Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  And presently her voice came again from the more distant darkness somewhere:

  “Has the box which you commanded arrived yet, Euan?”

  “It is at my hut. A wagon will bring it to you in the morning.”

  I could hear her clap her wet little hands; and she cried out softly:

  “Oh!” and “Oh!” Then she said: “I did not understand at first how much I wished for everything you offered. Only when I saw the ladies at Croghan’s house, as I was coming with my mending from the fort — then I knew I wanted everything you have bespoken for me.... Everything, dear lad! Oh, you don’t know how truly grateful I shall be. No, you don’t, Euan! And if the box is really come, when am I going with you to be made known to Mistress Bleecker?”

  “I think it is better that I first bring her to you.”

  “Would she condescend to come?”

  “I think so.”

  There was a pause. I seated myself. Then the soft and indecisive sound of ripples stirred by an idle hand broke the heated silence.

  “You say they all are your good friends?” she remarked thoughtfully.

  “I know them all. Lana Helmer I have known intimately since we were children.”

  “Then why is it not better to present me to her first — if you know her so very well?”

  “Mrs. Bleecker is older.”

  “Oh! Is this Miss Helmer then so young?”

  “Your age.”

  “Oh! My age.... And pretty?”

  “The world thinks so.”

  “Oh! And what do you think, Euan?”

  “Yes, she is pretty,” said I carelessly.

  There was a long silence. I sat there, my knees gathered in my arms, staring up at the stars.

  Then, faintly came her voice:

  “Good-night, Euan.”

  I rose, laid hold of the willow bush that scraped my shoulders, felt over it until I found the dangling broken branch; stepped forward, groping, until I touched the next broken branch. Then, knowing I was on my trail, I turned around and called back softly through the darkness:

  “Good-night, little Lois!”

  “Good-night, and sweet dreams, Euan. I will be dressed and waiting for you in the morning to go to Mrs. Bleecker, or to receive her as you and she think fitting.... Is there a looking glass in that same wonder-box?”

  “Two, Lois.”

  “You dear and generous lad!... And are there hair-pegs? Heaven knows if my clipped poll will hold them. Anyway, I can powder and patch, and — oh, Euan! Is there lip-red and curd-lily lotion for the skin? Not that I shall love you any less if there be none — —”

  “I bespoke of Mr. Hake,” said I, laughing, “a full beauty battery, such as I once saw Betty Schuyler show to Walter Butler, having but then received it from New York. And all I know, Lois, is that it was full of boxes, jars, and flasks, and smelled like a garden in late June. And if Mr. Hake has not chosen with discretion I shall go South and scalp him!”

  “Euan, I adore you!”

  “You adore your battery,” said I, not convinced.

  “That, too. But you more than my mirrors, and my lip-red, and the lily lotion — more than my darling shifts and stays and shoon and gowns!... I had never dreamed I could accept them from you. But you had become so dear to me — and I could read you through and through — and found you so like myself — and it gave me a new pleasure to humble my pride to your desires. That is how it came about. Also, I saw those ladies.... And I do not think I shall be great friends with your Lana Helmer — even when I am fine and brave in gown and powder to face her on equal terms — —”

  “Lois, what in the world are you babbling?”

  “Let me babble, Euan. Never have I been so happy, so content, so excited yet so confident.... Listen; do you dread tomorrow?”

  “I?”

  “Yes — that I might not do you honour before your fashionable friends?... And I say to you, have no fear. If my gowns are truly what I think they are, I shall conduct without a tremour — particularly if your Lana be there, and that careless, rakish friend of yours, Lieutenant Boyd.”

  “Do you remember what you are to say to Boyd if he seems in any wise to think he has met you elsewhere?”

  “I can avoid a lie and deal with him,” she said with calm contempt. “But there is not a chance he’d know me in my powder.”

  There was a silence. Then the unseen water rippled and splashed.

  “Poor Euan!” she said. “I wish you might dare swim here in this heavenly place with me. But we are not god and goddess, and the fabled age is vanished.... Good-night, dear lad.... And one thing more.... All you are to me — all you have done for me — don’t you understand that I could not take it from you unless, in my secret heart, I knew that one day I must be to you all you desire — and all I, too, shall learn to wish for?”

