Altsheler, Joseph - [Novel 09]

by In Hostile Red (lit)

  "Well, the Lord lovetli a cheerful giver," said Mother Melrose, with unction.

  Both Englishmen laughed again, and with great heartiness. Evidently they were men who knew that life was worth living, and were not prone to grieve over evils unbefallen. I was sorry that I could not laugh with them. There was no smile on the face of the ill-favored Hessian. His eyes wandered about the room, but he seemed to have no suspicion. I took it that his sour temper was the result of chronic discontent.

  "What ails you, Steinfeldt?" asked Osborne " Why don't you look happy ? Is n't the hospitality of the house all that you wish ? "

  " Have n't you any wine ? " asked Steinfcldt. " I can't drink the cursed drinks of this country, cider and such stuff! faugh!"

  Mother Melrose produced the same bottle from 19 289

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  which she had poured wine for us, and filled the glasses.

  "That's better," said Steinfeldt. "Fill them again, can't you?" His eyes began to sparkle, and his face to flush. It was easy to tell his master passion. But Mother Melrose filled the glasses again, and then a third time, producing a second bottle. The house was better stocked than I had thought it could possibly be. Steinfeldt's temper began to improve under the influence of the liquor, and he grew talkative. Evidently Mother Melrose's taunt about the British evacuation of Philadelphia rankled in his mind, though the two Englishmen themselves had passed it off easily enough.

  " We will come back," he said. " You don't imagine that we will let Mr. Washington keep Philadelphia long?"

  " I don't think he will ask you about it," replied Mother Melrose.

  " It 's too good a country to give up," continued Steinfeldt, "and we must keep it. It is rich land, and the women are fair. The men may not want us ; but the women do."

  One of the Englishmen angrily bade him be silent; but the wine was in his blood.

  " But the women do want us, don't they ? " he repeated to Mother Melrose.

  She lifted her hand, which was both large and muscular, and slapped him in the face. It was no light blow, the crack of it was like that of a pistol- shot, and Steinfeldt reeled in his chair, the blood leaping to his cheeks.

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  " Damnation ! " ho cried, springing to his feet, and snatching his sword from its scabbard.

  "Steinfeldt, stop!" cried Osborne, "you cannot cut down a woman."

  " I wish you were a man," said the Hessian to Mother Melrose, " then you 'd have to fight for that."

  "Don't trouble yourself about my not being a man," said she, coolly. " I '11 fight you any way."

  One of the Englishmen had hung his sword and belt on the back of his chair while he ate, and, to my unbounded surprise, Mother Melrose stepped for- ward, took the sword, and putting herself in the attitude of a genuine fencing-master, faced the Ger- man. I was about to make a movement, but Wild- foot put a restraining hand on my shoulder. His other hand was on Marcel's shoulder.

  " Madame, what do you mean ? " asked Osborne.

  " The gentleman seems to be angry, and I am the cause of his anger, so I offer him satisfaction," she replied. " He need not hesitate. I am probably a much better swordsman than he."

  Steinfeldt's face flushed. He raised his weapon, and the two swords clashed together. But we did not intend that the matter should go farther, and we stepped into the room just as the Englishmen also moved forward to interfere.

  Their surprise was intense, but they drew weapons promptly. Marcel, whose blood was hotter than mine or Wildfoot's, raised his hand as a signal to be quiet.

  " Since the German gentleman wants to have sat- isfaction, he ought to have it," he said, " and since he has insulted the women of our country, we also want 291

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  the satisfaction which we ought to have. If the quarrel is not handsomely made up, I never heard of one that was. I '11 take Mother Melrose's place."

  The woman put the sword on the table, and stepped aside, content with the way affairs were going. The Englishmen looked dubiously at us.

  "Why not? " asked Wildfoot.

  His query seemed pertinent to me. According to the military law, all of us ought to fight ; but since we would make a most unpleasant muss in the house it was best that a champion of each side should meet. It was proper, too, that Marcel should be our man, since he was a better swordsman than I. Wildfoot was our leader, and it was not fitting for him to take the risk.

  " Why not ? " continued Wildfoot. " I may tell you, gentlemen, that I have a large party near, and perhaps I could get help in time to make you pris- oners, but I assure you that the affair would interfere with other and more important plans of mine. You would much better let them fight."

  The Englishmen whispered together a moment or two.

  " Let it be as you prop ose," said Osborne.

  Their eyes began to sparkle, and I saw that the love of sport, inherent in all Englishmen, was aroused. Marcel and Steinfeldt faced each other and raised their swords. I was astonished at the animosity showing in the eyes of these two men who had never seen each other until a few minutes ago and who had no real cause of quarrel. Yet they seemed to me at that moment to typify their two races which, 292

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  since then, and in these Napoleonic times, have come into such antagonism. Still it would not be right to say that I care more for the French than for the Germans, although Marcel, who was of French de- scent, was my fast friend. I have no great admira- tion for the faults of either race.

  Steinfeldt was the larger and apparently the stronger of the two ; but Marcel was more compact and agile, and I felt confident of his success. They crossed swords, testing each other's attack and de- fence, and then began to fight in earnest, their eyes gleaming, their faces hot, and their breath coming short and hard. A candle on a table cast a dim light, and shadows flickered on the floor.

