Brother Square-Toes
It was almost the end of their visit to the seaside. They had turnedthemselves out of doors while their trunks were being packed, andstrolled over the Downs towards the dull evening sea. The tide was deadlow under the chalk cliffs, and the little wrinkled waves grieved alongthe sands up the coast to Newhaven and down the coast to long, greyBrighton, whose smoke trailed out across the Channel.
They walked to The Gap, where the cliff is only a few feet high. Awindlass for hoisting shingle from the beach below stands at the edge ofit. The Coastguard cottages are a little farther on, and an old ship'sfigurehead of a Turk in a turban stared at them over the wall. 'Thistime tomorrow we shall be at home, thank goodness,' said Una. 'I hatethe sea!'
'I believe it's all right in the middle,' said Dan. 'The edges are thesorrowful parts.'
Cordery, the coastguard, came out of the cottage, levelled his telescopeat some fishing-boats, shut it with a click and walked away. He grewsmaller and smaller along the edge of the cliff, where neat piles ofwhite chalk every few yards show the path even on the darkest night.'Where's Cordery going?'said Una.
'Half-way to Newhaven,'said Dan. 'Then he'll meet the Newhavencoastguard and turn back. He says if coastguards were done away with,smuggling would start up at once.'
A voice on the beach under the cliff began to sing:
'The moon she shined on Telscombe Tye-- On Telscombe Tye at night it was-- She saw the smugglers riding by, A very pretty sight it was!'
Feet scrabbled on the flinty path. A dark, thin-faced man in very neatbrown clothes and broad-toed shoes came up, followed by Puck.
'Three Dunkirk boats was standin' in!'
the man went on. 'Hssh!' said Puck. 'You'll shock these nice youngpeople.'
'Oh! Shall I? Mille pardons!' He shrugged his shoulders almost up to hisears--spread his hands abroad, and jabbered in French. 'No comprenny?'he said. 'I'll give it you in Low German.' And he went off in anotherlanguage, changing his voice and manner so completely that they hardlyknew him for the same person. But his dark beady-brown eyes stilltwinkled merrily in his lean face, and the children felt that they didnot suit the straight, plain, snuffy-brown coat, brown knee-breeches,and broad-brimmed hat. His hair was tied 'in a short pigtail whichdanced wickedly when he turned his head.
'Ha' done!' said Puck, laughing. 'Be one thing or t'other,Pharaoh--French or English or German--no great odds which.'
'Oh, but it is, though,' said Una quickly. 'We haven't begun German yet,and--and we're going back to our French next week.'
'Aren't you English?' said Dan. 'We heard you singing just now.'
'Aha! That was the Sussex side o' me. Dad he married a French girlout o' Boulogne, and French she stayed till her dyin' day. She was anAurette, of course. We Lees mostly marry Aurettes. Haven't you ever comeacross the saying:
'Aurettes and Lees, Like as two peas. What they can't smuggle, They'll run over seas'?
'Then, are you a smuggler?' Una cried; and, 'Have you smuggledmuch?'said Dan.
Mr Lee nodded solemnly.
'Mind you,' said he, 'I don't uphold smuggling for the generality o'mankind--mostly they can't make a do of it--but I was brought up to thetrade, d'ye see, in a lawful line o' descent on'--he waved across theChannel--'on both sides the water. 'Twas all in the families, sameas fiddling. The Aurettes used mostly to run the stuff across fromBoulogne, and we Lees landed it here and ran it up to London Town, bythe safest road.'
'Then where did you live?' said Una.
'You mustn't ever live too close to your business in our trade. We keptour little fishing smack at Shoreham, but otherwise we Lees was allhonest cottager folk--at Warminghurst under Washington--Bramber way--onthe old Penn estate.'
'Ah!' said Puck, squatted by the windlass. 'I remember a piece about theLees at Warminghurst, I do:
'There was never a Lee to Warminghurst That wasn't a gipsy last and first.
I reckon that's truth, Pharaoh.'
Pharaoh laughed. 'Admettin' that's true,' he said, 'my gipsy blood mustbe wore pretty thin, for I've made and kept a worldly fortune.'
'By smuggling?' Dan asked. 'No, in the tobacco trade.'
'You don't mean to say you gave up smuggling just to go and be atobacconist!' Dan looked so disappointed they all had to laugh.
