murphy and Beacraft will eat yourbreakfast at once--and be quick about it." And I motioned Murphy intothe house and sat down on an old plough to wait.
Through the open door I could see the two big riflemen plying spoon andknife, while Beacraft picked furtively at his johnny-cake, eyestravelling restlessly from Mount to Murphy, from Sir George to thewooden stairway.
My riflemen ate like hounds after a chase, tipping their porridge-dishesto scrape them clean, then bolted eggs and smoking corn-bread in atrice, and rose, taking Beacraft with them to the doorway.
"Fill your pipes, lads," I said. "Sit out in the sun yonder. Mr.Beacraft may have some excellent stories to tell you."
"I must do my work," said Beacraft, angrily, but Mount and Murphy eachtook an arm and led the unwilling man across the strip of potato-hillsto a grassy knoll under a big oak, from whence a view of the house andclearing could be obtained. When I entered the house again, Sir Georgewas busy removing soiled plates and arranging covers for three; and Isat down close to the fire, drawing the square of blue paper from mypouch and spreading it to the blaze. When it was piping hot I laid itupon my knees and examined the design. What I had before me was awell-drawn map of the Kingsland district, made in white outline, showingtrails and distances between farms. And, out of fifty farms marked,forty-three bore the word "Rebel," and were ornamented by littlered hatchets.
Also, to every house was affixed the number, sex, and age of itsinhabitants, even down to the three-months babe in the cradle, thenumber of cattle, the amount of grain in the barns.
Further, the Kingsland district of the county was divided into threesections, the first marked "McCraw's Operations," the second "Butler andIndians," the third "St. Leger's Indians and Royal Greens." The paperwas signed by Uriah Beacraft.
After a few moments I folded this carefully prepared plan for deliberateand wholesale murder and placed it in my wallet.
Sir George looked up at me with a question in his eyes. I nodded,saying: "We have enough to arrest Beacraft. If you cannot persuadeMagdalen Brant, we must arrest her, too. You had best use all your art,Sir George."
"I will do what I can," he said, gravely.
A moment later a light step sounded on the stairs; we both sprang to ourfeet and removed our hats. Magdalen Brant appeared, fresh and sweet as arose-peony on a dewy morning.
"Sir George!" she exclaimed, in flushed dismay--"and you, too, Mr.Ormond!"
Sir George bowed, laughingly, saying that our journey had brought us sonear her that we could not neglect to pay our respects.
"Where is Mr. Beacraft?" she said, bewildered, and at the same momentcaught sight of him through the open doorway, seated under the oak-tree,apparently in delightful confab with Murphy and Mount.
"I do not quite understand," she said, gazing steadily at Sir George."We are King's people here. And you--"
She looked at his blue-and-buff uniform, shaking her head, then glancedat me in my fringed buckskins.
"I trust this war cannot erase the pleasant memories of other days, MissBrant," said Sir George, easily. "May we not have one more hour togetherbefore the storm breaks?"
"What storm, Sir George?" she asked, coloring up.
"The British invasion," I said. "We have chosen our colors; your kinsmenhave chosen theirs. It is a political, not a personal difference, MissBrant, and we may honorably clasp hands until our hands are needed forour hilts."
Sir George, graceful and debonair, conducted her to her place at therough table; I served the hasty-pudding, making a jest of the situation.And presently we were eating there in the sunshine of the open doorway,chatting over the dinner at Varicks', each outvying the others to makethe best of an unhappy and delicate situation.
Sir George spoke of the days in Albany spent with his aunt, and sheresponded in sensitive reserve, which presently softened under hisgentle courtesy, leaving her beautiful, dark eyes a trifle dim and herscarlet mouth quivering,
"It is like another life," she said. "It was too lovely to last. Ah,those dear people in Albany, and their great kindness to me! And now Ishall never see them again."
"Why not?" asked Sir George. "My aunt Livingston would welcome you."
"I cannot abandon my own kin, Sir George," she said, raising herdistressed eyes to his.
"There are moments when it is best to sever such ties," I observed.
