CHAPTER XXXI
"IN THE VALLEY"
On the 24th of June, 1777, Major General Lord Stirling had disobeyed theorders of His Excellency; and, in consequence, his flank was turned, helost two guns and 150 men.[44]
[Footnote 44: The British account makes it three guns and 200 men.]
It is the only military mistake that my Lord Stirling ever made; theonly lesson he ever had to learn in military judgment and obedience.
I was of his family for three years,--serving as one of his secretariesand aids-de-camp.
I was present at the battle of Brandywine; I served under him atGermantown in the fog, and at Monmouth; and never doubted that my LordStirling was a fine and capable and knightly soldier, if not possibly agreat one.
Yet, perhaps, there was only one great soldier in that long and bloodywar of the American Revolution. I need not name His Excellency.
* * * * *
For nearly three years, as I say, I served as a member of LordStirling's military family. The lights and shadows of those days of fireand ice, of plenty and starvation, of joy and despair, of monstrous andincredible effort, and of paralyzing inaction, are known now to all.
And the end is not yet--nor, I fear, very near to a finish. But we allawait our nation's destiny with confidence, I think;--and our own fatewith composure.
No man can pass through such years and remain what he was born. No mancan regret them; none can dare wish to live through such days again;none would shun them. And how many months, or years, maybe, of fightingstill remain before us, no man can foretell. But the grim men in theirscare-crow regimentals who today, in the present year of 1780, areclosing ranks to prepare for future battles, even in the bitteraftermath of defeat, seem to know, somehow, that this nation isdestined to survive.
* * * * *
From the month of August in 1777 to May, 1780, I had not seen Penelope;I had asked for no leave to travel, knowing, by reason of myconfidential office and better than many others, how desperate was ourarmy's plight and how utterly every able-bodied man was needed.
In consequence, I had not seen my own Northland in all those months; Ihad not seen Penelope. Letters I wrote and sent to her when opportunityoffered; letters came from her, and always written from Caughnawaga.
For it appeared that Douw Fonda had never consented to return to Albany;but, by some miracle of God, the Valley so far had suffered no seriousharm. Yet, the terrible business at Wyoming renewed my every crudestfear for the safety of Caughnawaga; and when, in the same year, aContinental regiment of the Pennsylvania Line marched out from Schoharieto destroy Unadilla, I, who knew the Iroquois, knew that their revengewas certain to follow.
It followed in that very year; and Cherry Valley became a bloodsoakedheap of cinders; and there, under Iroquois knife and hatchet, and underthe merciless clubbed muskets of the _blue-eyed_ Indians, many of my oldfriends died--all of the Wells family save only one--old and young andbabies. What a crime was done by young Walter Butler on that fearfulday! And I sometimes wonder, now, what our generous but sentimentalyoung Marquis thinks of his deed of mercy when he saw and pitied WalterButler in an Albany prison, sick and under sentence of death, andprocured medical treatment for him and more comfortable quarters in aprivate residence.
And Butler drugged his sentry and slipped our fingers like a rat and wasoff in a trice and gone to his bloody destiny in the West!Lord--Lord!--the things men do to men!
* * * * *
When Brant burned Minnisink I trembled anew for Caughnawaga; andbreathed freely only when our General Sullivan marched on Tioga with sixthousand men.
Yet, though he cleaned out the foul and hidden nests of the IroquoisConfederacy, I, knowing these same Iroquois, knew in my dreading heartthat Iroquois vengeance would surely strike again, and this time at theValley.
Because, out of the Mohawk Valley, came all their chiefest woes;Oriskany, which set the whole Six Nations howling their dead;Stillwater; Unadilla; Tioga; The Chemung--these battles tore theIroquois to fragments.
The Long House, in ruins, rang with the frantic wailing of four fiercenations. The Senecas screamed in their pain from the Western Gate; theCayugas and Onondagas were singing the death song of their nations; theproud Keepers of the Eastern Gate, driven headlong into exile, gatheredlike bleeding panthers on the frontier, their glowing gaze intent andpatient, watching the usurpers and marking them for vengeance anddestruction.
To me, personally, the conflict in my Northland had become unutterablyhorrible.
Our battles in the Jerseys, in Pennsylvania, in Delaware, and farthersouth, held for me no such horror and repugnance; for if the panoply ofwar be dreadful, its pomp and circumstance make it endurable and to beunderstood by human beings.
But to me there was something terrifying in secret ambush and ghastlymassacre amid the eternal twilight of the Northern wilderness, wherepainted men stole through still places, intent on murder; where deathwas swift and silent, where all must watch and none dared rest; wherechildren wept in their sleep, and mothers lay listening all night long,and hollow-eyed men cut their corn with sickle in one hand and rifle inthe other.