  “It is written,” I said unsteadily. “It must come to pass.”

  “It must come,” she said, in the hushed voice of a child who dreams, wide-eyed awake, murmuring of wonders.

  I slept on the river-sand, not soundly, for all night long men and horses splashed in the water all around me, and I was conscious of many people stirring, of voices, the dip of paddles, and of the slow batteaux passing with the wavelets slapping on their bows. Then, the next I knew — bang! And the morning gun jarred me awake.

  I had bathed and dressed, but had not yet breakfasted when one of our regimental wagons came to take the box to Lois — a fine and noble box indeed, in its parti-coloured cowhide cover, and a pretty pattern of brass nails all over it, making here a star and there a sunburst, around the brass plate engraven with her name: “Lois de Contrecoeur.”

  Then the wagon drove away, and the Sagamore and I broke bread together, seated in the willow shade, the heat in our bush-hut being insupportable.

  “No more scalps, Mayaro?” I taunted him, having already inspected the unpleasant trophies behind the hut. “How is this, then? Are the Cats all skinned?”

  He smiled serenely. “They have crept westward to lick their scars, Loskiel. A child may safely play in the forest now from the upper castle and Torloch to the Minnisink.”

  “Has Amochol gone?”

  “To make strong magic for his dead Cats, little brother. The Siwanois hatchets are still sticking in the heads of Hiokatoo’s Senecas. Let their eight Sachems try to pull them out.”

  “So you have managed to wound a Seneca or two?”

  “Three, Loskiel — but the rifle was one of Sir William’s, and carried to the left, and only a half-ounce ball. My brother Loskiel will make proper requisition of the Commissary of Issues and draw a weapon fit for a Mohican warrior.”

  “Indeed I will,” said I, smilingly, knowing well enough that the four-foot, Indian-trade, smooth bore was no weapon for this warrior; nor was it any kindness in such times as these to so arm our corps of Oneida scouts.

  After breakfast I went to the fort and found that Major Parr and his command had come in the night before from their long and very arduous scout beyond the Canajoharrie Castle.

  The Major received me, inquiring particularly whether I had contrived to keep the Sagamore well affected toward our cause; and seemed much pleased when I told him that this Siwanois and I had practiced the rite of blood-brotherhood.

  “Excellent,” said he. “And I don’t mind admitting to you that I place very little reliance on the mission Indians as guides — neither on the Stockbridge runners nor on the Oneidas, who have come to us more in fear of the Long House than out of any particular loyalty or desire to aid us.”

  “That is true, sir. They had as soon enter hell as Catharines-town.”

  The Major nodded and continued to open and read the letters which had arrived during his absence.

  “May I draw one of our rifles for my Mohican, sir?” I asked.

  “We have very few. Schott’s men have not yet all drawn their arms.”

  “Nevertheless — —”

  “You think it necessary?”
r />   “I think it best to properly arm the only reliable guide this army has in its service, Major.”

  “Very well, Mr. Loskiel.... And see that you keep this fellow in good humour. Use your own wit and knowledge; do as you deem best. All I ask of you is to keep this wild beast full fed and properly flattered until we march.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said gravely, thinking to myself in a sad sort of wonder how utterly the majority of white men mistook their red brethren of the forest, and how blind they were not to impute to them the same humanity that they arrogated to themselves.

  So much could have been done had men of my blood and colour dealt nobly with a noble people. Yet, even Major Parr, who was no fool and who was far more enlightened than many, spoke of a Mohican Sagamore as “this wild beast,” and seriously advised me to keep him “full fed and properly flattered!”

  “Yes, sir,” I repeated, saluting, and almost inclined to laugh in his face.

  So I first made requisition for the lang rifle, then reported to my captain, although being on special detail under Major Parr’s personal orders, this was nothing more than a mere courtesy.