"Perhaps," she said, quickly; "but this is not the moment, Mr. Ormond.My kinsmen are exiled fugitives, deprived of their own lands by thosewho have risen in rebellion against our King. How can I, whom they lovedin their prosperity, leave them in their adversity?"
"You speak of Guy Johnson and Sir John?" I asked.
"Yes; and of those brave people whose blood flows in my veins," shesaid, quietly. "Where is the Mohawk nation now, Sir George? This istheir country, secured to them by solemn oath and covenant, inviolatefor all time. Their belts lie with the King of England; his belts liestill with my people, the Mohawks. Where are they?"
"Fled to Oswego with Sir John," I said.
"And homeless!" she added, in a low, tense voice--"homeless, withoutclothing, without food, save what Guy Johnson gives them; their womenand children utterly helpless, the graves of their fathers abandoned,their fireplace at Onondaga cold, and the brands scattered for the firsttime in a thousand years I This have you Boston people done--donealready, without striking a blow."
She turned her head proudly
and looked straight at Sir George.
"Is it not the truth?" she asked.
"Only in part," he said, gently. Then, with infinite pains and delicacy,he told her of our government's desire that the Iroquois should notengage in the struggle; that if they had consented to neutrality theymight have remained in possession of their lands and all their ancientrights, guaranteed by our Congress.
He pointed out the fatal consequences of Guy Johnson's councils, theeffect of Butler's lying promises, the dreadful results of such astruggle between Indians, maddened by the loss of their own homes, andsettlers desperately clinging to theirs.
"It is not the Mohawks I blame," he said, "it is those to whomopportunity has given wider education and knowledge--the Tories, who areattempting to use the Six Nations for their own selfish and terribleends!... If in your veins run a few drops of Mohawk blood, my child,English blood runs there, too. Be true to your bright Mohawk blood; betrue to the generous English blood. It were cowardly to denyeither--shameful to betray the one for the other."
She gazed at him, fascinated; his voice swayed her, his handsome, graveface held her. Whether it was reason or emotion, mind or heart, I knownot, but her whole sensitive being seemed to respond to his voice; andas he played upon this lovely human instrument, varying his deep theme,she responded in every nerve, every breath. Reason, hope, sorrow,tenderness, passion--all these I read in her deep, velvet eyes, and inthe mute language of her lips, and in the timing pulse-beat under thelace on her breast.
I rose and walked to the door. She did not heed my going, nor did SirGeorge.
Under the oak-tree I found Murphy and Mount, smoking their pipes andwatching Beacraft, who lay with his rough head pillowed on his arms,feigning slumber.
"Why did you mark so many houses with the red hatchet?" I asked,pleasantly.
He did not move a muscle, but over his face a deep color spread to theneck and hair.
"Murphy," I said, "take that prisoner to General Schuyler!"
Beacraft sprang up, glaring at me out of bloodshot eyes.
"Shoot him if he breaks away," I added.
From his convulsed and distorted lips a torrent of profanity burst asMurphy laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and faced him eastward. I drewthe blue paper from my wallet, whispered to Murphy, and handed it tohim. He shoved it inside the breast of his hunting-shirt, cocked hisrifle, and tapped Beacraft on the arm.
So they marched away across the sunlit pasture, where blackbirds walkedamong the cattle, and the dew sparkled in tinted drops of fire.
In all my horror of the man I pitied him, for I knew he was going to hisdeath, there through the fresh, sweet morning, under the blue heavens.Once I saw him look up, as though to take a last long look at a freesky, and my heart ached heavily. Yet he had plotted death in its mostdreadful shapes for others who loved life as well as he--death toneighbors, death to strangers--whole families, whom he had perhaps nevereven seen--to mothers, to fathers, old, young, babes in the cradle,babes at the breast; and he had set down the total of one hundred andtwenty-nine scalps at twenty dollars each, over his own signature.
Schuyler had said to me that it was not the black-eyed Indians thepeople of Tryon County dreaded, but the blue-eyed savages. And I hadscarcely understood at that time how the ferocity of demons could liedormant in white breasts.