'I'm sorry; but there's all sorts of tobacconists,' Pharaoh replied.'How far out, now, would you call that smack with the patch on herforesail?' He pointed to the fishing-boats.
'A scant mile,' said Puck after a quick look.
'Just about. It's seven fathom under her--clean sand. That was whereUncle Aurette used to sink his brandy kegs from Boulogne, and we fished'em up and rowed 'em into The Gap here for the ponies to run inland.One thickish night in January of 'Ninety-three, Dad and Uncle Lot and mecame over from Shoreham in the smack, and we found Uncle Aurette and theL'Estranges, my cousins, waiting for us in their lugger with New Year'spresents from Mother's folk in Boulogne. I remember Aunt Cecile she'dsent me a fine new red knitted cap, which I put on then and there, forthe French was having their Revolution in those days, and red caps wasall the fashion. Uncle Aurette tells us that they had cut off theirKing Louis' head, and, moreover, the Brest forts had fired on an Englishman-o'-war. The news wasn't a week old.
'"That means war again, when we was only just getting used to thepeace," says Dad. "Why can't King George's men and King Louis' men do ontheir uniforms and fight it out over our heads?"
'"Me too, I wish that," says Uncle Aurette. "But they'll be pressingbetter men than themselves to fight for 'em. The press-gangs are outalready on our side. You look out for yours."
'"I'll have to bide ashore and grow cabbages for a while, after I've runthis cargo; but I do wish"--Dad says, going over the lugger's side withour New Year presents under his arm and young L'Estrange holding thelantern--"I just do wish that those folk which make war so easy had torun one cargo a month all this winter. It 'ud show 'em what honest workmeans."
'"Well, I've warned ye," says Uncle Aurette. "I'll be slipping off nowbefore your Revenue cutter comes. Give my love to Sister and take careo' the kegs. It's thicking to southward." 'I remember him waving to usand young Stephen L'Estrange blowing out the lantern. By the time we'dfished up the kegs the fog came down so thick Dad judged it risky for meto row 'em ashore, even though we could hear the ponies stamping onthe beach. So he and Uncle Lot took the dinghy and left me in the smackplaying on my fiddle to guide 'em back.
'Presently I heard guns. Two of 'em sounded mighty like Uncle Aurette'sthree-pounders. He didn't go naked about the seas after dark. Then comemore, which I reckoned was Captain Giddens in the Revenue cutter. He wasopen-handed with his compliments, but he would lay his guns himself. Istopped fiddling to listen, and I heard a whole skyful o' French up inthe fog--and a high bow come down on top o' the smack. I hadn't time tocall or think. I remember the smack heeling over, and me standing on thegunwale pushing against the ship's side as if I hoped to bear her off.Then the square of an open port, with a lantern in it, slid by in frontof my nose. I kicked back on our gunwale as it went under and slippedthrough that port into the French ship--me and my fiddle.'
'Gracious!' said Una. 'What an adventure!'
'Didn't anybody see you come in?' said Dan.
'There wasn't any one there. I'd made use of an orlop-deck port--that'sthe next deck below the gun-deck, which by rights should not have beenopen at all. The crew was standing by their guns up above. I rolled onto a pile of dunnage in the dark and I went to sleep. When I woke, menwas talking all round me, telling each other their names and sorrowsjust like Dad told me pressed men used to talk in the last war. Prettysoon I made out they'd all been hove aboard together by the press-gangs,and left to sort 'emselves. The ship she was the Embuscade, athirty-six-gun Republican frigate, Captain Jean Baptiste Bompard, twodays out of Le Havre, going to the United States with a RepublicanFrench Ambassador of the name of Genet. They had been up all nightclearin
g for action on account of hearing guns in the fog. Uncle Auretteand Captain Giddens must have been passing the time o' day with eachother off Newhaven, and the frigate had drifted past 'em. She never knewshe'd run down our smack. Seeing so many aboard was total strangersto each other, I thought one more mightn't be noticed; so I put AuntCecile's red cap on the back of my head, and my hands in my pockets likethe rest, and, as we French say, I circulated till I found the galley.
'"What! Here's one of 'em that isn't sick!" says a cook. "Take hisbreakfast to Citizen Bompard."
