Complete weird tales of.., p.112
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 112
A noise at the guard door brought me running out of the store-room to find my Cayuga making to force his way out, and the soldiers shoving him into the guest-room again.
“Fall back!” I cried, my wits working like shuttles; and quickly added in the Cayuga tongue: “Cayugas are free people; free to stay, free to go. Open the door for my brother who fears his brother’s fireside!”
There was a silence; the soldiers stood back respectfully; a sergeant opened the outer door. But the Indian, turning his hot eyes on me, swung on his heel and re-entered the guest-room, drawing the flint from his rifle as he walked.
I followed and laid the thick red blanket on his dusty shoulders.
“Sergeant,” I called, “send McCloud for meat and drink, and notify Sir William as soon as he arrives that his brothers of the Cayuga would speak to him with belts!”
I was not sure of the etiquette required of me after this, not knowing whether to leave the Cayuga alone or bear him company. Tribes differ, so do nations in their observance of these forms. One thing more puzzled me: here was a belt-bearer with messages from some distant and strange branch of the Cayuga tribe, yet the etiquette of their allies, our Mohawks, decreed that belts should be delivered by sachems or chiefs, well escorted, and through the smoke of council fires never theoretically extinguished between allies and kindred people.
One thing I of course knew: that a guest, once admitted, should never be questioned until he had eaten and slept.
But whether or not I was committing a breach of etiquette by squatting there by the fire with my Cayuga, I did not know.
However, considering the circumstances, I called out for a soldier to bring two pipes and tobacco; and when they were fetched to me, I filled one and passed it to the Cayuga, then filled the other, picked a splinter from the fire, lighted mine, and passed the blazing splinter to my guest.
If his ideas on etiquette were disturbed, he did not show it. He puffed at his pipe and drew his blanket close about his naked body, staring into the fire with the grave, absent air of a cat on a wintry night.
Now, stealing a glance at his scalp-lock, I saw by the fire-light the stumps of two quills, with a few feather-fronds still clinging to them, fastened in the knot on his crown. 34 The next covert glance told me that they were the ragged stubs of the white-headed eagle’s feathers, and that my guest was a chief. This set me in a quandary. What was a strange Cayuga chief doing here without escort, without blanket, yet bearing belts? Etiquette absolutely forbade a single question. Was I, in my inexperience, treating him properly? Would my ignorance of what was due him bring trouble and difficulty to Sir William when he returned?
Suddenly resolved to clear Sir William of any suspicion of awkwardness, and at the risk of my being considered garrulous, I rose and said:
“My brother is a man and a chief; he will understand that in the absence of my honoured kinsman, Sir William Johnson, and in the absence of officers in authority, the hospitality of Johnson Hall falls upon me.
“Ignorant of my brother’s customs, I bid him welcome, because he is naked, tired, and hungry. I kindle his fire; I bring him pipe and food; and now I bid him sleep in peace behind doors that open at his will.”
Then the Cayuga rose to his full noble height, bending his burning eyes on mine. There was a silence; and so, angry or grateful, I knew not which, he resumed his seat by the fire, and I went out through the guard-room into the still, starry night.
But I did not tarry to sniff at the stars nor search the dewy herbage for those pale blossoms which open only on such a night, hiding elf-pearls in their fairy petals. Straightway I sought Mistress Molly in the nursery, and told her what I had done. She listened gravely and without comment or word of blame or praise, which was like all Indians. But she questioned me, and I described the strange belt-bearer from his scalp-lock to the sole of his moccasin.
“Cayuga,” she said, softly; “what make was his rifle?”
“Not English, not French,” I said. “The barrel near the breech bore figures like those on Sir William’s duelling pistols.”
“Spanish,” she said, dreamily. “In his language did he pronounce agh like ahh?”
“Yes, Aunt Molly.”
She remained silent a moment, thoughtful eyes on mine. 35 Then she smiled and dismissed me, but I begged her to tell me from whence my Cayuga came.
“I will tell you this,” she said. “He comes from very, very far away, and he follows some customs of the Tuscaroras, which they in turn borrow from a tribe which lives so far away that I should go to sleep in counting the miles for you.”