  The German was no bad swordsman, and the influ- ence of the wine had passed. At first he pressed Marcel back with fierce and rapid thrusts, and for a moment I was alarmed for my friend. Then I saw that Marcel's face was calm, and his figure seemed to gather strength. My eyes passed on to Mother Melrose ; but she stood, impassive, against the wall, silently watching the swordsmen. A red head ap- peared at the kitchen door, and there was the serving ^ad following the contest with staring eyes. As for myself, I was uneasy. I did not like the situation ; it seemed to me irregular, and we might be interrupted at any time by a force of the enemy. Yet I rea- soned with myself that I should not be disturbed when Wildfoot, who was a veteran, seemed not to be, and I soon forgot my scruples in the ring of steel and the joy of combat that rose in my blood, as it had risen in that of the Englishmen. 293

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  The Hessian paused a little, seeming to feel that he had been too violent in the beginning, and I noticed that his breath had shortened. Marcel, whose back was against the wall, feinted, and fol- lowed up the feint with a thrust, quick as lightning. But the Hessian had no mean skill, and he turned aside the blade which flashed by his arm with a soft sound like scissors snipping through cloth. His coat-sleeve was laid open and the flesh grazed.

  " He guards well," said one of the Englishmen, nodding towards Steinfeldt.

  The Hessian heard the remark, and it seemed to give him new strength. His sword became a beam of light, and he thrust so straight at Marcel's breast that I held my breath in fear ; but my comrade was quick, and the blade, caught on his own, flashed harmlessly by.

  "Well fought; well fought, by Pollux!" ex- claimed the Englishman Osborne. " This is worth seeing."

  The duellists were now almost in the centre of the room, and they paused a moment for breath. I knew, by the compression of their lips, that each was pre- paring for his greatest effort, and we were silent, awaiting the issue.

  The sword play began again, and the weapons rang across each other. The heavy breathing of the combatants sounded distinctly, and the soft beat of their footsteps, as they shifte
d about the room, made a light, sliding noise, like the restless tread of 1 wild animals in a cage.

  The Hessian's sword passed close to Marcel's side, 294

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  cutting his coat ; but when Marcel's blade flashed in return, it came back with blood upon it. The keen edge had passed along the Hessian's wrist, leaving a red thread.

  The cut was not deep, but it had a sting to it, and Steinfeldt shut his teeth hard. Marcel's sword was now making lines of light about him, and the Hessian's part in the combat soon became a defence only. He was pressed back, an inch or two at a time, but without cessation. Then I saw the great skill of my comrade. His lips were shut tight, but his eyes remained calm and confident, and the sword seemed to have become a part of himself, so truly did it obey his will.

  The Hessian's face slowly darkened, and the light in his eyes, that had been the light of anger and defiance, became the light of fear. And it was the fear of death. He read nothing else in the gleaming blade and calm look of the man before him. Two or three drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

  " Bad, bad ! Steinfeldt has lost ! " I heard the Englishman Osbome say under his breath.

  I studied Marcel's face, but I could not discover his intentions there. That he carried the Hessian's life on the point of his sword, everyone in the room now knew, and the Hessian himself knew it best of alL But Steinfeldt had courage, I give him all credit for that, whatever else he may have been. A man must be brave to fight on, in the face of what he knows is certain death.

  Back went the Hessian, closer and closer to the 295

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  wall, and always before him was the calm, unsmiling face and gleaming sword that whistled so near and threatened every moment to strike a mortal blow. The suspense became unbearable. I felt like crying out : " Have done and end such a game," and I bit my lip to enforce my own silence.

  The Hessian's back suddenly touched the wall, and the sword of Marcel flashed a second time along his wrist, leaving another red thread beside the first. Then it flashed back again, and the weapon of the Hessian, drawn from his hand, fell clattering on the floor.

  The defenceless man stood as if he expected a stroke ; but I knew that Marcel would never give it. He thrust his own sword into its scabbard, bowed to his opponent with the easy and graceful politeness that he loved, and turned to us as if awaiting our will. I have often wondered where Marcel got that manner of his, and I have concluded that it came from his French blood.

  " Take your friend and go," said Wildfoot to the Englishmen. " He is not hurt much, and it is time for all of us to rejoin our commands."

  The Englishmen hesitated, as if it were not right for official enemies, in the height of a hot campaign, to part in such a manner. In truth, it was not, but Wildfoot had a set of military rules peculiarly his own, and was not called to account for anything that he might do.

  Their hesitation ceased quickly, and each taking an arm of Steinfeldt, they hurried with him out of the room, not neglecting, however, to give us a farewell 296

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  salute. But they forgot to take Steiufeldt's sword, and Marcel, picking it up, said that he would keep it as a remembrance.

  " You must admit that Lieutenant Marcel made a good substitute for you," said Wildfoot, turning to Mother Melrose.

  " None could have been better, but I might have beaten the Hessian myself," she replied sturdily. " My husband was a great swordsman and he taught me."