'I carried the tray to the cabin, but I didn't call this Bompard"Citizen." Oh no! "Mon Capitaine" was my little word, same as UncleAurette used to answer in King Louis' Navy. Bompard, he liked it. Hetook me on for cabin servant, and after that no one asked questions; andthus I got good victuals and light work all the way across to America.He talked a heap of politics, and so did his officers, and when thisAmbassador Genet got rid of his land-stomach and laid down the lawafter dinner, a rooks' parliament was nothing compared to their cabin. Ilearned to know most of the men which had worked the French Revolution,through waiting at table and hearing talk about 'em. One of ourforecas'le six-pounders was called Danton and t'other Marat. I used toplay the fiddle between 'em, sitting on the capstan. Day in and day outBompard and Monsieur Genet talked o' what France had done, and how theUnited States was going to join her to finish off the English in thiswar. Monsieur Genet said he'd justabout make the United States fight forFrance. He was a rude common man. But I liked listening. I always helpeddrink any healths that was proposed--specially Citizen Danton's who'dcut off King Louis' head. An all-Englishman might have been shocked--butthat's where my French blood saved me.
'It didn't save me from getting a dose of ship's fever though, the weekbefore we put Monsieur Genet ashore at Charleston; and what was leftof me after bleeding and pills took the dumb horrors from living 'tweendecks. The surgeon, Karaguen his name was, kept me down there to helphim with his plasters--I was too weak to wait on Bompard. I don'tremember much of any account for the next few weeks, till I smelledlilacs, and I looked out of the port, and we was moored to a wharf-edgeand there was a town o' fine gardens and red-brick houses and all thegreen leaves o' God's world waiting for me outside.
'"What's this?" I said to the sick-bay man--Old Pierre Tiphaigne he was."Philadelphia," says Pierre. "You've missed it all. We're sailing nextweek."
'I just turned round and cried for longing to be amongst the laylocks.
'"If that's your trouble," says old Pierre, "you go straight ashore.None'll hinder you. They're all gone mad on these coasts--French andAmerican together. 'Tisn't my notion o' war." Pierre was an old KingLouis man.
'My legs was pretty tottly, but I made shift to go on deck, which itwas like a fair. The frigate was crowded with fine gentlemen and ladiespouring in and out. They sung and they waved French flags, while CaptainBompard and his officers--yes, and some of the men--speechified toall and sundry about war with England. They shouted, "Down withEngland!"--"Down with Washington!"--"Hurrah for France and theRepublic!" I couldn't make sense of it. I wanted to get out from thatcrunch of swords and petticoats and sit in a field. One of the gentlemensaid to me, "Is that a genuine cap o' Liberty you're wearing?" 'TwasAunt Cecile's red one, and pretty near wore out. "Oh yes!" I says,"straight from France." "I'll give you a shilling for it," he says, andwith that money in my hand and my fiddle under my arm I squeezed pastthe entry-port and went ashore. It was like a dream--meadows, trees,flowers, birds, houses, and people all different! I sat me down ina meadow and fiddled a bit, and then I went in and out the streets,looking and smelling and touching, like a little dog at a fair. Finefolk was setting on the white stone doorsteps of their houses, anda girl threw me a handful of laylock sprays, and when I said "Merci"without thinking, she said she loved the French. They all was thefashion in the city. I saw more tricolour flags in Philadelphia thanever I'd seen in Boulogne, and every one was shouting for war withEngland. A crowd o' folk was cheering after our French Ambassador--thatsame Monsieur Genet which we'd left at Charleston. He was a-horsebackbehaving as if the place belonged to him--and commanding all and sundryto fight the British. But I'd heard that before. I got into a longstraight street as wide as the Broyle, where gentlemen was racinghorses. I'm fond o' horses. Nobody hindered 'em, and a man told me itwas called Race Street o' purpose for that. Then I followed some blackniggers, which I'd never seen close before; but I left them to run aftera great, proud, copper-faced man with feathers in his hair and a redblanket trailing behind him. A man told me he was a real Red Indiancalled Red Jacket, and I followed him into an alley-way off RaceStreet by Second Street, where there was a fiddle playing. I'm fondo' fiddling. The Indian stopped at a baker's shop--Conrad Gerhard'sit was--and bought some sugary cakes. Hearing what the price was I wasgoing to have some too, but the Indian asked me in English if I washungry. "Oh yes!" I says. I must have looked a sore scrattel. He opensa door on to a staircase and leads the way up. We walked into a dirtylittle room full of flutes and fiddles and a fat man fiddling by thewindow, in a smell of cheese and medicines fit to knock you down. I wasknocked down too, for the fat man jumped up and hit me a smack in theface. I fell against an old spinet covered with pill-boxes and the pillsrolled about the floor. The Indian never moved an eyelid.
