Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  There came a silence, broken by the clear sarcastic tones of Sir William.

  “I beg permission to submit to Governor Tryon the opinion of a country Baronet — for what that opinion may be worth.”

  “With pleasure,” said Governor Tryon, cordially, looking up from the plate of nuts he was picking.

  “And this is my opinion,” continued Sir William, “that, firstly, the disaffected classes in Boston and New York will not care a fig for our conference here, nor for our show of militia; that, secondly, if they should once entertain a suspicion that England, in the event of war, proposes to employ savages as allies to subdue rebellion, we would have to-morrow the thirteen colonies swarming like thirteen hives to sting us all to death — ay — and there would not be an Indian left twixt here and the Ohio!”

  “What would become of them?” piped up Lord Dunmore, so innocently that I saw Governor Tryon pass his hand over his mouth to conceal a smile. But Walter Butler’s passionless voice was sounding now, and I saw Sir William turn his head to lose no gesture or shade of meaning.

  “It is come to the point where either the rebels are to win over the Indians, or where we must take measures to secure their services. I am not in a position to inform you, gentlemen, as to the actual existing conditions in the Indian Department. That, Sir William can do better than any one in America. Therefore, I beg Sir William to kindly make it clear to us what chances we have to win the support of the Six Nations — in the event of a rebel rising against the King’s authority.”

  The tangled knot was cut, the cat had sprung from the bag. 114 Yet nobody by glance or word or gesture appeared to be aware of it.

  Sir William’s manner was perfectly composed, though that deep crease binding his chin deepened, and his brows bent in towards his nose as he rested his chin on his hand and spoke, eyes fixed on his wine-glass:

  “Captain Butler believes that it has come to this: that either those in authority or the disaffected must seek allies among these savage hordes which hang like thunder-clouds along our frontiers. Gentlemen, I am not of that opinion. I have said openly, and I care not who knows it, that if war must come between England and these colonies, let it be a white man’s war; in mercy, let it be a war between two civilized peoples, and not a butchery of demons!

  “I do believe — and I say so solemnly and before God — that it is possible to so conduct that these savages will remain neutral if war must come. Ay, more! I will answer for them!”

  He lifted his eyes and looked straight at Lord Dunmore, raising his voice slightly, but betraying no passion.

  “And, gentlemen, as I am his Majesty’s intendant of Indian affairs in North America, I shall now do all that I can to pacify my wards, to keep them calm and orderly in the event of a war which I, for one, regard with horror. Were I to do otherwise, I must account to my King for a trust betrayed, and I must answer also to Him whom King and subject alike account to.”

  On Walter Butler’s lips a sneer twitched; my Lord Dunmore wiped his bleared eyes with a rag of lace and stared at everybody with drunken gravity.

  “I know not,” said Sir William, slowly, “what true loyalty may be if it be not to save the honour of our King, and rebuke those who seek to tarnish it. And if there are now those among his counsellors or deputies who urge him to seek these savages as allies, I say it is a monstrous thing and an inspiration from hell itself.”

  He swung on his elbow and fixed his eyes on Walter Butler.

  “You, sir, know something of border war. How then can you propose to let loose these Indians on the people of our colonies?”

  “Lest they let loose these same savages on us,” replied Mr. Butler, calmly.

  Sir William frowned.

  “You do not know the colonists, Mr. Butler,” he said. “What marvel then that my Lord North should misunderstand them, and think to buy their loyalty with tuppence worth o’ tea?”

  “Come, come, Sir William!” cried Governor Tryon, laughing, and plainly anxious to break the tension ere sharp words flew. “Did I not know you to the bone, sir, I should deem it my duty to catechise you concerning the six articles of loyalty!”

  “I, too, i’ faith!” squeaked Lord Dunmore. “Skewer me! Sir William, but you talk like a Boston preacher — ay — that you do, and—”

  “Have done, sir!” cut in Sir William, with such bitter contempt that the faces of all present sobered quickly. Even Governor Tryon glanced uneasily at Lord Dunmore to see how he might swallow such a pill, but that nobleman only blinked stupidly and sucked his thin lips, too drunk to understand how like a lackey he had been silenced.