We, in the Jerseys, watching red-coat and Hessian, heard of scalps takenin the North from babies lying in their cradles--aye, the very watch-dogat the gate was scalped; and painted Tories threw their victims overrail fences to hang there, disembowelled, like dead game.
We heard terrible and inhuman tales of Simon Girty, of Benjy Beacraft,of Billy Newbury--all old neighbours of mine, and now turnedchild-killers and murderers of helpless women--all painted men, now,ferocious and without mercy.
But these men had never been more than ignorant peasants and dulltillers of the soil for thriftier masters. Yet they were no cruellerthan others of birth and education. And what was I to think of WalterButler and other gentlemen of like condition,--officers who haddelivered Tom Boyd of Derry to the Senecas,--Colonel Paris to theMohawks!
The day we heard that Sergeant Newbury and Henry Hare were taken, Ithanked God on my knees. And when our General Clinton hung them both forhuman monsters as well as spies, then I thanked God again.... And wrotetenderly to Claudia, poor misguided girl!--condoling with her--not forher grief and the death of Henry Hare[45]--but that the black disgraceof it should so nearly touch and soil her.
[Footnote 45: In the writer's possession is a letter written by thewidow of Lieutenant Hare, retailing the circumstances of his executionand praying for financial relief from extreme poverty. General SirFrederick Haldimand indorses the application in his own handwriting andrecommends a pension. The widow mentions her six little children.]
I have received, so far, no letter from Claudia in reply. But LordStirling tells me that she reigns a belle in New York; and that she hathwrought havoc among the Queen's Rangers, and particularly in De Lancy'sHorse and the gay cavalry of Colonel Tarleton.
I pray her pretty, restless wings may not be singed or broken, orflutter, dying, in the web of Fate.
Nick Stoner's father, Henry, that grim old giant with his two earhoopsin his leathery ears, and with all his brawn, and mighty strength, andthe lurking scowl deep bitten betwixt his tiger eyes,--old Henry Stoneris dead and scalped.
Nick, who is now fife-major, has writ me this in a letter full of oathsand curses for the Iroquois who have done this shame to him and his.
For every hair on old Henry's mangled head, said he, an Iroquois shouldspit out his death-yell. He tells me that he means to quit the army andenter the business of tanning Iroquois hides to make boots andmoccasins; and says that Tim Murphy has knee moccasins as fine as everhe saw, and made out o' leather skinned off an Indian's legs!
Faugh! Grief and shame have made Nick blood-mad.... Yet, I know not whatI should do, or how conduct, if she who is nearest to my heart shouldever suffer from an Indian.
* * * * *
This sweet April day, taking the air near
Lord Stirling's marquee, I seethe first white butterflies a-fluttering like windblown bits o' paperacross the new grass.... In the North the woodlands should be soft withsnow; and, in warm places, perhaps the butterfly we call the beauty ofCamberwell may sit sipping the first drops o' maple sap.... And thereshould be a scent of pink arbutus in the breeze, if winds be soft....Lord--Lord--I am become sick for home.... And would see my glebe againin Fonda's Bush; and hear the spring roaring of the Kennyetto betweenmelting banks.... And listen to the fairy thunder of the cock partridgedrumming on his log.
My neighbours are all dead or gone away, they say. My house is a heap ofwind-stirred ashes,--as are all houses in Fonda's Bush save onlyStoner's. My cleared land sprouts young forests; my fences are gone;wolves travel my paths; deer pasture my hill; and my new orchard standsdead and girdled by wood-mouse and rabbit.... And still I be sick for asight of it that was once my home,--and ever shall be while I possess ahandful of mother earth to call mine own.
It is near the end of April and I seem sick, but would not have BillyAlexander think I mope.
I have a letter from Penelope. She lately saw a small scout on theMohawk, it being a part of M'Kean's corps; and she recognized andconversed with several men who once composed my first war party--Jean deSilver, Benjamin De Luysnes, Joe de Golyer of Frenchman's Creek, andGodfrey Shew of Fish House.
They were on their way to Canada by way of Sacandaga, to learn what SirJohn might be about.... God knows I also desire very earnestly to knowwhat the sinister Baronet may be planning.
Penelope writes me that Tahioni the Wolf is dead in his glory; and thatHiakatoo took his scalp and heart.... I suppose that is glory enough forany dead young warrior, but the intelligence fills me with foreboding.And Kwiyeh the Screech-owl is dead at Lake Desolation, and so is Hanatohthe Water-snake, where some Praying Indians caught them in a canoe andmade a dreadful example of my two young comrades.... But at least theywere permitted to sing their death-songs, and so died happy--if thatindeed be happiness....