'"Pick up the pills! Pick up the pills!" the fat man screeches.
'I started picking 'em up--hundreds of 'em--meaning to run out under theIndian's arm, but I came on giddy all over and I sat down. The fat manwent back to his fiddling.
'"Toby!" says the Indian after quite a while. "I brought the boy to befed, not hit."
'"What?" says Toby, "I thought it was Gert Schwankfelder." He put downhis fiddle and took a good look at me. "Himmel!" he says. "I have hitthe wrong boy. It is not the new boy. Why are you not the new boy? Whyare you not Gert Schwankfelder?"
'"I don't know," I said. "The gentleman in the pink blanket brought me."
'Says the Indian, "He is hungry, Toby. Christians always feed thehungry. So I bring him."
'"You should have said that first," said Toby. He pushed plates at meand the Indian put bread and pork on them, and a glass of Madeira wine.I told him I was off the French ship, which I had joined on account ofmy mother being French. That was true enough when you think of it, andbesides I saw that the French was all the fashion in Philadelphia. Tobyand the Indian whispered and I went on picking up the pills.
'"You like pills--eh?" says Toby. "No," I says. "I've seen our ship'sdoctor roll too many of em."
'"Ho!" he says, and he shoves two bottles at me. "What's those?"
'"Calomel," I says. "And t'other's senna."
'"Right," he says. "One week have I tried to teach Gert Schwankfelderthe difference between them, yet he cannot tell. You like to fiddle?" hesays. He'd just seen my kit on the floor.
'"Oh yes!" says I.
'"Oho!" he says. "What note is this?" drawing his bow across.
'He meant it for A, so I told him it was.
'"My brother," he says to the Indian. "I think this is the hand ofProvidence! I warned that Gert if he went to play upon the wharvesany more he would hear from me. Now look at this boy and say what youthink."
'The Indian looked me over whole minutes--there was a musical clock onthe wall and dolls came out and hopped while the hour struck. He lookedme over all the while they did it.
'"Good," he says at last. "This boy is good."
'"Good, then," says Toby. "Now I shall play my fiddle and you shall singyour hymn, brother. Boy, go down to the bakery and tell them you areyoung Gert Schwankfelder that was. The horses are in Davy jones'slocker. If you ask any questions you shall hear from me."
'I left 'em singing hymns and I went down to old Conrad Gerhard. Hewasn't at all surprised when I told him I was young Gert Schwankfelderthat was. He knew Toby. His wife she walked me into the back-yardwithout a word, and she washed me and she cut my hair to the edge of abasin, and she put me to bed, and oh! how I slept--how I slept in thatl
ittle room behind the oven looking on the flower garden! I didn't knowToby went to the Embuscade that night and bought me off Dr Karaguen fortwelve dollars and a dozen bottles of Seneca Oil. Karaguen wanted a newlace to his coat, and he reckoned I hadn't long to live; so he put medown as "discharged sick."
'I like Toby,' said Una.
'Who was he?' said Puck.
'Apothecary Tobias Hirte,' Pharaoh replied. 'One Hundred and Eighteen,Second Street--the famous Seneca Oil man, that lived half of every yearamong the Indians. But let me tell my tale my own way, same as his brownmare used to go to Lebanon.'
'Then why did he keep her in Davy Jones's locker?' Dan asked. 'That washis joke. He kept her under David Jones's hat shop in the "Buck" tavernyard, and his Indian friends kept their ponies there when they visitedhim. I looked after the horses when I wasn't rolling pills on top ofthe old spinet, while he played his fiddle and Red Jacket sang hymns.I liked it. I had good victuals, light work, a suit o' clean clothes, aplenty music, and quiet, smiling German folk all around that let mesit in their gardens. My first Sunday, Toby took me to his church inMoravian Alley; and that was in a garden too. The women wore long-earedcaps and handkerchiefs. They came in at one door and the men at another,and there was a brass chandelier you could see your face in, and anigger-boy to blow the organ bellows. I carried Toby's fiddle, and heplayed pretty much as he chose all against the organ and the singing. Hewas the only one they let do it, for they was a simple-minded folk. Theyused to wash each other's feet up in the attic to keep 'emselves humble:which Lord knows they didn't need.'