  Sir John Johnson and Colonel Claus, deputies to Sir William in the Indian Department, exchanged puzzled glances. But I noticed that Mr. Butler never took his eyes from Sir William’s darkening visage.

  “There is one more matter,” said the Baronet, “that I may be pardoned for introducing here amid all the perplexities of the times; but it is a matter touching on my own stewardship, and as that concerns my King, I deem it necessary to broach it.”

  He turned again deliberately on Lord Dunmore.

  “It has come to my knowledge that certain unauthorized people are tampering with a distant tribe of my Cayuga Indians. I know not, nor do I care, what the motives of these men may be, but I protest against it, and I shall do all in my power — without infringing on the rights or laws of a sister colony — to protect my Cayugas from unlawful aggression!”

  “Damme!” gurgled Lord Dunmore, passing his jewelled hand over his befuddled head. “Damme, Sir William, d’ye 116 mean to accuse me? Curse me! Skewer me! Claw me raw! but it is not fair,” he snivelled. “No, it is not fair! Take your hands off my sleeve and be done a-twitching it, Captain Butler! Damme! I never set Cresap on. Will ye have done a-pinching my arm, Captain Butler?”

  The ghastly humour of the exposure, the ludicrous self-conviction of his tipsy Lordship — for nobody had mentioned Cresap — the startling disclosure, too, of Walter Butler’s interest in the plot — for that it was a plot no longer could anybody doubt — cast a gloom over the company.

  Every man present understood what Cresap’s aggression meant; no man there dared acknowledge a desire for Cresap’s success.

  Then Sir William’s sarcastic voice pierced the silence.

  “I trust your Lordship would not believe that any gentleman present could harbour suspicions of a foul conspiracy between your Lordship and Captain Butler, to incite my Cayugas to attack white men!”

  Walter Butler’s slow eye rested on Lord Dunmore, on Sir William, and then on me. But his bloodless visage never changed.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, let us have harmony here at any cost,” protested Governor Tryon, half in jest, half in earnest. “God knows I have discord enough in New York town without seeking it among the loyalists of this county. Nobody believes that my Lord Dunmore is seeking trouble with your tame Indians, Sir William. If this fellow Cresap, who is a notorious malcontent, too, be imposing on the Cayugas, I doubt not that my Lord Dunmore will recall him and deal with him severely.”

  “No, I won’t! Claw my vitals if I do!” snapped his Lordship, in the drunken sulks, and straightway fell a-squabbling with Walter Butler, who had again laid a hand on his arm.

  For Captain Butler knew his treachery had been discovered, and his shameless impudence in openly attempting to muzzle his noble partner in conspiracy passed all bounds of decency.

  I saw the angry light glimmer in Sir William’s eyes, and I knew it boded no good to Walter Butler, as far as his hope of Silver Heels was concerned. A fierce happiness filled me. 117 So now, at last, Sir William was discovering the fangs in his pet snake!

  Lord Dunmore had succeeded in reversing a decanter of port over himself and Colonel Claus, and the latter, mad as a wet cat, left the room swearing audibly, while his playful Lordship threw a few glasses after him and then collapsed in a soiled heap of silk and jewels, feebly calling on “Billy Tryon” to try and “conduc like er — er — gen’l-m’n
, b’ God!”

  Sir William was steadily staring at Walter Butler; I, too, had my eye on him; and, when he left the table to saunter towards the door, Sir William rose immediately to follow him, and I after Sir William.

  He saw us coming as he opened the door, and surveyed us with cool effrontery as we joined him in the hallway.

  “I shall not require your services hereafter as my secretary, Captain Butler,” said Sir William. “Will you kindly hand your keys to me?”

  “At your command, Sir William,” replied Mr. Butler, drawing the keys from his pocket and presenting them with an ironical inclination.

  The man’s careless self-possession was marvellous considering he was facing the man he had so vilely betrayed.

  “Mr. Butler,” said Sir William, with reddening face, “I consider myself released from my consent to your union with my kinswoman, Miss Warren!”

  “As to that, sir,” observed Captain Butler, cynically, “I shall take my chances.”

  I heard what he said, but Sir William misunderstood him.

  “It is your mischance, sir, to put no harsher interpretation on it. But my decision is irrevocable, Mr. Butler, for I have destined Miss Warren to a loyal man, my kinsman, Michael Cardigan!”