The Cadys, who were gone off to Canada, and John and Phil Helmer, havebeen seen in green uniforms and red; and Adam Helmer has sworn an oathto seek them, follow them, and slay them for the bloody turncoat dogsthey are. Lord, Lord, how hast Thou changed Thy children into creaturesof the wild to prey one upon another till all the Northland becomes oncemore a desert and empty of human life!
It is May. I sicken for Penelope and for my home.
* * * * *
I am given a furlough! I asked it not. Lord Stirling dismisses me--witha grin. Pretense of inspection covering the Johnstown district, and tocount the batteaux between Schenectady and the Creek of Askalege! Whichis but sheer nonsense; and I had as well spend the time a-telling of mythumbs--which Lord Stirling knows as well as I is the pastime of anidiot.... God bless him!
I am given a month, to arrange my personal affairs. I have asked fornothing; and am given a month!... And stand here at the tent door alla-tremble while my mare is saddled, not trusting my voice lest it breakand shame me before all....
I close my _carnet_ and strap it with a buckle.
* * * * *
I am on my way! Shad-bushes drop a million snowy petals in the soft Maybreeze; dogwood is in bloom; orchards are become great nosegays of pinkand silver. Everywhere birds are singing.
And through this sweet Paradise I ride in my dingy regimentals; but mypistols are clean and my leathers; and my sword and spurs are bright,and chime gaily as I ride beside the great gray river northward, evernorthward to my sweetheart and my home.
I baited at Tarrytown. The next night I was at Poughkeepsie, where thelandlord was a low-Dutchman and a skinflint too.
I passed opposite to where Kingston lay in ashes, burned wantonly by abrute. And after that I advanced but slowly, for roads were bad and folkdour and suspicious--which state of mind I also shared and had notraffic with those I encountered, and chose to camp in the woods, too,rather than risk a night under the dubious roofs I saw, even thoughinvited.
Only near the military posts in the Highlands did I feel truly secureuntil, one day at sunrise, I beheld the shining spires of Albany, andhundreds of gilded weather-cocks all shining me a welcome.
But in Albany streets I encountered silent people who looked upon mewith no welcome in their haunted gaze; and everywhere I saw the samestrange look,--pinched faces, brooding visages, a strained, intent gaze,yet vacant too, as though their eyes, which looked at me, saw nothingsave some hidden vision within their secret minds.
I baited at the Half-Moon; and now I learned for the first whatanxieties harassed these good burghers of the old Dutch city. For rumourhad come the night before on the heels of a galloping light-horseman,that Sir John was expected to enter the Valley by the Sacandaga route;and that already strange Indians had been seen near Askalege.
How these same rumours originated nobody seemed to know. The lighthorseman had them from batteaux-men at Schenectady. But who carried suchalarming news to the Queen's Fort nobody seemed to know, only that thegarrison had become feverishly active, and three small scouts werepreparing to start for Schoharie and Caughnawaga.
All this from the landlord, a gross, fat, speckled man who trembled likea dish of jelly as he told it.
But as I went out to climb into my saddle, leaving my samp and morningdraught untasted, comes a-riding a gay company of light horse, carelessand debonaire. Their officer saluted my uniform and, as I spurred upbeside him and questioned him, he smilingly assured me that the rumourshad no foundation; that if Sir John came at all he would surely arriveby the Susquehanna; and that our scouts would give warning to the Valleyin ample time.
God knows that what he said comforted me somewhat, yet I did not chooseto lose any time at breakfast, either; so bought me a loaf at abake-shop, and ate as I rode forward.
At noon I rode into the Queen's Fort and there fed Kaya. I saw nounusual activity there; none in the town, none on the river.
Officers of whom I made inquiry had heard nothing concerning Sir John;did not expect a raid from him before autumn anyway, and vowed thatGeneral Sullivan had scotched the Iroquois snake in its den and driventhe fear o' God into Sir John and the two Butlers with the cannon atChemung.
As I rode westward again, I saw all around me men at work in the fields,plowing here, seeding there, clearing brush-fields yonder. There seemedto be no dread among these people; all was calm as the fat Dutch cattlethat stood belly deep in meadows, watching me out o' gentle, stupid eyesas I rode on toward Caughnawaga.
A woman whom I encountered, and who was driving geese, stopped to answermy inquiries. From her I learned that Colonel Fisher, at Caughnawaga,had received a letter from Colonel Jacob Klock six days ago, whichstated that Sir John Johnson was marching on the Valley. But she assuredme that this news was now entirely discredited by everybody, because onSunday a week ago Captain Walter Vrooman, of Guilderland, had marchedhis company to Caughnawaga, but on arriving was told he was not needed,and so continued on to Johnstown.
I do not know why all these assurances from the honest people of theValley did not ease my mind.
