Complete weird tales of.., p.1129
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1129
Such inhabitants as were known friends to liberty roamed about the streets or stood in knots under the trees, whispering together and watching the soldiers. But Tories and their families remained indoors, peering sullenly from their windows and sometimes scowling upon these soldiers of a new nation, within the confines of which they already were discovering that no place remained for any friend to England or her King.
As my little file of riflemen passed on moccasined feet through the swarming streets of Johnstown, soldiers and townspeople gazed curiously after us, surmising immediately what might be our errand. And many greeted us or called out pleasantries after us, such as, “Hearkaway! The red fox will fool you yet!” And, “Dig him out, you wolf-hounds! He’s gone to earth at Sacandaga!”
Many soldiers cheered us, swinging their cocked hats; and Nick Stoner and Johnny Silver swung their coon-tailed caps in return, shouting the wolf-cry of the Coureur-du-Bois— “Yik-yik-hoo-hoolo — o!”
And now we passed the slow-moving baggage waggons of Colonel Livingston’s regiment, toiling up from Caughnawaga, the sleepy teamsters nodding, and armed soldiers drowsing behind, who scarce opened one eye as we trotted by them and out into the darkness of the Mayfield road.
Now, in this dim and starlit land, we moved more slowly, for the road lay often through woods where all was dark; and among us none had fetched any lantern.
It was close to midnight, I think, when we were challenged; and I knew we were near the new Block House, because I heard the creek, very noisy in the dark, and smelled English grass.
The sentinel held us very firmly and bawled to his fellow, who arrived presently with a lantern; and we saw the grist-mill close to us, with its dripping wheel and the high flume belching water.
When they were satisfied, I asked for news and they told us they had seen none of Sir John’s people, but that a carriage carrying two ladies had nigh driven over them, refusing to halt, and that they had been ashamed to fire on women.
He informed us, further, that a sergeant and five men of Colonel Dayton’s regiment had arrived at the Block House and would remain the night.
“Also,” said one of the men, “we caught a girl riding a fine horse this morning, who gave an account that she came from Fonda’s Bush and was servant to Douw Fonda at Caughnawaga.”
“Where is the horse?” I asked.
“Safe stabled in the new fort.”
“Where is the girl?”
“Well,” said he, “she sits yonder eating soupaan in the fort, and all the Continentals making moon-eyes at her.”
“That’s my horse,” said I shortly. “Take your lantern and show her to me.”
One of the militia men picked up the lantern, which had been burning on the grass between us, and I followed along the bank of the creek.
Presently I saw the Block House against the stars, but all loops were shuttered and no light came from them.
There was a ditch, a bridge of three logs, a stockade not finished; and we passed in between the palings where a gateway was to be made, and where another militia-man sat guard on a chopping block, cradling his fire-lock between his knees, fast asleep.
The stable was but a shed. Kaya turned her head as I went to her and made a soft little noise of welcome, and fell a-lipping me and rubbing her velvet nose against me.
“The Scotch girl cared for your mare and fed her, paying four pence,” said the militia-man. “But we were ashamed to take pay.”
I examined Kaya. She had been well cared for. Then I lifted her harness from the wooden peg where it hung and saddled her by the lantern light.
And when all was snug I passed the bridle over my arm and led her to the door of the Block House.
Before I entered, I could hear from within the strains of a fiddle; and then opened the door and went in.
The girl, Penelope, sat on a block of wood eating soupaan with a pewter spoon out of a glazed bowl upon her knees.
Ten soldiers stood in a ring around her, every man jack o’ them a-courting as hard as he could court and ogle — which all was as plain to me as the nose on your face! — and seemed to me a most silly sight.
For the sergeant, a dapper man smelling rank of pomatum and his queue smartly floured, was a-wooing her with his fiddle and rolling big eyes at her to kill at twenty paces; and a tall, thin corporal was tying a nosegay made of swamp marigolds for her, which, now and again, he pretended to match against her yellow hair and smirked when she lifted her eyes to see what he was about.
Every man jack o’ them was up to something, one with a jug o’ milk to douse her soupaan withal, another busy with his Barlow carving a basket out of a walnut to please her; — this fellow making pictures on birch-bark; that one scraping her name on his powder-horn and pricking a heart about it.
As for the girl, Penelope, she sat upon her chopping block with downcast eyes and very leisurely eating of her porridge; but I saw her lips traced with that faint smile which I remembered.
What with the noise of the fiddle and the chatter all about her, neither she nor the soldiers heard the door open, nor, indeed, noticed us at all until my militia-men sings out: “Lieutenant Drogue, boys, on duty from Johnstown!”
At that the Continentals jumped up very lively, I warrant you, being troops of some little discipline already; and I spoke civilly to their sergeant and went over to the girl, Penelope, who had risen, bowl in one hand, spoon in t’other, and looking upon me very hard out of her brown eyes.
“Come,” said I pleasantly, “you have kept your word to me and I mean to keep mine to you. My mare is saddled for you.”
“You take me to Caughnawaga, sir!” she exclaimed, setting bowl and spoon aside.