  The spasm that jerked Mr. Butler’s mouth into that ghastly grimace I knew so well, was not lost on Sir William.

  “I’ll take that chance, too,” said Mr. Butler, bowing.

  “What do you mean, sir?” demanded Sir William, steadying his voice with an effort.

  But Walter Butler only replied with such glare at me that Sir William involuntarily turned to find me, rigid, behind him. The next moment Captain Butler passed noiselessly 118 out into the starlight, wrapping his black cloak around him.

  Sir William followed him mechanically to the door, and I at his heels, burning for a quarrel with Walter Butler, and awaiting only for Sir William to return to the library, and leave me free to follow and insult Mr. Butler for the treacherous villain he had proved himself.

  But Sir William, seeing me slinking out, laid a hand on my shoulder and spun me sharply round on my heels to look into my eyes.

  “Now what the devil are you up to?” he broke out, half divining the truth. “Michael! Michael! Don’t be a fool! Are there not fools enough here to-night?”

  “No, sir,” I answered, sheepishly.

  “That is not the way to serve me, lad,” said Sir William, roughly. “Have I not sorrow enough without seeing you carried in here with a hole in your breast, you meddlesome ass?”

  “I have a certain score to clean off,” I muttered.

  “Oh,” observed Sir William, coldly, “a selfish quarrel — eh? I was a fond old fool to think I might count on you.”

  Tears started to my eyes; I could have bitten my tongue off.

  “You can count on me, sir,” I said, choking out the words. “I meant no harm; I am not selfish, sir; I care only for you.”

  “I know it, lad,” he said, kindly. “And mind, I do not rebuke your spirit; I only ask you to learn discretion. This is no time to settle private matters. No man in America has that right now, because every man’s life belongs to the country!”

  “On which side, sir?” I faltered.

  Sir William was silent for a while. Presently he took my arm and we walked out under the stars.

  “My boy,” he said, sadly, “I cannot answer you, but I can place matters in a clear light for you. The decision must remain with yourself.”

  Then he told me how the Boston people had been taxed without their consent, but I could not see why they should not cheerfully give their all to their King, and I said so.

  “Very well,” replied Sir William, gravely. “Let us approach the matter from your personal view. Here are you, young, vigorous, of good lineage, and sure to succeed to your uncle’s title and estate some day. You are, at sixteen, an officer of his Majesty’s border cavalry; you have every prospect of promotion; the King remembers your father, Governor Tryon is your friend. And I, Michael, have decided to leave you, in my testament, sufficient to maintain you handsomely should you desire to marry Felicity before your uncle’s death. That, my boy, is the King’s side.

  “Now suppose, from a high motive of duty, you should suddenly resolve to embrace the cause of the plain people. Could you renounce your commission in the King’s army to shoulder a firelock, perhaps a stable-fork, in the ranks of your countrymen? Could you give up ease, hopes, position? Could you give up your friends and kinsmen? Could you give up what sum I may leave you in my will? For Sir John would never let a penny of my money go to a rebel. Could you give up, if need be, the woman you loved? Think, and be not in haste to answer. For that is the other side to embrace, with perhaps a hangman’s rope at the end.”

  “Am I to answer you to-night, sir?” I asked.

  “God forbid!” he said, solemnly.

  “I will say this,” said I; “that where my heart is, I would follow in rags. And my heart is with you, sir.”

  He stood still, drawing me closer, but said nothing more, for there came running out of the darkness an officer with naked claymore shining in the starlight, and when he drew near we saw it was Mr. Duncan.

  “The Indian is gone!” he panted. “Gone away crazed with fever! The doctor lies in the hut with a broken shoulder; Quider crushed it in his madness!”

  Sir William swayed as though struck.

  “The sentries chased him to the woods,” continued poor Duncan, out of breath; “but he ran like a panther and — we had your orders not to fire. He will die, anyhow; the doctor says he will seek some creek or pond and die in the water like a poisoned rat. They are bringing the doctor now.”

  Up out of the shadow loomed two soldiers, forming a litter with their muskets, on which sat our doctor, Pierson, head 120 hanging. And when Sir William came to him he looked up with a sick grimace and shook his head feebly.