'How very queer!' said Una.
Pharaoh's eyes twinkled. 'I've met many and seen much,' he said; 'but Ihaven't yet found any better or quieter or forbearinger people than theBrethren and Sistern of the Moravian Church in Philadelphia. Nor will Iever forget my first Sunday--the service was in English that week--withthe smell of the flowers coming in from Pastor Meder's garden wherethe big peach tree is, and me looking at all the clean strangeness andthinking of 'tween decks on the Embuscade only six days ago. Being aboy, it seemed to me it had lasted for ever, and was going on forever. But I didn't know Toby then. As soon as the dancing clock struckmidnight that Sunday--I was lying under the spinet--I heard Toby'sfiddle. He'd just done his supper, which he always took late and heavy."Gert," says he, "get the horses. Liberty and Independence for Ever! Theflowers appear upon the earth, and the time of the singing of birds iscome. We are going to my country seat in Lebanon."
'I rubbed my eyes, and fetched 'em out of the "Buck" stables. Red Jacketwas there saddling his, and when I'd packed the saddle-bags we threerode up Race Street to the Ferry by starlight. So we went travelling.It's a kindly, softly country there, back of Philadelphia among theGerman towns, Lancaster way. Little houses and bursting big barns, fatcattle, fat women, and all as peaceful as Heaven might be if they farmedthere. Toby sold medicines out of his saddlebags, and gave the Frenchwar-news to folk along the roads. Him and his long-hilted umberellwas as well known as the stage-coaches. He took orders for that famousSeneca Oil which he had the secret of from Red Jacket's Indians, and heslept in friends' farmhouses, but he would shut all the windows; so RedJacket and me slept outside. There's nothing to hurt except snakes--andthey slip away quick enough if you thrash in the bushes.'
'I'd have liked that!' said Dan.
'I'd no fault to find with those days. In the cool o' the morning thecat-bird sings. He's something to listen to. And there's a smell of wildgrape-vine growing in damp hollows which you drop into, after long ridesin the heat, which is beyond compare for sweetness. So's the puffs outof the pine woods of afternoons. Come sundown, the frogs strike up, andlater on the fireflies dance in the corn. Oh me, the fireflies in thecorn! We were a week or ten days on the road, tacking from one place toanother--such as Lancaster, Bethlehem-Ephrata--"thou Bethlehem-Ephrata."No odds--I loved the going about. And so we jogged 'into dozy littleLebanon by the Blue Mountains, where Toby had a cottage and a garden ofall fruits. He come north every year for this wonderful Seneca Oil theSeneca Indians made for him. They'd never sell to any one else, and hedoctored 'em with von Swieten pills, which they valued more than theirown oil. He could do what he chose with them, and, of course, he triedto make them Moravians. The Senecas are a seemly, quiet people, andthey'd had trouble enough from white men--American and English--duringthe wars, to keep 'em in that walk. They lived on a Reservation bythemselves away off by their lake. Toby took me up there, and theytreated me as if I was their own blood brother. Red Jacket said the markof my bare feet in the dust was just like an Indian's and my style ofwalking was similar. I know I took to their ways all over.'
'Maybe the gipsy drop in your blood helped you?' said Puck.
'Sometimes I think it did,' Pharaoh went on. 'Anyhow, Red Jacket andCornplanter, the other Seneca chief, they let me be adopted into thetribe. It's only a compliment, of course, but Toby was angry when Ishowed up with my face painted. They gave me a side-name which means"Two Tongues," because, d'ye see, I talked French and English.