  The parade already swarmed with our men mustering for inspection; I met Lieutenant Boyd, and we conversed for a while, he lamenting the impossibility of making a boating party with the ladies, being on duty until three o’clock. And:

  “Who is this new guest of Mrs. Bleecker?” he asked curiously. “I understand that you are acquainted with her. What is her name? A Miss de Contrecoeur?”

  I had not been prepared for that, never expecting that Mrs. Bleecker had already started to prepare the way; but I kept my countenance and answered coolly enough that I had the honour of knowing Miss de Contrecoeur.

  “She came by batteau from Albany?”

  “Her box,” said I, “has just arrived from Albany by batteau.”

  “Is the lady young and handsome?” he asked, smiling.

  “Both, Mr. Boyd.”

  “Well,” he said, with a polite oath, “she must be something more, too, if she hopes to rival Lana Helmer.”

  So it had already come to such terms of intimacy that he now spoke of her as Lana. For the last few days I had not been to Croghan’s house to pay my respects, the heat leaving me disinclined to stir from the shade of the river trees. Evidently it had not debarred Boyd from presenting himself, or her from receiving him, although a note brought to me from Mrs. Bleecker by her black wench said that both she and Angelina Lansing were ill with the heat and kept their rooms.

  “We are bidden to cake and wine at five,” said I. “Are you going?”

  He said he would be present, and so I left him buckling on his belt, and the conch-horn’s blast echoing over the parade, sounding the assembly.

  At the gate I encountered Lana and Mrs. Lansing and our precious Ensign, come to view the inspection, and exchanged a gay greeting with them.

  Then, mending my pace, I hastened to Croghan’s house, and found Mrs. Bleecker pacing the foot-path and nibbling fennel.

  “How agreeably cool it is growing,” she said as I bent over her fingers. “I truly believe we are to have an endurable day at last.” She smiled at me as I straightened up, and continued to regard me very intently, still slightly smiling.

  “What has disturbed your usual equanimity, Euan? You seem as flushed and impatient as — as a lover at a tryst, for example.”

  At that I coloured so hotly that she laughed and took my arm, saying:

  “There is no sport in plaguing so honest a heart as yours, dear lad. Come; shall we walk over to call upon your fairy princess? Or had you rather bring her here to me?”

  “She also leaves it to your pleasure,” I said; “Naturally,” said Mrs. Bleecker, with a touch of hauteur; then, softening, smiled as much at herself as at me, I think.

  “Come,” she said gaily. “Sans cérémonie, n’est-ce pas?”

  And we sauntered down the road.

  “Her box arrived last evening,” said I. “God send that Mr. Hake has chosen to please her.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No.”

  “Lord!” said she gravely. “Then it is well enough that you pray.... Perhaps, however,” and she gave me a mischievous look, “you have entrusted such commissions to Mr. Hake before.”

  “I never have!” I said earnestly, then was obliged to join in her delighted laughter.

  “I knew you had not, Euan. But had I asked that question of your friend, Mr. Boyd, and had he answered me as you did, I might have thought he lied.”

  I said nothing.

  “He is at our house every day, and every moment when he is not on duty,” she remarked.

  “What gallant man would not do the like, if privileged?” I said lightly.

  “Lana talks with him too much. Angelina and I have kept our rooms, as I wrote you, truly dreading a stroke of the sun. But Lana! Lord! She was up and out and about with her lieutenant; and he had an Oneida to take them both boating — and then he had the canoe only, and paddled it himself.... They were gone too long to suit me,” she added curtly.

  “When?”

  “Every night. I wish I knew where they go in their canoe. But I can do nothing with Lana.... You, perhaps, might say a friendly word to Mr. Boyd — if you are on that footing with him — to consider Lana’s reputation a little more, and his own amusement a little less.”

  I said slowly: “Whatever footing I am on with him, I will say that to him, if you wish.”

  “I don’t wish you to provoke him.”

  “I shall take pains not to.”

  She said impatiently: “There are far too many army duels now. It sickens me to hear of them. Besides, Lana did ever raise the devil beyond bounds with any man she could ensnare — and no harm done.”