Around me as I rode all was sunny, still, and peaceful, yet deep in myheart always I seemed to feel the faint pulse of fear as I lookedaround me upon a smiling region once familiar and upon which I had notlaid eyes for nearly three whole years.
And my nearness to Penelope, too, so filled me with happy impatiencethat the last mile seemed a hundred leagues on the dusty Schenectadyroad.
* * * * *
I had just come into view of the first chimneys of Caughnawaga, and wasriding by an empty waggon driven by an old man, when, very far away, Iheard a gun-shot.
I drew bridle sharply and asked the man in the waggon if he also hadheard it; but his waggon rattled and he had not. However, he also pulledup; and we stood still, listening.
Then, again, and softened by distance, came another gun-shot.
The old man thoug
ht it might be some farmer emptying his piece to cleanit.
As he spoke, still far away along the river we heard several shots firedin rapid succession.
With that, the old man fetched a yell: "Durn-ding it!" he screeched, "ifSir John's in the Valley it ain't no place for my old woman and me!" Andhe lashed his horses with the reins, and drove at a crazy gallop towardthe distant firing.
At the same moment I spurred Kaya, who bounded forward over the rise ofland; and instantly I saw smoke in the sky beyond the Johnstown Road,and caught a glimpse of other fires in another direction, very near towhere should stand the dwellings of Jim Davis and Sampson Sammons.
And now, seated by the roadside just ahead, I saw a young man whom Iknew by sight, named Abe Veeder; and I pulled in my horse and called tohim.
He would not move or notice me, and seemed distracted; so I spurred upto him and caught him by the shirt collar. At that he jumps up in afright, and:
"Oh, Jesus!" he bawls, "Sir John's red devils are murdering everybodyfrom Johnstown to the River!"
"Where are they?" I cried. "Answer me and compose yourself!"
"Where are they?" he shrieked. "Why, they're everywhere! LodowickPutman's house is afire and they've murdered him and Aaron. AmasaStevens' house is burning, and he hangs naked and scalped on his gardenfence!
"They killed Billy Gault and that other man from the old country, andthey murdered Captain Hansen in his bed, and his house is all afire!Everything in the Valley is afire!" he screamed, wringing his scorchedhands, "Tribes Hill is burning, Fisher's is on fire, and the Colonel andJohn and Harmon all murdered--all scalped and lying dead in thebarn!----"
"Listen to me!" I cried, shaking the wretched fellow, "when did thishappen? Are Sir John's people still here? Where are they?"
"It happened last night and lasted after sunrise this morning," heblubbered. "Everything is burning from Schoharie to the Nose, andthey'll come back and kill the rest of us----"
I flung him aside, struck spurs, and galloped for Cayadutta Lodge.
Everywhere I looked I saw smoke; barns were but heaps of live coals,houses marked only by charred cellars out of which flames leaped.
Yet, I saw the church still standing, and Dr. Romeyn's parsonage stillintact, though all doors and windows stood wide open and bedding andbroken furniture lay scattered over the grass.
But Adam Fonda's house was burning and the dwelling of Major Jelles wason fire; and now I caught sight of Douw Fonda's great stone house, withits two wings and tall chimneys of hewn stone.
It was not burning, but shutters hung from their hinges, window glasswas shattered, doors smashed in, and all over the trampled garden andlawn lay a debris of broken furniture, tattered books, bedding,fragments of fine china and torn garments.
And there, face downward on the bloody grass, lay old Douw Fonda, hisaged skull split to the backbone, his scalp gone.
Such a sick horror seized me that I reeled in my saddle and the worldgrew dark before my eyes for a moment.
But my mind cleared again and my eyes, also; and I sat my horse, pistolin hand, searching the desolation about me for a sign of aught thatremained alive in this awful spot.
I heard no more gun-shots up the river. The silence was terrible.
At length, ill with fear, I got out of my saddle and led Kaya to theshattered gate and there tied her.
Then I entered that ruined mansion to search it for what I feared mosthorribly to discover,--searched every room, every closet, every cornerfrom attic to cellar. And then came out and took my horse by the bridle.
For there was nobody within the house, living or dead--no sign of deathanywhere save there on the grass, where that poor corpse lay, agrotesque thing sprawling indecently in its blood.
Then, as I stood there, a man appeared, slinking up the road. He was inhis shirt sleeves, wore no hat, and his face and hair were streaked redfrom a wet wound over his left ear. He carried a fire-lock; and when hediscovered me in my Continental uniform he swerved and shuffled towardme, making a hopeless gesture as he came on.
"They've all gone off," he called out to me, "green-coats, red-coats andsavages. I saw them an hour since crossing the river some three milesabove. God! What a harm have they done us here on this accursed day!"
