Now this same gentleman, Major Lockwood, who had been seated behind a table when we entered the parlour, rose and received us most blandly, although I noted that he kept the table between himself and us, and also that the table drawer was open, where I could have sworn that the papers so carelessly heaped about covered a brace of pistols.
For to this sorry pass the Westchester folk had come, that they trusted no stranger, nor were like to for many a weary day to come. Nor could I blame this gentleman with a heavy price on his head, and, as I heard later, already the object of numerous and violent attempts in which, at times, entire regiments had been employed to take him.
But after he had carefully read the letter which Boyd bore from our General of Brigade, he asked us to be seated, and shut the table drawer, and came over to the silk-covered sofa on which we had seated ourselves.
“Do you know the contents of this letter?” he asked Boyd bluntly.
“Yes, Major Lockwood.”
“And does Mr. Loskiel know, also?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
The Major sat musing, turning over and over the letter between thumb and forefinger.
He was a man, I should say, of forty or a trifle more, with brown eyes which sometimes twinkled as though secretly amused, even when his face was gravest and most composed; a gentleman of middle height, of good figure and straight, and of manners so simple that the charm of them struck one afterward as a pleasant memory.
“Gentlemen,” he said, looking up at us from his momentary abstraction, “for the first part of General Clinton’s letter I must be brief with you and very frank. There are no recruits to be had in this vicinity for Colonel Morgan’s Rifles. Riflemen are of the elite; and our best characters and best shots are all enlisted — or dead or in prison — —” He made a significant gesture toward the south. And we thought of the Prison Ships and the Provost, and sat silent.
“There is,” he added, “but one way, and that is to pick riflemen from our regiments here; and I am not sure that the law permits it in the infantry. It would be our loss, if we lose our best shots to your distinguished corps; but of course that is not to be considered if the interests of the land demand it. However, if I am not mistaken, a recruiting party is to follow you.”
“Yes, Major.”
“Then, sir, you may report accordingly. And now for the other matters. General Clinton, in this letter, recommends that we speak very freely together. So I will be quite frank, gentlemen. The man you seek, Luther Kinnicut, is a spy whom our Committee of Safety maintains within the lines of the lower party. If it be necessary I can communicate with him, but it may take a week. Might I ask why you desire to question him so particularly?”
Boyd said: “There is a Siwanois Indian, one Mayaro, a Sagamore, with whom we have need to speak. General Clinton believes that this man Kinnicut knows his whereabouts.”
“I believe so, too,” said the Major smiling. “But I ask your pardon, gentlemen; the Sagamore, Mayaro, although a Siwanois, was adopted by the Mohicans, and should be rated one.”
“Do you know him, sir?”
“Very well indeed. May I inquire what it is you desire of Mayaro?”
“This,” said Boyd slowly; “and this is the real secret with which I am charged — a secret not to be entrusted to paper — a secret which you, sir, and even my comrade, Mr. Loskiel, now learn for the first time. May I speak with safety in this room, Major?”
The Major rose, opened the door into the hall, dismissed the sentry, closed and locked the door, and returned to us.
“I am,” he said smiling, “almost ashamed to make so much circumstance over a small matter of which you have doubtless heard. I mean that the lower party has seen fit to distinguish me by placing a price upon my very humble head; and as I am not only Major in Colonel Thomas’s regiment, but also a magistrate, and also, with my friend Lewis Morris, a member of the Provincial Assembly, and of the Committee of Safety, I could not humour the lower party by permitting them to capture so many important persons in one net,” he added, laughing. “Now, sir, pray proceed. I am honoured by General Clinton’s confidence.”
“Then, sir,” said Boyd very gravely, “this is the present matter as it stands. His Excellency has decided on a daring stroke to be delivered immediately; General Sullivan has been selected to deal it, General Clinton is to assist. A powerful army is gathering at Albany, and another at Easton and Tioga. The enemy know well enough that we are concentrating, and they have guessed where the blow is to be struck. But, sir, they have guessed wrong!”
