Altsheler, Joseph - [Novel 05]

by A Herald Of The West (lit)

  Naturally all of us looked forward to it with antici pation, and neglected nothing that would contribute to our best appearance when the time should come. We three had ordered new clothes immediately upon our ar rival in New York, and to our great joy they were ready in time. So when the hour came to go we were all in our best. I wore a gray coat with a slight pearl tint, a long waistcoat of white flowered satin, and coloured small clothes. That fashion has passed now, and even then was about to change, but it had certain advantages in favour of picturesqueness. Courtenay and Mercer were in raiment as splendid, and we set off in high spirits to the Haslett house, where we found a great company assembled.

  In Louisville and Lexington at that time the talk when people met in the evenings was sure to be polit ical; in Washington also it was political, with just a slight touch of literature, for little John Agg had been writing his bright verses of society at the capital, and there were others with as great pretensions and less skill; in Baltimore the talk of books and such things grew slightly, and the fashions became conspicuous, although politics still absorbed the greater share of attention. But in Philadelphia and here, even under the strain of ex pected war, people talked readily of other things than politics, passing from one to another of all the many great interests of the world. I judged that in New York, in ordinary times, political subjects would receive scant attention, though with us of the West they yet largely occupy men's minds.

  Nevertheless, the expected war was bound to have a considerable show of attention, and we soon discovered that the sentiment of New York, at least among the class represented at Mr. Haslett's house, was largely against it,

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  for wealth loves to take no risks. In such an atmosphere even the red-hot zeal of Cyrus Pendleton was chilled, and he said little on the subject. Many people of distinction, politically, socially, or otherwise, were present, and I was lucky enough to meet Mr. Irving again. He talked about the proposed war, bringing up the subject himself, and while he could not deny the truth of my argument that the war would be just, so far as we were concerned, yet he viewed its imminence with the greatest pain, hav ing more respect and liking for the English than I had.

  He said that the English in their home life in their own country had many estimable qualities, and Ameri cans, the majority of whom had seen only their bad side, would like them better some day. He showed much en thusiasm when speaking of the beauties of the English country and of the literary and artistic life of the Old World, so rich in its history and memorable associations. He told of the military might and valour of England, and described his own thrilling experience, the sights that he saw, and the sounds that he heard when he was in a theatre one London evening and the news of the great victory at Trafalgar and Nelson's glorious death came to the audience there.

  I confessed that all these things might be true, but since a nation persisted in showing to us its worst side, it was that worst side with which we would have to deal.

  A little later, as I passed into a second room, I met Major Gilbert Northcote, my cousin, dressed with the greatest care, and as easy of manner as ever.

  " You here? " I exclaimed in surprise.

  "Yes, I am here," he said in his old ironical tone; " and since we seem to have business in the same towns and with the same people we should prepare for many meetings."

  This was true, and I acknowledged it.

  " I should like to remind you of another thing," he added. " In Washington I was alone, so to speak, but if

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  you will investigate you will find that I have more friends present than you. You will discover that in this large town, where they are compelled to know things, they are not so eager for war with the greatest power in the world as they are down in the raw little village in the woods that you call the capital of your so-called republic."

  "It may be so," I said I was afraid that it was " but I should advise you not to use such language about our capital and country even among your American friends."

  He thanked me in the same ironical tone for my good advice, bowed, and passed on. One surprise is often merely the precedent for a second, and I had not gone five steps before I met face to face with another man whom I had not expected to see there. He was tall and young, and the British uniform, always noted for its bright colours, blazed upon him. The uniform was that of a lieutenant in the navy, and it was my lieutenant of the Guerriere, the officer from whom we had saved the American sailor.

  " Good evening," he said, quite calmly and collect edly.

  " Good evening," I said, adopting his tone and man ner, which seemed to me to be suited to the occasion; " since our second meeting is more formal than the first, I think we had better exchange names. I am Philip Ten Broeck, of Kentucky, late a clerk in the office of the Secretary of the Treasury at Washington, at present trav elling for pleasure, information, and amusement."

  " I trust that you are finding all three, Mr. Ten Broeck," he said politely; " I am Henry Arthur Allyn, of Derbyshire, England, third lieutenant aboard his Maj esty's thirty-eight-gun frigate Guerriere, now cruising at the entrance to New York harbour for the glory and benefit of his Majesty and his realm of England."

  " I can not say that I wish the Guerriere success in such efforts, at least in these waters," I said.

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  " She is a fine frigate," he replied, a faint tinge of boasting appearing in his tone, " and is sure to do what she is sent to do."

  " She might meet one of ours some day," I said.

  He laughed. It was no longer the slight tinge of boasting 'that appeared in his tone. It was incredulity, derision broadly manifest.

  " The Guerriere would find no trouble in sinking any American ship that floats to the bottom of the sea," he said. " Pardon me for plain speaking, but everybody knows it; you Yankees know it. The British navy has crushed all the navies of Europe; odds have amounted to nothing."

  " And yet," I said, " away back in the Revolution, when we were mere colonies, there was the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis, the Hyder Ally and the General Monk, the Ranger and the Drake, and other cases where the American ships did not fare the worse, though the odds were not in their favour at the beginning."