  “He broke those ropes as though they had been worsted,” he said. “I tried to hold him down, but he had the strength of delirium, Sir William. I want that fat surgeon of the Royal Americans to set this bone,” he added, weakly, and fell a-groaning.

  Mr. Duncan started on a run for the barracks; the soldiers and the injured man passed on towards the guard-house, and Sir William stood staring after them.

  Presently he said, aloud, “God’s will be done on my poor country!”

  We walked back to the house together. Some of the guests were leaving, but the card-room was still crowded, and in the library my Lord Dunmore lay on the carpet cursing and vomiting and shrieking that no man should put him to bed, and that he meant to crack another bottle or a dozen heads.

  Here and there, out through the orchard, drunken Indians lurched lodgeward, followed by their patient squaws; here and there sedan-chairs passed, the grunting bearers stepping lively in the brisk night wind.

  Below the hill, in Johnstown, the court-house windows were still twinkling with lights, and when the wind set our way, we could hear the distant strains of the brigade band playing for the dancers.

  Sir William entered the hallway of his house and looked around. In a corner of one window sat Mrs. Hamilton and Mr. Bevan, somewhat close together; in another window were gathered Colonel Claus and his lady and Sir John Johnson, whispering. Brant, surrounded by a bevy of fine ladies, was turning over the pages of a book and answering questions in polite monosyllables, for he had a quiet contempt for those who regarded him as a curiosity, though susceptible enough to real homage.

  “And out of all my house,” murmured Sir William, in a bitter voice, “not one whom I can trust — not one! — not one!”

  After a moment I plucked at his sleeve, reproachfully.

  “Yes — I know — I know, my boy. But I need a man now — a man of experience, a man in bodily vigour, a man in devotion.”

  “You need a man to go to Colonel Cresap,” I whispered. For the first and only time in my life I saw that I had startled Sir William.

  “Let me go, sir?” I entreat
ed, eagerly. “If I am keen enough to read your purpose, I am not too stupid to carry it out. I know what you wish. I know you cannot trust your message to paper, nor to a living soul except me. I know what to say to Colonel Cresap. Let me serve you, sir, for I do long so to help you?”

  We had fallen back to the porch again while I was speaking, Sir William holding me so tightly by the elbow that his clutch numbed my arm.

  “I cannot,” he muttered, under his breath. “To-morrow Dunmore will set his spies to see that Cresap remains undisturbed. The Ohio trails will be watched for a messenger from me. Who knows what Dunmore’s and Butler’s men might do to carry out their designs on my Cayugas?”

  “Dare they attack an officer in uniform?” I asked, astonished.

  “What is there to prevent a shot in ambush? And are there no renegades in Johnstown to hire?” replied Sir William, bitterly. “Why, the town’s full of them, lad; men as desperate as Jack Mount himself.”

  “But I know the woods! You, yourself, sir, say I am a very Mohawk in the woods!” I pleaded. “I fear no ambush, though the highwayman Jack Mount himself were after me. Have I not been twice to the Virginia line with Brant? Do you think I could fail to reach Cresap with the whole forest as plain to me as the Stony Way below this hill? And remember I carry no papers to be stolen. I could first go with belts to the Cayugas, and tell the truth about Quider and his party. Then I would deliver the belts as you delivered them to Quider. Then I would find Cresap and show him what a fool he is.”

  “And so serve the enemies of the King?” said Sir William, looking keenly at me.

  “And so serve you, sir,” I retorted, in a flash. “Are you an enemy to the King?”

  “But, my boy,” said Sir William, huskily, “do you understand that you must go alone on this mission?”

  I sprang forward and threw my arms around him with a hug like a young bear.

  “Then I’m going! I’m going!” I whispered, enchanted, while he murmured brokenly that he could not spare me and that I was all he had on earth.

  But I would not be denied; I coaxed him to my little bedroom, lighted the candle, and made him sit down on my cot. Then I explained excitedly my purpose, and to prove that I knew the trails, I sharpened my treasured Faber pencil and made a drawing for him, noting every ford and carrying-place — which latter I proposed to avoid — and finally hazarded a guess as to the exact spot where Colonel Cresap might be found.