He crept nearer and stood close beside me and looked down at the body ofDouw Fonda. But in my overwhelming grief I no longer noticed him.
"Why, sir," says he, "a devil out o' hell would have spared yonder goodold man. But Sir John's people slew him. I saw him die. I saw the murderdone with my own eyes."
Startled from my agonized reflections, I turned and gazed at him, stillstunned by the calamity which had crushed me.
"I say I saw that old man die!" he repeated shrilly. "I saw them scalphim, too!"
I summoned all my courage: "Did--did you know Penelope Grant?"
"Aye."
"Is--is she dead?" I whispered.
"I think she is, sir. Listen, sir: I am Jan Myndert, Bouw-Meester toDouw Fonda. I saw Mistress Grant this morning. It was after sunrise andour servants and black slaves had been long a-stirring, and soupaana-cooking, and none dreamed of any trouble. No, sir! Why--God help usall!--the black wenches were at their Monday washing, and the farm bellwas ringing, and I was at the new barrack a-sorting out seed.
"And the old gentleman, _he_ was up and dressed and supped his porridgealong with me, sir; for he rose always with the sun, sir, feeble thoughhe seemed.
"I----" he passed a cinder-blackened hand across his hair; drew it awayred and sticky; stood gazing at the stain with a stupid air until Icould not endure his silence; and burst out:
"Where did you last see Mistress Grant?"
But my violence confused him, and it seemed difficult for him to speakwhen finally he found voice at all:
"Sir--as I have told you, I had been sorting seeds for early planting,in the barracks," he said tremulously, "and I was walking, as Iremember, toward the house, when, of a sudden, I heard musket-firingtoward Johnstown, and not very far distant.
"With that comes a sound of galloping and rattle o' wheels, and I seeBarent Wemple standing up in his red-painted farm waggon, and whippinghis fine colts, and a keg o' rum bouncing behind him in thewaggon-box,--which rolled off as the horses reached the river--andgalloped into it--them two colts, sir,--breast deep in the river!
"Then I shouts down to him: 'Barent! Barent! Is it them red devils ofSir John? Or why be you in such a God-a'mighty hurry?'
"But Barent he is too busy cutting his traces to notice me; and up ontoone o' the colts he jumps and seizes t'other by the head, and awayacross the shoals, leaving his new red waggon there in the water,hub-deep.
"Then I run to the house and I fall to shouting: 'Look out! Look out!Sir John is in the Valley!' And then I run to the house, where my gunstands, and where the black boys and wenches are all a-screeching anda-praying.
"Somebody calls out that Captain Fisher's house is on fire; and then, ofa sudden, I see a flock o' naked, whooping devils come leaping down theroad.
"Then, sir, I saw Mistress Grant in her shift come out in the dew andstand yonder in her bare feet, a-looking across at them red devils,bounding and leaping about the Fisher place.
"Then, out o' the house toddles Douw Fonda with his gold headed cane andhis favorite book. Sir, though the poor old gentleman was childish, hestill knew an Indian when he saw one. 'Fetch me a gun!' he cries. 'Itake command here!' And then he sees Mistress Grant, and he pipes out inhis cracked voice: 'Stand your ground, Penelope! Have no fear, my child.I command this post! I will protect you!'
"The green-coats and savages were now swarming around the house of MajorJelles, whooping and yelling and capering and firing off their guns.Bang-bang-bang! Jesus! the noise of their musketry stopped your ears.
"Then Mistress Grant she took the old gentleman by the arm and wasbegging him to go with her through the orchard, where we now could seeMrs. Romeyn running up the hill and carrying her two little children inher arms.
"I
also went to Mr. Fonda and took him by the other arm, but he walkedwith us only to the porch and there seized my gun that I had leftthere.
"'Stand fast, Penelope!' he pipes up, 'I will defend your life andhonour!' And further he would not budge, but turns mulish, yet toofeeble to lift the gun he clung to with a grip I could not loosen lest Ibreak his bones.
"We got him, with his gun a-dragging, into the house, but could forcehim no farther, for he resisted and reproached me, demanding that Istand and face the enemy.
"At that, through the window of the library wing I see a body ofgreen-coats,--some three hundred or better,--marching down theSchenectady road. And some score of these, and as many Indians, wereleaving the Major's house, which they had fired; and now all began torun toward us, firing off their muskets at our house as they came on.
"I was grazed, as you see, sir, and the blow dashed out my senses for amoment. But when I came alive I found I had fallen beside the wainscotof the east wall, where is a secret spring panel made for Mr. Fonda'sbest books. My fall jarred it open; and into this closet I crawled; andthe next moment the library was filled with the trample of yelling men.