  " Isolated instances, mere exceptions," he said. "Why, even now, in a time of peace, no American ship dare go five miles from your ports without the consent of Great Britain."

  It was true, though it was due to the supineness of our rulers, and not to a lack of spirit among the people. There was no reply to his taunt, and, moreover, our talk had begun to look like a boasting match, so I sought to change the subject, but he returned to it at least in part.

  " Perhaps you are surprised," he said, " that we have not made any complaint about the kidnapping of our sailor, but we do not care to make the affair public; we would rather remain quiet, as we are sure to have ample opportunities for revenge."

  He was a fine example of frank brutality, and Courte- nay and Mercer strolling that way, I presented them to him. In a few minutes we passed on, and when I saw him a few minutes later he was talking to some ladies,

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  and his British uniform seemed to bring him no unpopu larity. Nor was he the only British officer from the ships present. I soon learned that conspicuous members of the peace party in New York often entertained them, and I was secretly ashamed of it, though I saw that it was no place in which to tell my real feelings.

  The two Misses Eastlake were present, and in the course of the evening I saw the elder, Constance, and Marian together. They formed a striking contrast, Mar ian with her dark hair and eyes and her extremely fair soft complexion, which is the most noted characteristic of Kentucky beauty, while Miss Eastlake was a perfect blonde. I obtained the opportunity to spend a short time with each, but presently I saw that Courtenay had taken possession of Miss Eastlake, while Bidwell and Van Steenkerk, who had met and who seemed to be kin dred
spirits, were dangling after Marian. The evening was then far advanced, and as the rooms were crowded the air felt close and warm. Finding a convenient door, I stepped outside in search of temporary relief in a purer atmosphere.

  It was a side door of the house through which I had passed, and I found myself standing in a narrow little alley. The night had turned dark, and the alley, with the tall houses rising on either side, was just a streak of blackness. But the air, blown through the slit by the wind, was fresh and cool, and I stood there taking it into my lungs in great gulps and enjoying it as if it were rare wine.

  The alley created a kind of draught for the air, and as the wind rushed by, crowded up between the high walls, it made a moaning as if crying out for more room. I was startled by the contrast, the abrupt passage from the brilliant, lighted rooms, crowded with people in rich dress, to this narrow, pitchy black little alley, silent save for the groaning of the wind as it passed. Not a sound came from the house which I had just left, not a ray of

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  light. If there were any windows on that side they were closed with heavy shutters.

  I looked up at the sky, and it was like gazing from the bottom of a well. There was just a patch of light far above me, which dwindled into nothing before it reached the depths of the well. The walls assumed fan tastic shapes in the three-quarter darkness, and the con tinuous groaning of the wind through the cleft aided my fancy and turned one shape into another.

  Presently my eyes, distending in the darkness, saw a gleam of red farther down the alley toward the street. I approached and found that the red was the colour of a uniform, and going yet a little nearer I saw that the wearer of the uniform was my new acquaintance, Lieu tenant Henry Arthur Allyn, of his Britannic Majesty's thirty-eight-gun frigate Guerriere. I presumed that he, too, finding the door, had come out in search of fresh air, but having no wish to continue the acquaintance I with drew farther up the alley toward the rear of the house. I stopped at the corner, where another small alley, pass ing in the rear of the building, cut in a right angle across the one in which I stood. It was an improve ment, as the air coming in two directions was still fresher and purer than it was in my first position. As I stood there, eyes gaining strength in the darkness, I could yet see the red gleam of the uniform, though the outlines of its wearer were lost.

  I did not care to speak to Allyn again. I feared that we might be disagreeable to each other, and it was not the thing to quarrel at a reception purely social. Hav ing this fear in mind I stayed where I was and waited for him to go in first. But he made no movement, being apparently as fond of the fresh air as I was, and since I was in no hurry I continued to wait.

  The wind moaned up one alley and shrieked down the other, and the two currents meeting where I stood min gled into something that had the suggestion of a cry in

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  it, as if a human being were in agony. I heard a faint crushing noise, as of a body falling softly. My blood quivered, though I said it was nothing. I heard the soft, complaining noise again, and still knowing that it was nothing pressed my body back against the cold brick wall. Something slid by me, my blood quivering again when it touched me, though I was not noticed, for the figure passed on down the alley toward the red gleam.

  What a fool I was! there is nothing supernatural in this world, not even on a dark night in a narrow alley that is like the bottom of a well. I could now see that the man who had passed me with such scant ceremony, for a man it certainly was, bent over somewhat and step ping lightly, but obviously a human figure to eyes that Avere seeing more the longer they remained in the darkness.

  The man's left hand hung limply by his side, while his right was held stiffly in front of him. A ray of light fell across the right hand and flashed, as it slid off the edge of a knife. It came upon me with suddenness and conviction that this man, slipping out of the dark, was there for murder. But upon whom and for what? The quiver came again in my blood, and became a shudder. The man advanced toward the red gleam, swiftly and with soundless tread. The wind moaned up one alley and shrieked down the other, and I stood there like a great fool, watching the whole thing and doing nothing else.