“Not Canada, then?” inquired the Major quietly.
“No, sir. We demonstrate northward; that is all. Then we wheel west by south and plunge straight into the wilderness, swift as an arrow files, directly at the heart of the Long House!”
“Sir!” he exclaimed, astonished.
“Straight at the heart o! the Iroquois Confederacy, Major! That is what is to be done — clean out, scour out, crush, annihilate those hell-born nations which have so long been terrorizing the Northland. Major Lockwood, you have read in the New England and Pennsylvania papers how we have been threatened, how we have been struck, how we have fought and suffered. But you, sir, have only heard; you have not seen. So I must tell you now that it is far worse with us than we have admitted. The frontier of New York State is already in ashes; the scalp yell rings in our forests day and night; and the red destructives under Brant, and the painted Tories under Walter Butler, spare neither age nor sex — for I myself have seen scalps taken from the tender heads of cradled infants — nay, I have seen them scalp the very hound on guard at the cabin door! And that is how it goes with us, sir. God save you, here, from the blue-eyed Indians!”
He stopped, hesitated, then, softly smiting one fist within the other:
“But now I think their doom is sounding — Seneca, lying Cayuga, traitorous Onondaga, Mohawk, painted renegade — all are to go down into utter annihilation. Nor is that all. We mean to sweep their empire from end to end, burn every town, every castle, every orchard, every grain field — lay waste, blacken, ravage, leave nothing save wind-blown ashes of that great Confederacy, and of the vast granary which has fed the British northern armies so long. Nothing must remain of the Long House; the Senecas shall die at the Western door; the Keepers of the Eastern door shall die. Only the Oneida may be spared — as many as have remained neutral or loyal to us — they and such of the Tuscaroras and Lenni-Lenape as have not struck us; and the Stockbridge and White Plains tribes, and the remnants of the Mohicans.
“And that is why we have come here for riflemen, and that is why we are here to find the Sagamore, Mayaro. For our Oneidas have told us that he knows where the castles of the Long House lie, and that he can guide our army unerringly to that dark, obscure and fearsome Catharines-town where the hag, Montour, reigns in her shaggy wilderness.”
There was a long silence; and I for one, amazed at what I had heard — for I had made certain that we were to have struck at Canada — was striving to reconcile this astounding news with all my preconceived ideas. Yet, that is ever the way with us in the regiments; we march, not knowing whither; we camp at night not knowing why. Unseen authority moves us, halts us; unseen powers watch us, waking and sleeping, think for us, direct our rising and our lying down, our going forth and our return — nay, the invisible empire envelops us utterly in sickness and in health, ruling when and how much we eat and sleep, controlling every hour and prescribing our occupation for every minute. Only our thoughts remain free; and these, as we are not dumb, unthinking beasts, must rove afield to seek for the why and wherefore, garnering conclusions which seldom if ever are corroborated.
So I; for I had for months now made sure that our two armies in the North were to be flung pell mell on Quebec and on Niagara. Only regarding the latter place had I nearly hit the mark; for it seemed reasonable that our army, having once swept the Long House, could scarcely halt ere we had cleaned out that rat’s nest of Indians and painted Tories wh
ich is known as Fort Niagara, and from which every dreadful raid of the destructives into Tryon County had been planned and executed.
Thinking of these things, my deep abstraction was broken by the pleasant voice of Major Lockwood.
“Mr. Boyd,” he said, “I realise now how great is your need of riflemen to fill the State’s quota. If there is anything I or my associates can do, under the law, it shall be done; and when we are able to concentrate, and when your recruiting party arrives, I will do what I can, if permitted, to select from the dragoons of Sheldon and Moylan, and from my own regiment such men as may, by marksmanship and character, qualify for the corps d’élite.”
He rose and began to pace the handsome parlour, evidently worried and perplexed; and presently he halted before us, who had of course risen in respect.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I must lay bare to you our military necessity, embarrassment, and mortification in this country of Westchester, so that you may clearly understand the difficulty of furnishing the recruits you ask for.