With that she shut the nursery door, and I, no wiser than before, and understanding that Mistress Molly did not mean I should be wiser, sat down on the stairs to think and to wait for Sir William.
A moment later a man on horseback rode out of our stables at a gallop and clattered away down the hill. I listened for a moment, then thought of other things.
CHAPTER III
AT LATE CANDLE-LIGHT, Sir William still tarrying, I went to the north block-house, where Mr. Duncan, the lieutenant commanding the guard, received me with unusual courtesy, the reason of which I did not at the time suspect.
“An express from Sir William has at this moment come in,” said he. “Sir William is aware that a belt-bearer from Virginia awaits him.”
“How could Sir William, who is at Castle Cumberland, know that?” I began, then was silent, as it flashed into my mind that Mistress Molly had sent an express to Sir William as soon as I had told her about the strange Cayuga. That was the galloping horseman I had heard.
Pondering and perplexed, I looked up to find Mr. Duncan smiling at me.
“I understand,” said he, “that Sir William is pleased to approve your conduct touching the strange Cayuga.”
“How do you know?” I asked, quickly, my heart warming with pleasure.
“I know this,” said Mr. Duncan, laughing, “that Sir William has left something for you with me, a present, in fact, which I am to deliver to you on the morrow.”
“What is it, Mr. Duncan?” I teased; but the laughing officer shook his head, retiring into the guard-room and pretending to be afraid of me.
The soldiers, lounging around the settles, pipes between their teeth, looked on with respectful grins. Clearly, even they appeared to know what Sir William had sent to me from Castle Cumberland.
As I stood in the guard-room, eager, yet partly vexed, away below in the village the bell in the new stone church began to ring.
“What is that?” I asked, in surprise.
The soldiers had all risen, taking their muskets from the racks, straightening belts and bandoleers. In the stir and banging of gun-stocks on the stone floor, my question perhaps was not heard by Mr. Duncan, for he stood silent, untwisting his sword knots and eying the line which the sergeant, who carried the halberd, was forming in the room.
A drummer and a trumpeter took station, six paces to the right and front; the sergeant, at a carry, advanced and saluted with, “Parade is formed, sir.”
“‘Tention!” sang out Mr. Duncan. “Support arms! Carry arms! Trail arms! File by the left flank! March!” And with drawn claymore on his shoulder he passed out into the starlight.
I followed; and now, standing by the block-house gate, far away in the village I heard the rub-a-dub of a drum and a loud trumpet blowing.
Nearer and nearer came the drum; the trumpet ceased. And now I could hear the tramp, tramp, tramp of infantry on the hill’s black crest.
“Present arms!” cried Mr. Duncan, sharply.
A dark mass which I had not supposed to be moving, suddenly loomed up close in front of us, taking the shape of a long column, which passed with the flicker of starlight on musket and belt, tramp, tramp, tramp to the ringing drum-beats.
Then our drum rattled and trumpet sang prettily, while Mr. Duncan rendered the officer’s salute as a dark stand of colours passed, borne furled and high above the slanting muskets.
Baggage wains began to creak by, great shapeless hulks rolling in on the black ocean of the night, with soldiers half asleep on top, and teamsters afoot, heads hanging drowsily and looped raw-hides trailing.
The last yoke of oxen passed, dragging a brass cannon.
“‘Tention!” said Mr. Duncan. “Support arms! Trail arms! ‘Bout face! By the right flank, wheel! March!”
Back into the block-house filed the guard, the drummer bearing his drum flat on his hip, the trumpeter swinging his instrument to his shoulder-knots.
Mr. Duncan sent his claymore ringing into the scabbard, 38 wrapped his plaid around his throat, and strolled off towards the new barracks, east of the Hall.
“What troops were those, sir?” I asked, respectfully.
“Three companies of Royal Americans from Albany,” said he. Then, noticing my puzzled face, he added, “There is to be a big council fire held here, Master Cardigan. Did you not know it?”
“No,” said I, slowly, reluctant to admit that I had not shared Sir William’s confidence.
“Look yonder,” said Mr. Duncan.