  The man stopped, and, leaing against the wall as if he would plan further before he struck, turned his face slightly upward. A few beams from the top of the cleft fell upon it and showed it to me. The face was gaunt, scarred, and wild, and I knew it. That glimpse recalled me to myself and to a sense of my duty.

  I took three long steps, as soundless as his own, and my right hand fell upon the wrist of the hand that held

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  the knife. It was a thin, wasted wrist, and my fingers closed around it and held it as tightly as if it were that of a child. A cry rose to his lips, but my other hand fell over his mouth and shut it off.

  " Come back into this other alley, where no one can see us," I said in a hasty whisper. " Nobody shall harm you. I'm your friend."

  He yielded weakly, going back with me without re sistance and without complaint. I took my hand from his mouth and the knife from his other hand, but I kept a firm grip on his shoulder. I cast one look back at the red gleam and it was still there, the wearer of the brilliant uniform seeing and hearing nothing.

  We walked down the cross alley where the light was brighter. It shone now directly upon my companion's face, showing every seam and line, and meeting the look of his excited eyes. His whole expression was that of a frightened, crushed man. I think that if I had pressed my hand upon him he would have dropped to the earth, such was the revulsion of feeling in him, his shame in being caught in such an act, and perhaps a feeling of ap prehension too.

  " Patterson," I said, " I know why you were about to murder that officer."

  " It's true," he said; " he had flogged me more than once aboard the ship, and he was the worst of them all. But I would not try to do it again. You came just in time. God forgive me! "

  He put his hands over his face.

  "I am not going to give you up," I said, "or tell about you. There's a better way of revenge than the secret blade. I have your knife in my pocket now. Promise me that you will not get another."

  He said he would not.

  " Go back to your father's house," I said. " Get back your strength, for soon there will be war between England and us. Then, with your place at your gun,

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  you can seek revenge, but never in this way. Do you promise? "

  He bowed his head, and as I took my hand off his shoulder he slid away in the darkness, his footfalls mak ing a soft crushing noise and then ceasing as the dark blur of his figure disappeared.

  I returned to the first alley. The red gleam was gone, and having enough of the fresh air and the outside of the house I opened the door and entered again. A half hour later I passed Lieutenant Allyn and he nodded to me. But I did not tell him that I had saved his life. It was a secret that I intended to keep.

  In another half hour the people were going home. Courtenay, Mercer, and I paid our respects to our hosts, bade the others whom we knew good night, and walked back through the streets toward our tavern. Each of us had a bed in the same room, and we cast off our clothes in a hurry, as it was late and we wanted sleep. I threw my coat over a chair, and Courtenay pushed it a little to one side to make room for his also.

  " Hey, what is that? " he exclaimed.

  "What is what?" I asked sleepily.

  " This that I have found in your pocket? " he replied, holding up a knife, more like a dagger, with a long, keen double edge.

  " That," I said, " is a memento of New York which was presented to me to-night."

  In two minutes we three were sound asleep.

  CHAPTEE XIV. IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP.

  I FELT that it was time to leave New York for Bos ton, as I had been instructed not to linger in any city, at least on the Northern journey, and though there were several things tempting me to stay longer in New Yo
rk, which I liked, I arranged to depart on the second morn ing after the reception to the Pendletons. Courtenay and Mercer adjusted their affairs that they might go with me, for in such troubled times, in the divided state of the country, with plotters hovering about, we saw the need of good strong arms and loyal hearts, which each of us was confident that the others had.

  I said good-bye to Marian, and again I was tempted to speak to her words which I believed might not be un welcome in other times, but the command of self came to my aid and they were unsaid.

  Not caring to risk the long trip by schooner, with its doubts and delays and currents and calms, we adhered to our regular plan of travel from Washington, and bought seats on the stagecoach for Boston. These coaches were of lighter make and build than those on which we had come up from the South, and one left New York every alternate morning, Sunday omitted, for Boston, as many running in the opposite direction.

  It was with the deepest interest that we entered the New England country, the fame of which has spread throughout the world because of the very strong and pe culiar characteristics of its people, their industry, their

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  thrift, their religion, and the wonderful divergence sometimes existing between its preaching and its prac tice, said to be greater there than anywhere else on the globe; their singular inventive genius, which was already changing the mechanical world, practically unchanged before for thousands of years; and the high esteem in which they held literary pursuits and men of letters, most of us of the West being a little afraid of the latter.

  After rejoicing in the sunshine and the fresh winds we looked about at our company of fellow-travellers. As we soon discovered, they were chiefly New Englanders returning home, and not New Yorkers going to New Eng land. They were mostly a sad, sober lot in looks, but quite willing to talk and to talk about many things. They gave us much fatherly advice, which we took in a childlike spirit, when they learned that we were from the South and West, suggesting that we abandon our wild, irreverent ways and barbaric modes of thought and imitate the good fathers of New England in all things, thus finding a spiritual and worldly prosperity, they themselves neglecting neither kind. We promised.