'They had their own opinions (I've heard 'em) about the French and theEnglish, and the Americans. They'd suffered from all of 'em during thewars, and they only wished to be left alone. But they thought a heap ofthe President of the United States. Cornplanter had had dealings withhim in some French wars out West when General Washington was only a lad.His being President afterwards made no odds to 'em. They always calledhim Big Hand, for he was a large-fisted man, and he was all of theirnotion of a white chief. Cornplanter 'ud sweep his blanket round him,and after I'd filled his pipe he'd begin--"In the old days, long ago,when braves were many and blankets were few, Big Hand said-" If RedJacket agreed to the say-so he'd trickle a little smoke out of thecorners of his mouth. If he didn't, he'd blow through his nostrils.Then Cornplanter 'ud stop and Red Jacket 'ud take on. Red Jacket was thebetter talker of the two. I've laid and listened to 'em for hours.Oh! they knew General Washington well. Cornplanter used to meet him atEpply's--the great dancing-place in the city before District MarshalWilliam Nichols bought it. They told me he was always glad to see 'em,and he'd hear 'em out to the end if they had anything on their minds.They had a good deal in those days. I came at it by degrees, after I wasadopted into the tribe. The talk up in Lebanon and everywhere else thatsummer was about the French war with England and whether the UnitedStates 'ud join in with France or make a peace treaty with England. Tobywanted peace so as he could go about the Reservation buying his oils.But most of the white men wished for war, and they was angry becausethe President wouldn't give the sign for it. The newspaper said men wasburning Guy Fawkes images of General Washington and yelling after him inthe streets of Philadelphia. You'd have been astonished what those twofine old chiefs knew of the ins and outs of such matters. The littleI've learned of politics I picked up from Cornplanter and Red Jacketon the Reservation. Toby used to read the Aurora newspaper. He waswhat they call a "Democrat," though our Church is against the Brethrenconcerning themselves with politics.'
'I hate politics, too,' said Una, and Pharaoh laughed.
'I might ha' guessed it,' he said. 'But here's something that isn'tpolitics. One hot evening late in August, Toby was reading the newspaperon the stoop and Red Jacket was smoking under a peach tree and I wasfiddling. Of a sudden Toby drops his Aurora.
'"I am an oldish man, too fond of my own comforts," he says. "I willgo to the Church which is in Philadelphia. My brother, lend me a sparepony. I must be there tomorrow night."
'"Good!" says Red Jacket, looking at the sun. "My brother shall bethere. I will ride with him and bring back the ponies."
'I went to pack the saddle-bags. Toby had cured me of asking questions.He stopped my fiddling if I did. Besides, Indians don't ask questionsmuch and I wanted to be like 'em.
'When the horses were ready I jumped up.
'"Get off," says Toby. "Stay and mind the cottage till I come back. TheLord has laid this on me, not on you. I wish He hadn't."
'He powders off down the Lancaster road, an
d I sat on the doorstepwondering after him. When I picked up the paper to wrap hisfiddle-strings in, I spelled out a piece about the yellow fever being inPhiladelphia so dreadful every one was running away. I was scared, forI was fond of Toby. We never said much to each other, but we fiddledtogether, and music's as good as talking to them that understand.'
'Did Toby die of yellow fever?'Una asked.
'Not him! There's justice left in the world still. He went down to theCity and bled 'em well again in heaps. He sent back word by Red Jacketthat, if there was war or he died, I was to bring the oils along to theCity, but till then I was to go on working in the garden and Red Jacketwas to see me do it. Down at heart all Indians reckon digging a squaw'sbusiness, and neither him nor Cornplanter, when he relieved watch, wasa hard task-Master. We hired a nigger-boy to do our work, and a lazygrinning runagate he was. When I found Toby didn't die the minute hereached town, why, boylike, I took him off my mind and went with myIndians again. Oh! those days up north at Canasedago, running races andgambling with the Senecas, or bee-hunting 'in the woods, or fishing inthe lake.' Pharaoh sighed and looked across the water. 'But it's best,'he went on suddenly, 'after the first frosts. You roll out o' yourblanket and find every leaf left green over night turned red and yellow,not by trees at a time, but hundreds and hundreds of miles of 'em, likesunsets splattered upside down. On one of such days--the maples wasflaming scarlet and gold, and the sumach bushes were redder--Cornplanterand Red Jacket came out in full war-dress, making the very leaves looksilly: feathered war-bonnets, yellow doeskin leggings, fringed andtasselled, red horse-blankets, and their bridles feathered and shelledand beaded no bounds. I thought it was war against the British till Isaw their faces weren't painted, and they only carried wrist-whips. ThenI hummed "Yankee Doodle" at 'em. They told me they was going to visitBig Hand and find out for sure whether he meant to join the French infighting the English or make a peace treaty with England. I reckon thosetwo would ha' gone out on the war-path at a nod from Big Hand, but theyknew well, if there was war 'twixt England and the United States, theirtribe 'ud catch it from both parties same as in all the other wars. Theyasked me to come along and hold the ponies. That puzzled me, becausethey always put their ponies up at the "Buck" or Epply's when they wentto see General Washington in the city, and horse-holding is a nigger'sjob. Besides, I wasn't exactly dressed for it.'