“South of us, from New York to North Castle, our enemy is in possession. We are attempting to hold this line; but it is a vast country. We can count on very few Continental troops; our militia has its various rendezvous, and it turns out at every call. The few companies of my regiment of foot are widely scattered; one company left here as escort to the military train an hour ago. Sheldon’s 2nd Light Dragoons are scattered all over the country. Two troops and headquarters remain now here at my house.”
He waved his hand westward: “So desperate is our condition, gentlemen, that Colonel Moylan’s Dragoons have been ordered here, and are at this moment, I suppose, on the march to join us. And — I ask you, gentlemen — considering that in New York City, just below us, there are ten thousand British regulars, not counting the partizan corps, the irregulars, the Tory militia, the numberless companies of marauders — I ask you how you can expect to draw recruits from the handful of men who have been holding — or striving to hold — this line for the last three years!”
Boyd shook his head in silence. As for me, it was not my place to speak, nor had I anything to suggest.
After a moment the Major said, more cheerfully:
“Well, well, gentlemen, who knows after all? We may find ways and means. And now, one other matter remains to be settled, and I think I may aid you.”
He went to the door and opened it. The sentry who stood across the hall came to him instantly and took his orders; and in a few moments there entered the room four gentlemen to whom we were made known by Major Lockwood. One of these was our Captain of Minute Men. They were, in order, Colonel Sheldon, a fretful gentleman with a face which seemed to me weak, almost stupid; Colonel Thomas, an iron-grey, silent officer, stern but civil; Captain William Fancher, a Justice of the Peace, Judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and holding his commission as Captain of Minute Men; and a Mr. Alsop Hunt, a Quaker, son-in-law of Major Lockwood, and a most quiet and courteous gentleman.
With one accord we drew chairs around the handsome centre table, where silver candlesticks glimmered and a few books lay in their fine, gilded bindings.
It was very evident to us that in the hands of these five gentlemen lay the present safety of Westchester County, military and civil. And to them Major Lockwood made known our needs — not, however, disturbing them in their preconceived notion, so common everywhere, that the blow to be struck from the North was to be aimed at the Canadas.
Colonel Sheldon’s weak features turned red and he said almost peevishly that no recruits could be picked up in Westchester, and that we had had our journey for our pains. Anyway, he’d be damned if he’d permit recruiting for riflemen among his dragoons, it being contrary to law and common sense.
“I’ve a dozen young fellows who might qualify,” said Colonel Thomas bluntly, “but if the law permits Mr. Boyd to take them my regiment’s volleys wouldn’t stop a charge of chipmunks!”
We all laughed a little, and Captain Fancher said:
“Minute Men are Minute Men, Mr. Boyd. You are welcome to any you can enlist from my company.”
Alsop Hunt, being a Quaker, and personally opposed to physical violence, offered no suggestion until the second object of our visit was made known. Then he said, very quietly:
“Mayaro, the Mohican Sagamore, is in this vicinity.”
“How do you know that, Alsop?” asked Major Lockwood quickly.
“I saw him yesterday.”
“Here in Poundridge?”
Mr. Hunt glanced at Colonel Thomas, then with a slight colour mounting to his temples:
“The Sagamore was talking to one of the camp-women last evening — toward sundown on the Rock Hills. We were walking abroad for the air, my wife and I — —” he turned to Major Lockwood: “Betsy whispered to me, ‘There is a handsome wench talking to an Indian!’ And I saw the Sagamore standing in the sunset light, conversing with one of the camp-women who hang about Colonel Thomas’s regiment.”.
“Would you know the slattern again?” asked Colonel Thomas, scowling.
“I think so, Colonel. And to tell the truth she was scarce a slattern, whatever else she may be — a young thing — and it seemed sad to us — to my wife and me.”
“And handsome?” inquired Boyd, smiling at me.
“I may not deny it, sir,” said Mr. Hunt primly. “The child possessed considerable comeliness.”