"I heard Mistress Grant give a kind of choking cry, and, through thecrack of the wainscot door, I saw a green-coat put one hand over hermouth and hold her, cursing her for a rebel slut and telling her to hushher damned head or he'd do the proper business for her.
"An Indian I knew, called Quider, and having only one arm, took hold ofMr. Fonda and led him from the library and out to the lawn, where Icould see them both through the west window. The Indian acted kind tothe old gentleman, gave him his hat and his book and cane, and conductedhim south across the lawn. I could see it all plainly through thewainscot crack.
"Then, of a sudden, the one-armed Indian swung his hatchet and clovethat helpless and bewildered old man clean down to his neck cloth. Andthere, before all assembled, he took the old man's few white hairs for ascalp!
"Then a green-coat called out to ask why he had slain such an old andfeeble man, who had often befriended him; and the one-armed Indian,Quider, replied that if he hadn't killed Douw Fonda somebody else mighthave done so, and so he, Quider, thought he'd do it and get thescalp-bounty for himself.
"And all this time the Indians and green-coats were running like wildwolves all over the house, stealing, destroying, yelling, flinging outbooks from the library shelves, ripping off curtains and bed-covers,flinging linen from chests, throwing crockery about, and keeping up acontinual screeching.
"Sir, I do not know why they did not set fire to the house. I do notknow how my hiding place remained unnoticed.
"From where I kneeled on the closet floor, and my face all over blood, Icould see Mistress Grant across the room, sitting on a sofa, whither thecursing green-coat had flung her. She was deathly white but calm, anddid not seem afraid; and she answered the filthy beasts coolly enoughwhen they addressed her.
"Then a big chair, which they had ripped up to look for money, waspushed against my closet, and the back of it closed the wainscot crack,so that I could no longer see Mistress Grant.
"And that is all I know, sir. For the firing began again outside; theyall ran out, and when I dared creep forth Mistress Grant was gone....And I lay still for a time, and then found a jug o' rum. When I couldstand up I followed the destructives at a distance. And, an hour since,I saw the last stragglers crossing the river rifts some three milesabove us.... And that is all, I think, sir."
* * * * *
And that was all.... The end of all things.... Or so it seemed to me.
For now I cared no longer for life. The world had become horrible; thebright sunshine seemed a monstrous sacrilege where it blazed down,unveiling every detail of this ghastly Golgotha--this valley in ashesnow made sacred by my dear love's martyrdom. Slowly I looked around me,still stupefied, helpless, not knowing where to seek my dead, which wayto turn.
And now my dulled gaze became fixed upon the glittering river, wheresomething was moving.... And presently I realize it was a batteau, poledslowly shoreward by two tall riflemen in their fringes.
"Holloa! you captain-mon out yonder!" bawled one o' them, his greatvoice coming to me through his hollowed hand.
Leading my horse I walked toward them as in a fiery nightmare, and thesun but a vast and dancing blaze in my burning eyes. One of the riflemenleaped ashore:
"Is anny wan alive in this place?" he began loudly; then: "Jasus! It'sCaptain Drogue. F'r the love o' God, asthore! Are they all dead entirelyin Caughnawaga, savin' yourself, sorr, an' the Dominie's wife an'childer, an' the yellow-haired lass o' Douw Fonda----"
I caught him by the rifle-cape. My clutch shook him; and I was shaking,too, so I could not pronounce clearly:
"Where is Penelope Grant?" I stammered. "Where did you see her, TimMurphy?"
"Who's that?" he demanded, striving to loosen my grip. "Ah, the poorlad, he's crazy! Lave me loose, avie! Is it the yellow-haired lass yeask for?"
"Yes--where is she?"
"God be good to you, Jack Drogue, she's on the hill yonder with Mrs.Romeyn an' the two childer!----" He took my arm, turned me partlyaround, and pointed:
"D'ye mind the pine? The big wan, I mean, betchune the two ellums? 'Twasan hour since that we seen her foreninst the pine-tree yonder, an' theRomeyn childer hidin' their faces in her skirt----"
I swung my horse and flung myself across the saddle.
"She's safe, I warrant," cried Murphy, as I rode off; "Sir John's divilswas gone off two hours whin we seen her safe and sound on the longhill!"
I galloped over the shattered fence which was still afire where thecharred rails lay in the grass.
As I spurred up the bank opposite, I caught sight of a mounted officeron the stony Johnstown road, advancing at a trot, and behind him a massof sweating militia jogging doggedly down hill in a rattle of pebblesand dust.
When the mounted officer saw me he shouted through the dust-cloud thatSir John had been at the Hall, seized his plate and papers, and a lot ofprisoners, and had murdered innocent people in Johnstown streets.
Tim Murphy and his comrade, Elerson, also came up, calling out to theJohnstown men that they had come from Schoharie, and that both militiaand Continentals were marching to the Valley.