'D'you mean you were dressed like an Indian?'Dan demanded.
Pharaoh looked a little abashed. 'This didn't happen at Lebanon,'he said, 'but a bit farther north, on the Reservation; and at thatparticular moment of time, so far as blanket, hair-band, moccasins, andsunburn went, there wasn't much odds 'twix' me and a young Seneca buck.You may laugh'--he smoothed down his long-skirted brown coat--'but Itold you I took to their ways all over. I said nothing, though I wasbursting to let out the war-whoop like the young men had taught me.'
'No, and you don't let out one here, either,' said Puck before Dan couldask. 'Go on, Brother Square-toes.'
'We went on.' Pharaoh's narrow dark eyes gleamed and danced. 'We wenton--forty, fifty miles a day, for days on end--we three braves. And howa great tall Indian a-horse-back can carry his war-bonnet at a canterthrough thick timber without brushing a feather beats me! My silly headwas banged often enough by low branches, but they slipped through likerunning elk. We had evening hymn-singing every night after they'd blowntheir pipe-smoke to the quarters of heaven. Where did we go? I'll tellyou, but don't blame me if you're no wiser. We took the old war-trailfrom the end of the Lake along the East Susquehanna through the Nantegocountry, right down to Fort Shamokin on the Senachse river. We crossedthe Juniata by Fort Granville, got into Shippensberg over the hills bythe Ochwick trail, and then to Williams Ferry (it's a bad one). FromWilliams Ferry, across the Shanedore, over the Blue Mountains, throughAshby's Gap, and so south-east by south from there, till we found thePresident at the back of his own plantations. I'd hate to be trailed byIndians in earnest. They caught him like a partridge on a stump. Afterwe'd left our ponies, we scouted forward through a woody piece, and,creeping slower and slower, at last if my moccasins even slippedRed Jacket 'ud turn and frown. I heard voices--Monsieur Genet's forchoice--long before I saw anything, and we pulled up at the edge ofa clearing where some niggers in grey-and-red liveries were holdinghorses, and half-a-dozen gentlemen--but one was Genet--were talkingamong felled timber. I fancy they'd come to see Genet a piece on hisroad, for his portmantle was with him. I hid in between two logs as nearto the company as I be to that old windlass there. I didn't need anybodyto show me Big Hand. He stood up, very still, his legs a little apart,listening to Genet, that French Ambassador, which never had more mannersthan a Bosham tinker. Genet was as good as ordering him to declare waron England at once. I had heard that clack before on the Embuscade.He said he'd stir up the whole United States to have war with England,whether Big Hand liked it or not.
'Big Hand heard him out to the last end. I looked behind me, and my twochiefs had vanished like smoke. Says Big Hand, "That is very forciblyput, Monsieur Genet--"
'"Citizen--citizen!" the fellow spits in. "I, at least, am aRepublican!"
"Citizen Genet," he says, "you may be sure it will receive my fullestconsideration." This seemed to take Citizen Genet back a piece. He rodeoff grumbling, and never gave his nigger a penny. No gentleman!
'The others all assembled round Big Hand then, and, in their way, theysaid pretty much what Genet had said. They put it to him, here wasFrance and England at war, in a manner of speaking, right across theUnited States' stomach, and paying no regards to any one. The Frenchwas searching American ships on pretence they was helping England, butreally for to steal the goods. The English was doing the same, onlyt'other way round, and besides searching, they was pressing Americancitizens into their Navy to help them fight France, on pretence thatthose Americans was lawful British subjects. His gentlemen put thisvery clear to Big Hand. It didn't look to them, they said, as though theUnited States trying to keep out of the fight was any advantage to her,because she only catched it from both French and English. They said thatnine out of ten good Americans was crazy to fight the English then andthere. They wouldn't say whether that was right or wrong; they onlywanted Big Hand to turn it over in his mind. He did--for a while. Isaw Red Jacket and Cornplanter watching him from the far side of theclearing, and how they had slipped round there was another mystery. ThenBig Hand drew himself up, and he let his gentlemen have it.'