  “No harm,” I said. “Walter Butler had a hurt of her bright eyes, and sulked for months. And many another, Mrs. Bleecker. But somehow, Mr. Boyd—”

  She nodded: “Yes — he’s too much like her — but, being a man, scarcely as innocent of intention, I’ve said as much to her, and left her pouting — the silly little jade.”

  We said nothing more, having come in sight of the low house of logs where Lois dwelt.

  “The poor child,” said Mrs. Bleecker softly. “Lord! What a kennel for a human being!”

  As we approached we saw Mrs. Rannock crossing the clearing in the distance, laden with wash from the fort; and I briefly acquainted my handsome companion with her tragic history. Then, coming to the door, I knocked. A lovely figure opened for us.

  So astonished was I — it having somehow gone from my mind that Lois could be so changed, that for a moment I failed to recognise her in this flushed and radiant young creature advancing in willowy beauty from the threshold.

  As she sank very low in her pretty reverence, I saw her curly hair all dusted with French powder, under the chip hat with its lilac ribbons tied beneath her chin — and the beauty-patch on her cheek I saw, and how snowy her hands were, where her fingers held her flowered gown spread.

  Then, recovering, she rose gracefully from her reverence, and I saw her clear grey eyes star-brilliant as I had never seen them, and a breathless little smile edging her lips.

  On Mrs. Bleecker the effect she produced was odd, for that proud and handsome young matron had flushed brightly at first, lips compressed and almost stern; and her courtesy had been none too supple either.

  Then in a stupid way I went forward to make my compliments and bend low over the little hand; and as I recovered myself I found her eyes on me for the first time — and for a brief second they lingered, soft and wonderful, sweet, tender, wistful. But the next moment they were clear and brilliant again with controlled excitement, as Mrs. Bleecker stepped forward, putting out both hands impulsively. Afterward she said to me:

  “It was her eyes, and the look she gave you, Euan, that convinced me.”

  But now, to Lois, she said very sweetly:

  “I am certain that we are to become friends if you wish it as mu
ch as I do.”

  Lois laid her hands in hers.

  “I do wish it,” she said.

  “Then the happy accomplishment is easy,” said Mrs. Bleecker, smiling. “I had expected to yield to you very readily my interest and sympathy, but I had scarce expected to yield my heart to you at our first meeting.”

  Lois stood mute, the smile still stamped on her lips. Suddenly the tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned away hastily; and Mrs. Bleecker’s arm went ‘round her waist.

  They walked into the house together, and I, still dazed and mazed with the enchanted revelation of her new loveliness, wandered about among the charred stumps, my thoughts a heavenly chaos, as though a million angels were singing in my ears. I could even have seen them, save for a wondrous rosy mist that rolled around them.

  How long I wandered I do not know, but presently the door opened, and Lois beckoned me, and I went in to find Mrs. Bleecker down on her knees on the puncheon floor, among the mass of pretty finery overflowing from the box.

  “Did Mr. Hake’s selection please you?” I asked, “Oh, Euan, how can I make you understand! Everything is too beautiful to be real, and I am certain that a dreadful Cinderella awakening is in store for me.”

  “Yes — but she wore the slipper in the end.”

  Lois gave me a shy, sweet look, then, suddenly animated, turned eagerly once more to discuss her wardrobe with her new friend.

  “Your Mr. Hake has excellent taste, Euan,” observed Mrs. Bleecker. “Or,” she added laughingly, “perhaps your late prayer helped.” And to Lois she said mischievously: “You know, my dear, that Mr. Loskiel was accustomed to petition God very earnestly that your wardrobe should please you.”

  Lois looked at me, the smile curving her lips into a happy tenderness.

  “He is so wonderful,” she said, with no embarrassment. And I saw Mrs. Bleecker look up at her, then smilingly at me, with the slightest possible nod of approbation.

  For two hours and more that pair of women remained happy among the ribbons and laces; and every separate article Lois brought to me naively, for me to share her pleasure. And once or twice I saw Mrs. Bleecker watching us intently; and when discovered she only laughed, but with such sweetness and good will that it left me happy and reassured.