There was some cheering. I pushed my horse impatiently through the crowdand up the hill. But a little way farther on the road was choked withtroops arriving on a run; and they had brought cohorns and theirammunition waggon, and God knows what!--alas! too late to oppose orpunish the blood-drenched demons who had turned the Caughnawaga Valleyto a smoking hell.
Now, my horse was involved with all these excited people, and I,exasperated, thought I never should get clear of the soldiery andcohorns, but at length pushed a way through to the woods on my right,and spurred my mare into them and among the larger elms and pines wheresheep had pastured, and there was less brush.
I could not see the great pine now, but thought I had marked it down;and so bore again to the right, where through the woods I could see aglimmer of sun along cleared land.
It was rocky; my horse slipped and I was obliged to walk him upwardamong stony places, where moss grew green and deep.
And now, through a fringe of saplings, I caught a glimpse of the twoelms and the tall pine between.
"Penelope!" I cried. Then I saw her.
She was standing as once she stood the first time ever I laid eyes onher. The sun shone in her face and made of her yellow hair a glory. AndI saw her naked feet shining snow white, ankle deep in the wet grass.
As though sun-dazzled she drew one hand swiftly across her eyes when Irode up, leaned over, and swung her up into my arms. And earth and skyand air became one vast and thrilling void through which no soundstirred save the wild beating of her heart and mine.
Then, as from an infinite distance, came a thin cry, piercing our stillparadise.
Her arms loosened on my neck; we looked down as in a dream; and therewere the little Romeyn children in
the grass, naked in their shifts, andholding tightly to my stirrup.
And now we saw light horsemen leading their mounts this way, and thepoor Dominie's lady carried on a trooper's saddle, her bare footclinging to the shortened stirrup.
Other troopers lifted the children to their saddles; a great hubbubbegan below us along the Schenectady highway, where I now heard drumsand the shrill marching music of an arriving regiment.
I reached behind me, unstrapped my military mantle, clasped it aroundPenelope, swathed her body warmly, and linked up the chain. Then Itouched Kaya with my left knee--she guiding left at such slightpressure--and we rode slowly over the sheep pasture and then along thesheep-walk, westward until we arrived at the bars. The bars were downand lay scattered over the grass. And thus we came quietly out into theJohnstown road.
So still lay Penelope in my arms that I thought, at times, she wasasleep; but ever, as I bent over her, her dark eyes unclosed, gazing upat me in tragic silence.
Cautiously we advanced along the Johnstown road, Kaya cantering wherethe way was easy.
We passed ruined houses, still smoking, but Penelope did not see them.And once I saw a dead man lying near a blackened cellar; and a deadhound near him.
Long before we came in sight of Johnstown I could hear the distantquaver of the tocsin, where, on the fort, the iron bell rang ceaselesslyits melancholy warning.
And after a while I saw a spire above distant woods, and the setting sunbrilliant on gilt weather-vanes.
I bent over Penelope: "We arrive," I whispered.
One little hand stole out and drew aside the collar of the cloak; andshe turned her head and saw the roofs and chimneys shining red in thewestering sun.
"Jack," she said faintly.
"I listen, beloved."
"Douw Fonda is dead."
"Hush! I know it, love."
"Douw Fonda is with God since sunrise," she whispered.
"Yes, I know.... And many others, too, Penelope."
She shook her head vaguely, looking up at me all the while.
"It came so swiftly.... I was still abed.... The guns awoke me.... Andthe blacks screaming. I ran to the window of my chamber.
"A Continental soldier was driving an army cart toward the Johnstownroad. And I saw him jump out of his cart,[46] cut his traces, mount,turn his horse, and gallop down the valley.... That was the first realfear that assailed me, when I saw that soldier flee.... I went belowimmediately; and saw Indians near the Fisher place.... But I could notpersuade Mr. Fonda to escape with me through the orchard.... He wouldnot go, Jack--he would not listen to me or to the Bouw-Meester, who alsohad hold of him.
[Footnote 46: The gossipy, industrious, and diverting historian, Simms,whose account of this incident would seem to imply that Penelope Grantherself related it to him, gives a different version of her testimony.The statement he offers is signed: "_Mrs. Penelope Fortes. Her maidenname was Grant._" So Simms may have had it first hand.]
"And when we went into the library somebody fired through the window andhit the Bouw-Meester.... I don't know what happened to him or where hefell.... For the next moment the house was full of green-coats andsavages.... They led Mr. Fonda out of the house.... An Indian killed himwith a hatchet.... A green-coat took hold of me and said he meant tocut my throat for a damned rebel slut! But an Indian pushed him away....They disputed. An officer of the Indian Department came into the libraryand told me to go out to the orchard and escape if I was able.