'Hit 'em?' Dan asked.
'No, nor yet was it what you might call swearing. He--he blasted 'emwith his natural speech. He asked them half-a-dozen times over whetherthe United States had enough armed ships for any shape or sort of warwith any one. He asked 'em, if they thought she had those ships, to givehim those ships, and they looked on the ground, as if they expected tofind 'em there. He put it to 'em whether, setting ships aside, theircountry--I reckon he gave 'em good reasons--whether the United Stateswas ready or able to face a new big war; she having but so few yearsback wound up one against England, and being all holds full of her owntroubles. As I said, the strong way he laid it all before 'em blasted'em, and when he'd done it was like a still in the woods after a storm.A little man--but they all looked little--pipes up like a young rookin a blowed-down nest, "Nevertheless, General, it seems you will becompelled to fight England." Quick Big Hand wheeled on him, "And isthere anything in my past which makes you think I am averse to fightingGreat Britain?"
'Everybody laughed except him. "Oh, General, you mistake us entirely!"they says. "I trust so," he says. "But I know my duty. We must havepeace with England."
'"At any price?" says the man with the rook's voice.
'"At any price," says he, word by word. "Our ships will be searched--ourcitizens will be pressed, but--"
'"Then what about the Declaration of Independence?" says one.
'"Deal with facts, not fancies," says Big Hand. "The United States arein no position to fight England."
'"But think of public opinion," another one starts up. "
The feeling inPhiladelphia alone is at fever heat."
'He held up one of his big hands. "Gentlemen," he says--slow he spoke,but his voice carried far--"I have to think of our country. Let meassure you that the treaty with Great Britain will be made though everycity in the Union burn me in effigy."
'"At any price?" the actor-like chap keeps on croaking.
'"The treaty must be made on Great Britain's own terms. What else can Ido?" 'He turns his back on 'em and they looked at each other and slinkedoff to the horses, leaving him alone: and then I saw he was an old man.Then Red Jacket and Cornplanter rode down the clearing from the far endas though they had just chanced along. Back went Big Hand's shoulders,up went his head, and he stepped forward one single pace with a greatdeep Hough! so pleased he was. That was a statelified meeting tobehold--three big men, and two of 'em looking like jewelled images amongthe spattle of gay-coloured leaves. I saw my chiefs' war-bonnets sinkingtogether, down and down. Then they made the sign which no Indian makesoutside of the Medicine Lodges--a sweep of the right hand just clearof the dust and an inbend of the left knee at the same time, and thoseproud eagle feathers almost touched his boot-top.'
'What did it mean?' said Dan.
'Mean!' Pharaoh cried. 'Why it's what you--what we--it's the Sachems'way of sprinkling the sacred corn-meal in front of--oh! it's a pieceof Indian compliment really, and it signifies that you are a very bigchief.
'Big Hand looked down on 'em. First he says quite softly, "My brothersknow it is not easy to be a chief." Then his voice grew. "My children,"says he, "what is in your minds?"
'Says Cornplanter, "We came to ask whether there will be war with KingGeorge's men, but we have heard what our Father has said to his chiefs.We will carry away that talk in our hearts to tell to our people."
'"No," says Big Hand. "Leave all that talk behind--it was between whitemen only--but take this message from me to your people--'There will beno war.'"
'His gentlemen were waiting, so they didn't delay him-, only Cornplantersays, using his old side-name, "Big Hand, did you see us among thetimber just now?"
'"Surely," says he. "You taught me to look behind trees when we wereboth young." And with that he cantered off.
'Neither of my chiefs spoke till we were back on our ponies again and ahalf-hour along the home-trail. Then Cornplanter says to Red Jacket, "Wewill have the Corn-dance this year. There will be no war." And that wasall there was to it.'
Pharaoh stood up as though he had finished.
'Yes,' said Puck, rising too. 'And what came out of it in the long run?'
'Let me get at my story my own way,'was the answer. 'Look! it's laterthan I thought. That Shoreham smack's thinking of her supper.' Thechildren looked across the darkening Channel. A smack had hoisted alantern and slowly moved west where Brighton pier lights ran out in atwinkling line. When they turned round The Gap was empty behind them.
'I expect they've packed our trunks by now,' said Dan. 'This timetomorrow we'll be home.'
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