  It was now our turn to go, and we bade this re- markable old woman good-night. She showed no signs of fear and was already wiping from the floor the drops of blood that had fallen from Steinfeldt's wrist

  We secured our horses again, and sprang upon their backs. I heard a faint sound like a laugh, and saw a broad smile on the face of Wildfoot.

  '* I did not expect to see such line sport when we went to the house," he said.

  The ranger obviously was enjoying himself. Events like this pleased his wild and energetic nature. I saw that he was in truth a man of the forests and the night and war, and loved danger.

  "Aside from the risk of a fight with them, I did not wish to hold those Englishmen," he continued. " Although they are not likely to report the full and exact facts of our meeting, they will say, when they rejoin their army, that the American forces are in the vicinity, and that is what I wish the British to know. Unless you are planning a secret attack, it is im- portant to keep the enemy worried, to let him think

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  that you are everywhere, and it will exhaust his strength and patience. Growing tired, he will do something rash and costly."

  I understood Wildfoot's logic; but I wondered what would be his next movement, waiting, how- ever, as usual, to let the deed disclose itself. We rejoined our men, who were resting in the wood un- disturbed, and all rode on another circuit.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY -six An Average Night with Wildfoot

  THE night was bright with the moon- light, and we soon saw the blaze of the British camp-fires again. We rode slowly towards them, and at last stopped at a distance of several hundred yards.

  " They should have a picket near here," said Wildfoot, " and I fancy it is over yonder in the shadow.'*

  He pointed towards a clump of trees on our right, and Marcel, whose eyes were wonderfully keen, an- nounced that he saw there the color of uniforms.

  "Six men are in the group," said Wildfoot, a moment later, " and they appear to be resting, which is wrong. No British picket should be tak- ing its ease in a campaign like this. We will fur- nish them some excuses for being on watch."

  He gave word to two of his men, who lifted their rifles and fired towards the group under the trees. I heard the bullets cutting through the leaves in the few minutes of intense silence that followed. Then a great clamor arose, the noise of many voices, a drum beating, and scattered shots returning our fire. We saw soldiers leap up in the camp and run to arms.

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  We were far enough away to be hidden from th* sight of our enemies, and we rode swiftly on, leaving the clamor behind us. It was a huge camp, spread- ing out for miles, and partly surrounded by woods, which always make easy the approach of a concealed foe. Yet there was not enough open space in the vicinity for the whole British army, and their com- manders were not to blame.

  Wildfoot still led the way, appearing to know the country thoroughly. He divided our little force, presently, into three troops, naming a place at which we were to reunite some hours later. He placed trusted leaders over the first two troops, and took the third himself, Marcel and I being included in it. We rode through the deep woods, the twigs whip- ping our faces, but always ahead of us was the large dark figure of Wildfoot, horse and man passing on silently, like a ghostly centaur.

  In a half-hour we stirred up another picket, which saw us in the moonlight and fired their bullets so close to our heads that I felt anxious. But they were only four men, and we soon sent them running back to their army. Then an entire company came out to beat up the woods for us, but we were gone again, flitting on to new mischief. Wildfoot was an expert at this business. Anybody could see it at a glance. He knew when to do a thing, and when not to do it, which comes very near to being supreme wisdom. He knew whether to attack or to wait, whether to ride on or to stay, and the entire British right flank was soon in an uproar, their musketeers returning the fire of an enemy whom they could not

  Average Night with Wildfoot

  see, and cavalry galloping through the forests after the foe whom they could not overtake. While Wildfoot led us often into danger, he always led us out again, and we continued our circle of the British camp, all our horsemen unharmed.

  " Is n't this glorious ? " said Wildfoot to me presently. " Such nights as these a man remem- bers long."

  I gazed at him in wonder, but there was no sign of affectation in his voice or eye. I knew that there was none in his heart either. But I look
ed at my torn clothing, felt my bruised face, where the twigs had struck like switches, stretched my muscles, sore from so much riding, and replied,

  " If I were the British commander, Captain Wild- foot, and I could catch you, I would hang you to the top of the tallest tree in this forest."

  "I admit that it is somewhat annoying," he re- plied, smiling broadly at what impressed him as a great compliment ; " but, as I told you, we must not let the enemy dwell in peace. If we can disturb his sleep, impair his digestion, and upset his nerves, he won't be enthusiastic when he goes into real battle."

  A half-hour later we were dashing through the woods pursued by a formidable company, entirely too large for us to oppose, but again we were unharmed. In truth, the darkness for the moon had faded somewhat was our protector. The enemy could not see to hit us with the musket-bullets, and pres- ently we gathered together again in the friendly shadows, with the hostile troop left far behind.

  "I wish I knew where General Clinton himself 301

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  lies," said Wildfoot, who was ambitious. " I should like to send a bullet through his tent, not to hurt him, but merely to let him know that we are here."

  His face was full of longing, but there was no way for us to discover or approach General Clinton's tent, and I feared that his desire must go unfulfilled. Nevertheless, his zest and energy did not decrease, and he seemed bent upon completing the circuit of the British army with his irritating methods. I was worn to the bone, but in spite of it I caught some of Wildfoot's militant enthusiasm, and aided him to the utmost.