Far out in the pale starlight, south and west of the Hall, I saw fires kindled, one by one, until the twinkle of their lights ran for a mile across the uplands. On a hill in the north a signal fire sent long streamers of flame straight up into the sky; other beacons flashed out in the darkness, some so distant that I could not be certain they were more than sparks of my imagination.
“It is the Six Nations gathering,” said Mr. Duncan. “We expect important guests.”
“What for?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Duncan, gravely. “Good-night, Mr. Cardigan.”
“Good-night, sir,” I said, thoughtfully; then cried after him, “and my present, Mr. Duncan?”
“To-morrow,” he answered, and passed on his way a-laughing.
I walked quickly back to the Hall, where I encountered Esk and Peter, well bibbed, cleaning the last crumb from their bowls of porridge.
“Did you see the soldiers?” cried Esk, tapping upon his bowl and marching up and down the hallway.
“Look out of the back windows,” added Peter. “The Onondaga fires are burning on the hills.”
“Oneidas,” corrected Esk.
“Onondagas,” persisted Peter, smearing his face with his spoon to lick it.
“Where is Silver Heels?” I asked.
Mistress Molly came into the hall from the pantry, keys jingling at her girdle, and took Peter by his sticky fingers, bidding Esk follow.
“Bed-time,” she said, with her pretty smile. “Michael, Felicity is being dressed by Betty. If Sir William does not return, you will dine with Felicity alone; and I expect you to conduct exactly like Sir William, and refrain from kicking under the table.”
“Yes, Aunt Molly,” said I, delighted.
Esk and Peter, being instantly hustled bedward, left lamenting and asserting that they too were old enough to imitate Sir William.
Silver Heels, with her hair done by Betty, and a blue sash over her fresh-flowered cambric, passed them on the stairs coming down, pausing to wish Mistress Molly good-night, and to slyly pinch fat Peter.
“Felicity,” said Mistress Molly, “will you conduct as befits your station?”
“Oh la, Aunt Molly!” she answered, with that innocent, affected lisp which I knew was ever the forerunner of mischief.
She made her reverence, waiting on the landing until she heard the nursery door close, then flung both legs astride the balustrade and slid down like a flash.
“Have you seen the soldiers, Micky? — and the fires on the hills?” she cried. “To-morrow all the officers will be here, and I am to wear my hair curled, and my pink dress and tucker, with separate sleeves of silver gauze!”
We sat down on the stairs together as friendly and polite as though we never quarrelled; and she chattered on, smoothing her bib-apron with those silky hands of hers: “Betty rolled up my hair till I feared she meant to scalp me, and so told her.
“She coaxed me to endure, and called me her little Miss Honey-bee, but would not promise me a comfit; so I ran away before my cap was tied on. Micky, go and put on your silk breeches and lace cuffs and we will be gay and grand to dine!”
I ran to my chamber, bathed and dressed in all my finery, meaning to lord it in the dining-hall should Sir William not return.
And thus it fell out; for, when I descended the stairs, there was my lady Silver Heels parading before the pier-glass, and a gillie throwing open the doors of the dining-hall.
So that night Silver Heels and I supped alone together in the great hall, Mr. Butler having hurriedly ridden to his home, and Sir William not yet returned, though two hours past candle-light.
The hall was quiet and vast, and Silver Heels seemed exceedingly small, sitting in the big chair at the other end of the table. So I had the gillie lay her plate beside mine.
A single pair of candles lighted our supper, and those not of the best, for they smoked as the wind stirred the curtains.
“Do you not know what is due to quality?” said I, sternly, to the gillie — a raw yokel scented with whiffs of the stables.
The kilted oaf gaped at me.
“Do you not see it is dark here?” I said.
“’Tis far lichter than ye wud expeck for sae big a room, sir,” said the gillie, with a foolish grin.
“Young Bareshanks,” I retorted; “do you bring instantly a dozen wax candles and light them, idiot, in a seemly row! Also fetch Sir William’s sherry and Madeira, and take away those pot-house pewters!”