“Why,” said Boyd to me, laughingly, “she may be the wench you so gallantly rescued an hour since.” And he told the story gayly enough, and with no harm meant; but it embarrassed and annoyed me.
“If the wench knows where the Sagamore may be found,” said Major Lockwood, “it might be well for Mr. Loskiel to look about and try to find her.”
“Would you know her again?” inquired Colonel Thomas.
“No, sir, I — —” And I stopped short, because what I was about to say was not true. For, when I had sent the soldiers about their business and had rejoined Boyd — and when Boyd had bidden me turn again because the girl was handsome, there had been no need to turn. I had seen her; and I knew that when he said she was beautiful he said what was true. And the reason I did not turn, to look again was because beauty in such a woman should inspire no interest in me.
I now corrected myself, saying coolly enough:
“Yes, Colonel Thomas, on second thought I think I might know her if I see her.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Captain Fancher, “the wench has gone a-gypsying after the convoy.”
“These drabs change lovers over night,” observed Colonel Thomas grimly. “Doubtless Sheldon’s troopers are already consoling her.”
Colonel Sheldon, who had been fiddling uneasily with his sword-knot, exclaimed peevishly:
“Good God, sir! Am I also to play chaplain to my command?”
There was a curious look in Colonel Thomas’s eyes which seemed to say: “You might play it as well as you play the Colonel;” but Sheldon was too stupid and too vain, I think, to perceive any affront.
And, “Where do you lodge, gentlemen?” inquired our Major, addressing us both; and when he learned that we were roofless he insisted that we remain under his roof, nor would he hear of any excuses touching the present unsuitability of our condition and attire.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! I will not accept a refusal,” he said. “We are plain folk and live plainly, and both bed and board are at your disposal. Lord, sir! And what would Clinton think were I to send two officers of his corps d’élite to a village ordinary!”
We had all risen and were moving toward the door. A black servant came when the Major pulled the bell card, and showed Boyd and myself to two pretty chambers, small, but very neat, where the linen on the beds smelled fresh and sweet, and the westering sun struck golden through chintz curtains drawn aside.
“Gad!” said Boyd, eying the bed. “It’s long since my person has been intimately acquainted with sheet and pillow. What a pretty nest, Loskiel. Lord! And here’s a vase of posies, too! The touch femi
nine — who could mistake it in the sweet, fresh whiteness of this little roam!”
Presently came our rifleman, Jack Mount, bearing our saddle-bags; and we stripped and washed us clean, and put on fresh linen and our best uniforms of soft doeskin, which differed from the others only in that they were clean and new, and that the thrums were gayer and the Iroquois beadwork more flamboyant.
“If I but had my hair in a snug club, and well powdered,” sighed Boyd, lacing his shirt. “And I tell you, Loskiel, though I would not boast, this accursed rifle-shirt and these gaudy leggings conceal a supple body and a leg as neatly turned as any figure more fortunately clothed in silken coat and stockings!”
I began to laugh, and he laughed, too, vowing he envied me my hair, which was yellow and which curled of itself so that it needed no powder.
I can see him yet, standing there in the sunshine, both hands gripping his dark hair in pretense of grief, and vowing that he had a mind to scalp himself for very vexation. Alas! That I remember now such idle words, spoken in the pride and strength and gayety of youth! And always when I think of him I remember his dread of fire — the only fear he ever knew. These things — his brown eyes and quick, gay smile — his lithe and supple person — and his love of women — these I remember always, even while already much that concerned this man and me begins to fade with the stealthy years.
While the sun still hung high in the west, and ere any hint of evening was heard either in the robin’s note or from the high-soaring martins, we had dressed. Boyd went away first, saying carelessly that he meant to look to the horses before paying his respects to the ladies. A little later I descended, a black servant conducting me to the family sitting room.
Here our gallant Major made me known to his lady and to his numerous family — six young children, and still a seventh, the pretty maid whom we had seen on approaching the house, who proved to be a married daughter. Betsy, they called her — and she was only seventeen, but had been two years the wife of Alsop Hunt.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 692