"Then a Tory neighbour of ours, Joseph Clement, came in and shouted outin low Dutch: Laat de vervlukten rabble starven!'[47] ... A green-coatclubbed his musket to slay me, but the Indian officer caught the gun andcalled out to me: 'Run! Run, you yellow-haired slut!'
[Footnote 47: In Valley Dutch: "Let the accursed rebel die!"]
"But I dared not stir to pass by where Clement stood with his gun. Icaught up a heavy silver candle-stick, broke the window with two blows,and leaped out into the orchard.... Clement ran around the house and Isaw him enter the orchard, carrying a gun and looking for me; but I layvery still under the lilac hedge; and he must have thought I had rundown to the river, for he went off that way.
"Then I got to my feet and crept up the hill.... And presently saw Mrs.Romeyn and the children toiling up the hill; and helped her carrythem.... All the morning we hid there and looked down at the burninghouses.... And after a long while the firing grew more distant.
"And then--and then--_you_ came! My dear lord!--my lover.... My ownlover who has come to me at last!"
AFTERMATH
I know not how it shall be with me and mine! In this year of our Lord,1782, in which I write, here in the casemates at West Point, the warrages throughout the land, and there seems no end to it, nor none likelythat I can see.
That horrid treason which, through God's mercy, did not utterly confoundus and deliver this fortress to our enemy, still seems to brood overthis calm river and the frowning hills that buttress it, like a low,dark cloud.
But I believe, under God, that our cause is now clean purged of allvillainy, and all that is sordid, base, and contemptible.
I believe, under God, that we shall accomplish our freedom and recoverour ancient and English liberties in the end.
That dull and German King, who sits yonder across the water, can neveragain stir in any American the faintest echo of that allegiance whichonce all offered simply and without question.
Nor can his fat jester, my Lord North, contrive any new pleasantry toseduce us, or any new and bloody deviltry to make us fear the wrath ofGod's anointed or the monkey chatter of his clown.
For us, the last king has sat upon a throne; the last privilege has beenaccorded to the last and noble drone; the last slave's tax has long beenpaid.
Yet--and it sounds strange--_England_ still seems _home_ to us.... Wethink of it as home.... It is in our blood; and I am not ashamed to sayit. And I think a hundred years may pass, and, in our hearts, shallstill remain deep, deep, a tenderness for that far, ocean-severed homeour grandsires knew as England.
I say it spite o' the German King, spite of his mad ministers, spite o'British wrath and scorn and jibes and cruelty. For, by God! I believethat we ourselves who stand in battle here are the true mind and heartand loins of England, fighting to slay her baser self!
Well, we are here in the Highlands, my sweetheart-wife and I.... I whonow wear the regimentals of a Continental Colonel, and have a regimentas pretty as ever I see--though it be not over-strong in numbers. But,oh, the powder toughened line o' them in their patched blue-and-buff!And their bright bayonets! Sir, I would not boast; and ask I pardon ifit seems so....
Below us His Excellency, calm, imperturbable, holds in his hand ourdestinies, juggling now with Sir Henry Clinton, now with my LordCornwallis, as suits his temper and his purpose.
The traitor, Arnold, ravages where he may; the traitor, Lee, sulks inretreat; and Conway has confessed his shame; and the unhappy braggart,Gates, now mourns his laurels, wears his willows, and sits alone, abroken and preposterous man.
I think no day passes but I thank God for my Lord Stirling, for our wiseGenerals Greene and Knox and Wayne, for the gallant young Marquis, soloved and trusted by His Excellency.
But war is long--oh, long and wearying!--and a dismal and vexingbusiness for the most.
I, being in garrison at this fortress, which is the keystone of our veryliberties, find that, in barracks as in the field, every hour brings itsanxieties and its harassing duties.
Yet, thank God, I have some hours of leisure.... And we have leased apretty cottage within our works--and our two children seem wondroushealthy and content.... Both have yellow hair. I wish they had theirmother's lovely eyes!... But, for the rest, they have her beauty and herhealth.
And shall, no doubt, inherit all the beauty of her mind and heart.
* * * * *
Comes a soldier servant where I sit writing:
"Sir: Colonel Forbes' lady; her compliments to Colonel Fo
rbes, anddesires to be informed how soon my Colonel will be free to drink a dishof tea with my lady?"
"Pray offer my compliments and profound respect to my lady, Billy, andsay that I shall have the honour of drinking a dish of tea with my ladywithin no more than five amazing minutes!"
And so he salutes and off he goes; and I gather up the sheaf of memoirsI have writ and lock them in my desk against another day.
And so take leave of you, with every kindness, because Penelope shouldnot sit waiting.
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