Standing there with Mount under the oak, I saw Sir George and MagdalenBrant leave the house and stroll down the path towards the stream. SirGeorge was still speaking in his quiet, earnest manner; her eyes werefixed on him so that she scarce heeded her steps, and twice long spraysof sweetbrier caught her gown, and Sir George freed her. But her eyesnever wandered from him; and I myself thought he never looked sohandsome and courtly as he did now, in his officer's uniform andblack cockade.
Where their pathway entered the alders, below the lane, they vanishedfrom our sight; and, leaving Mount to watch I went back to the house, tosearch it thoroughly from cellar to the dark garret beneath the eaves.
At two o'clock in the afternoon Sir George and Magdalen Brant had notreturned. I called Mount into the house, and we cooked some eggs andjohnny-cake to stay our stomachs. An hour later I sent Mount out to makea circle of a mile, strike the Iroquois trail and hang to it till dark,following any traveller, white or red, who might be likely to lead himtowards the secret trysting-place of the False-Faces.
Left alone at the house, I continued to rummage, finding nothing ofimportance, however; and towards dusk I came out to see if I mightdiscover Sir George and Magdalen Brant. They were not in sight. I waitedfor a while, strolling about the deserted garden, where a few poppiesturned their crimson disks towards the setting sun, and a peony lay deadand smelling rank, with the ants crawling all over it. In the mellowlight the stillness was absolute, save when a distant white-throat'ssilvery call, long drawn out, floated from the forest's darkening edge.
The melancholy of the deserted home oppressed me, as though I hadwronged it; the sad little house seemed to be watching me out of itshumble windows, like a patient dog awaiting another blow. Beacraft'sworn coat and threadbare vest, limp and musty as the garments of a deadman, hung on a peg behind the door. I searched the pockets withrepugnance and found a few papers, which smelled like the covers ofancient books, memoranda of miserable little transactions--threepencepaid for soling shoes, twopence here, a penny there; nothing more. Ithrew the papers on the grass, dipped up a bucket of well-water, andrinsed my fingers. And always the tenantless house watched me furtivelyfrom its humble windows.
The sun's brassy edge glittered above the blue chain of hills as Iwalked across the pasture towards the path that led winding among thealders to the brook below. I followed it in the deepening evening lightand sat down on a log, watching the water swirling through the flatstepping-stones where trout were swarming, leaping for the tiny wingedcreatures that drifted across the dusky water. And as I sat there Ibecame aware of sounds like voices; and at first, seeing no one, Ithought the noises came from the low bubbling monotone of the stream.Then I heard a voice murmuring: "I will do what you ask me--I will doeverything you desire."
Fearful of eavesdropping, I rose, peering ahead to make myself known,but saw nothing in the deepening dusk. On the point of calling, thewords died on my lips as the same voice sounded again, close to me:
"I pray you let me have my way. I will obey you. How can you doubt it?But I must obey in my own way."
And Sir George's deep, pleasant voice answered: "There is danger to youin this. I could not endure that, Magdalen."
They were on a path parallel to the trail in which I stood, separatedfrom me by a deep fringe of willow. I could not see them, though nowthey were slowly passing abreast of me.
"What do you care for a maid you so easily persuade?" she asked, with alittle laugh that rang pitifully false in the dusk.
"It is her own merciful heart that persuades her," he said, under hisbreath.
"I think my heart is merciful," she said--"more merciful than even Iknew. The restless blood in me set me afire when I saw the wrong done tothese patient people of the Long House.... And when they appealed to meI came here to justify them, and bid them stand for their ownhearths.... And now you come, teaching me the truth concerning right andwrong, and how God views justice and injustice; and how this tempest,once loosened, can never be chained until innocent and guilty are alikeingulfed.... I am very young to know all these things withoutcounsel.... I needed aid--and wisdom to teach me--your wisdom. Now, inmy turn, I shall teach; but you must let me teach in my way. There isonly one way that the Long House can be taught.... You do not believeit, but in this I am wiser than you--I know."
"Will you not tell me what you mean to do, Magdalen?"
"No, Sir George."
"When will you tell me?"