The gillie made out to do as he was bidden, and I should have felt very grand and contented at being obeyed without questions had I not perceived him, through the buttery window, wink at the pantry-lad and put his mottled Scotch muzzle into my small-beer.
When the dozen waxen candles stood in a ring, all twinkling, and the decanters flanked me right and left, I bade the gillie leave us, mistrusting he might bear tales to Sir William touching our behaviour at table. But the dunce loitered, trimming wicks, and casting sidewise looks at me.
“Will you be gone?” said I, in a passion.
“Maister Michael,” he whined; “ye’ll no be soopin’ till the blessing’s said? Sir William gave us a grand discoorse this noon dinner, sir, verra suitable words, sir.”
Mortified at my forgetfulness, I rose; so did Silver Heels, the candle-light sparkling under her half-closed lashes, for she ever kept one eye on duty.
In a rage I said grace before meat, then glared at the gillie.
“Aave heerd waur, sir,” quoth he; “but aa never sleep the nicht without ma blessing, and aa’l no begin noo!”
“Get out, you Scotch loon,” said I, “or I’ll let this bottle fly with my blessing!”
He ran for it, at which Silver Heels and I laughed heartily until she spilled her wine on her knees, which spoiled her temper.
When the echoing of our laughter had died away in the dark corners of the room, an unaccustomed depression fell upon me. I peered up at the stags’ shaggy heads, set around the wall; their dark glazed eyes reflected the little candle flames like fiery eyeballs of living bucks. The stillness in the familiar room troubled me.
Something of this Silver Heels also experienced, but the novelty of playing the grand lady with her sherry and her tea set her tongue a-swinging, clip-clap! She shrugged her shoulders and tossed her chin, pretending to trifle with a dish of cakes, vowing she had no appetite; but her hunger could not long withstand the pastry, and she ate all the suckets and cakes before I either perceived or prevented it.
Distressed at her greediness, I removed the caraways from the plate and pouched them to eat at my pleasure, whereupon she kicked my shins under the table.
But she would still play my Lady Languish, sighing and protesting she could not touch another morsel, and her cheeks full the while. Too, she drank of both sherry and Madeira, which was forbidden by Sir William, and became over-loud in speech until her humour changed to a fit of upbraiding me, and ended in the sulks.
I remember we had a brandied syrup, of which she also took too much, it making her pettish and sleepy; and after supper, when we sat together on the stairs, she harped ever on the same string, reproaching me for playing the high and mighty, whereas all could plainly see I was nothing but a boy like Esk and Peter and need give myself no plumes.
“My legs,” she said, drowsily, “can touch the floor from the third stair as well as yours;” and she stretched them down to prove it, falling short an inch.
“If you are no longer a child,” said I, “why do they harness you to the back-board and make you wear pack-thread stays?”
This madded her.
“You shall see,” she said, in a temper, “you shall see me in flowered caushets, silk stockings, and shoes of Paddington’s make, which befit my station and rank! You shall see me in padusoy and ribbons and a hat of gauze! I shall wear pompadour gloves and shall take no notice of you, with your big hands and feet, pardieu!”
“Nor I of you,” said I, “tricked out in your silly flummery.” And I drew a caraway from my pocket and bit deep.
“Yes, you will,” said Silver Heels; “give me a caraway, piggy.”
Sitting there in the dark, nibbling in silence, I could hear the distant stir of the convoy at the barracks, and wondered why the soldiers had come. Surely not because of danger to us at the Hall, for we had our Mohawks, our militia, and yeoman tenantry at beck and call. Besides, who would dare threaten Sir William Johnson, the greatest man in the colonies, and very dearly esteemed by our King?
“They say,” said Silver Heels, “that there are men in Boston who have even defied the King himself.”
“Never fear,” said I, “they’ll all hang for it.”
“Would you like to fight for the King?” she asked, civilly, and without a trace of that mockery which left a sting, much as I pretended to despise it.
I said I should like to very much; that my father had died for his King, and that I should one day avenge him.
I would have said more, perhaps boasted, for Silver Heels was inclined to listen; but black Betty came down-stairs, her double ear-rings a-jingle, calling her “li’l Miss Honey-bee” to come to bed.