"Never. But you will know what I have done. You will see that I holdthree nations back. What else can you ask? I shall obey you. What moreis there?"
Her voice lingered in the air like an echo of flowing water, then diedaway a
s they moved on, until nothing sounded in the forest stillnesssave the low ripple of the stream. An hour later I picked my way back tothe house and saw Sir George standing in the starlight, and Mount besidehim, pointing towards the east.
"I've found the False-Faces' trysting-place," said Mount, eagerly, as Icame up. "I circled and struck the main Iroquois trail half a mileyonder in the bottom land--a smooth, hard trail, worn a foot deep, sir.And first comes an Onondaga war-party, stripped and painted somethingsickening, and I dogged 'em till they turned off into the bush to shoota doe full of arrows--though all had guns!--and left 'em eating. Thencomes three painted devils, all hung about with witch-drums and rattles,and I tied to them. And, would you believe it, sir, they kept me on afox-trot straight east, then south along a deer-path, till they struckthe Kennyetto at that sulphur spring under the big cliff--you know, SirGeorge, where Klock's old line cuts into the Mohawk country?"
"I know," said Sir George.
Mount took off his cap and scratched his ear.
"The forest is full of little heaps of flat stones. I could see mypainted friends with the drums and rattles stop as they ran by, and eachpull a flat stone from the river and add it to the nearest heap. Thenthey disappeared in the ravine--and I guess that settles it,Captain Ormond."
Sir George looked at me, nodding.
"That settles it, Ormond," he said.
I bade Mount cook us something to eat. Sir George looked after him as heentered the house, then began a restless pacing to and fro, arms looselyclasped behind him.
"About Magdalen Brant," he said, abruptly. "She will not speak to thethree nations for Butler's party. The child had no idea of this wretchedconspiracy to turn the savages loose in the valley. She thought ourpeople meant to drive the Iroquois from their own lands--a blackdisgrace to us if we ever do!... They implored her to speak to them incouncil. Did you know they believe her to be inspired? Well, they do.When she was a child they got that notion, and Guy Johnson and WalterButler have been lying to her and telling her what to say to the Oneidasand Onondagas."
He turned impatiently, pacing the yard, scowling, and gnawing his lip.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"She has gone to bed. She would eat nothing. We must take her back withus to Albany and summon the sachems of the three nations, with belts."
"Yes," I said, slowly. "But before we leave I must see the False-Faces."
"Did Schuyler make that a point?"
"Yes, Sir George."
"They say the False-Faces' rites are terrific," he muttered. "ThankGod, that child will not be lured into those hideous orgies byWalter Butler!"
We walked towards the house where Mount had prepared our food. I satdown on the door-step to eat my porridge and think of what lay before meand how best to accomplish it. And at first I was minded to send SirGeorge back with Magdalen Brant and take only Mount with me. But whetherit was a craven dread of despatching to Dorothy the man she was pledgedto wed, or whether a desire for his knowledge and experience prompted meto invite his attendance at the False-Faces' rites, I do not knowclearly, even now. He came out of the house presently, and I asked himif he would go with me.
"One of us should stay here with Magdalen Brant," he said, gravely.
"Is she not safe here?" I asked.
"You cannot leave a child like that absolutely alone," he answered.
"Then take her to Varicks'," I said, sullenly. "If she remains here someof Butler's men will be after her to attend the council."
"You wish me to go up-stairs and rouse her for a journey--now?"
"Yes; it is best to get her into a safe place," I muttered. "She maychange her ideas, too, betwixt now and dawn."
He re-entered the house. I heard his spurs jingling on the stairway,then his voice, and a rapping at the door above.
Jack Mount appeared, rifle in hand, wiping his mouth with his fingers;and together we paced the yard, waiting for Sir George and MagdalenBrant to set out before we struck the Iroquois trail.
Suddenly Sir George's heavy tread sounded on the stairs; he came to thedoor, looking about him, east and west. His features were pallid andset and seamed with stern lines; he laid an unsteady hand on my arm anddrew me a pace aside.
"Magdalen Brant is gone," he said.
"Gone!" I repeated. "Where?"
"I don't know!" he said, hoarsely.
I stared at him in astonishment. Gone? Where? Into the tremendousblackness of this wilderness that menaced us on all sides like a sea?And they had thought to tame her like a land-blown gull amongthe poultry!
"Those drops of Mohawk blood are not in her veins for nothing," I said,bitterly. "Here is our first lesson."
He hung his head. She had lied to him with innocent, smooth face, as allsuch fifth-castes lie. No jewelled snake could shed her skin as deftlyas this young maid had slipped from her shoulders the frail garment ofcivilization.
The man beside me stood as though stunned. I was obliged to speak to himthrice ere he roused to follow Jack Mount, who, at a sign from me, hadstarted across the dark hill-side to guide us to the trysting-place ofthe False-Faces' clan.
"Mount," I whispered, as he lingered waiting for us at thestepping-stones in the dark, "some one has passed this trail since Istood here an hour ago." And, bending down, I pointed to a high, flatstepping-stone, which glimmered wet in the pale light of the stars.
Sir George drew his tinder-box, struck steel to flint, and lighted ashort wax dip.
"Here!" whispered Mount.
On the edge of the sand the dip-light illuminated the small imprint of awoman's shoe, pointing southeast.
Magdalen Brant had heard the voices in the Long House.
"The mischief is done," said Sir George, steadily. "I take the blameand disgrace of this."
"No; I take it," said I, sternly. "Step back, Sir George. Blow out thatdip! Mount, can you find your way to that sulphur spring where the flatstones are piled in little heaps?"
The big fellow laughed. As he strode forward into the depthless sea ofdarkness a whippoorwill called.
"That's Elerson, sir," he said, and repeated the call twice.
The rifleman appeared from the darkness, touching his cap to me. "Thehorses are safe, sir," he said. "The General desires you to send yourreport through Sir George Covert and push forward with Mountto Stanwix."
He drew a sealed paper from his pouch and handed it to me, saying that Iwas to read it.
Sir George lighted his dip once more. I broke the seal and read myorders under the feeble, flickering light:
"TEMPORARY HEADQUARTERS, VARICK MANOR, June 1, 1777.
To Captain Ormond, on scout:
Sir,--The General commanding this department desires you to employ all art and persuasion to induce the Oneidas, Tuscaroras, and Onondagas to remain quiet. Failing this, you are again reminded that the capture of Magdalen Brant is of the utmost importance. If possible, make Walter Butler also prisoner, and send him to Albany under charge of Timothy Murphy; but, above all, secure the person of Magdalen Brant and send her to Varick Manor under escort of Sir George Covert. If, for any reason, you find these orders impossible of execution, send your report of the False-Faces' council through Sir George Covert, and push forward with the riflemen Mount, Murphy, and Elerson until you are in touch with Gansevoort's outposts at Stanwix. Warn Colonel Gansevoort that Colonel Barry St. Leger has moved from Oswego, and order out a strong scout towards Fort Niagara. Although Congress authorizes the employment of friendly Oneidas as scouts, General Schuyler trusts that you will not avail yourself of this liberty. Noblesse oblige! The General directs you to return only when you have carried out these orders to the best of your ability. You will burn this paper before you set out for Stanwix. I am, sir,
"Your most humble and obedient servant,
"JOHN HARROW, Major and A. D. C. to the Major-General Commanding. (Signed) PHILIP SCHUYLER, Major-General Comm
anding the Department of the North."
Hot with mortification at the wretched muddle I had already made of mymission, I thrust the paper into my pouch and turned to Elerson.
"You know Magdalen Brant?" I asked, impatiently.
"Yes, sir."
"There is a chance," I said, "that she may return to that house on thehill behind us. If she comes back you will see that she does not leavethe house until we return."
Sir George extinguished the dip once more. Mount turned and set off at aswinging pace along the invisible path; after him strode Sir George; Ifollowed, brooding bitterly on my stupidity, and hopeless now ofsecuring the prisoner in whose fragile hands the fate of theNorthland lay.
The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel Page 16