“Tomorrow. Tonight you shall ride with us to the Summer House, where I promise you a bed.”
I held out my hand. She placed hers within it, looked shyly at the Continentals where they stood, dropped a curtsey to all, and went out beside me.
“Is there news?” she asked as I lifted her to the saddle.
“Sir John is gone.”
“I meant news from Caughnawaga.”
“Why, yes. All is safe there. A regiment of Continentals passed through Caughnawaga today with their waggons. So, for the time at least, all is quite secure along the Mohawk.”
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice.
I led the horse back to the road, where my little squad of men was waiting me, and who fell in behind me, astonished, I think, as I started east by north once more along the Mayfield road.
Presently Nick stole to my side through the darkness, not a whit embarrassed by my new military rank.
“Why, John,” says he in a guarded voice, “is this not the Scotch girl of Caughnawaga who rides your mare, Kaya?”
I told him how she had come to the Bowmans the night before, and how, having stolen my mare, I bargained with her and must send her or guide her myself on the morrow to Cayadutta.
I was conscious of his stifled mirth but paid no heed, for we were entering the pineries now, where all was inky dark, and the trail to be followed only by touch of foot.
“Drop your bridle; Kaya will follow me,” I called back softly to the girl, Penelope. “Hold to the saddle and be not afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” said she.
We were now moving directly toward Fonda’s Bush, and not three miles from my own house, but presently we crossed the brook, ascended a hill, and so came out of the pinery and took a wide and starlit waggon-path which bore to the left, running between fields where great stumps stood.
This was Sir William’s carriage road to the Point; and twice we crossed the Kennyetto by shallow fords.
Close beside this carriage path on the north, and following all the way, ran the Iroquois war trail, hard and clean as a sheep walk, worn more than a foot deep by the innumerable moccasined feet that had trodden it through the ages.
Very soon we passed Nine-Mile Tree, a landmark of Sir William’s, which was a giant pine left by the road to tower in melancholy majesty all alone.
When I rode the hills as Brent-Meester, this pine was like a guide post to me, visible for miles.
Now, as I passed, I looked at it in the silvery dusk of the stars and saw some strange object shining on the bark.
“What is that shining on Nine-Mile Tree?” said I to Nick. He ran across the road; we marched on, I leading, then the Scotch girl on my mare, then my handful of men trudging doggedly with pieces a-trail.
A moment later Nick same swiftly to my side and nudged me; and looking around I saw an Indian hatchet in his hand, the blade freshly brightened.
“It was sticking in the tree,” he breathed. “My God, John, the Iroquois are out!”
Chill after chill crawled up my back as I began to understand the significance of that freshly polished little war-axe with its limber helve of hickory worn slippery by long usage, and its loop of braided deer-hide blackened by age.
“Was there aught else?” I whispered.
“Nothing except this Mohawk hatchet struck deep into the bark of Nine-Mile Tree, and sticking there.”
“Do you know what it means, Nick?”
“Aye. Also, it is an old war-axe newly polished. And struck deep into the tallest pine in Tryon. Any fool must know what all this means. Shall you speak of this to the others, John?”
“Yes,” said I, “they must know at once.”
I waited for Kaya to come up, laid my hand on the bridle and called back in a low voice to my men: “Boys, an Indian war-axe was left sticking in Nine-Mile Tree. Nick drew it out. The hatchet is an old one, but it is newly polished!”
“Sacré garce!” whispered Silver fiercely. “Now, grâce à dieu, shall I reckon with those dirtee trap-robbers who take my pelts like the carcajou! Ha! So is it war? A la bonheur! Let them come for my hair then! And if they get Johnny Silver’s hair they may paint the Little Red Foot on the hoop, nom de dieu!”
“Get along forward, boys,” said I. “Some of you keep an eye on the mountains lest they begin calling to Sir John with fire — —”
“A flame on Maxon!” whispered Nick at my elbow.
I jerked my head around as though I had been shot. There it rose, a thin red streak above the blunt headland that towered over the Drowned Lands. Steadily as a candle’s flame in a still room, it burned for a few moments, then was shattered into crimson jets.
Far to the North, on some invisible mountain, a faint crimson flare replied.
Nobody spoke, but I knew that every eye was fixed on those Indian signal-fires as we moved rapidly forward into the swale country where swampy willows spread away on either hand and little pools of water caught the starlight.
The road, too, had become wet, and water stood in the ruts; and every few minutes we crossed corduroy.
“Yonder stands the Summer House,” whispered Nick.
A ridge of hard land ran out into the reed-set water. A hinged gate barred the neck. Nick swung it wide; I led my mare and her rider through it; posted Godfrey and Silver there; posted Luysnes and De Golyer a hundred paces inland near the apple trees; left Nick by the well, and, walking beside my mare, continued on to the little green and white hunting lodge where, through the crescents of closed shutters, rays of light streamed out into the night.
Here I lifted the Scotch girl from her saddle, walked with her to the kitchen porch, and knocked softly on the kitchen door.
After a while I could hear a stirring within, voices, steps.
“Nicholas! Pontioch! Flora!” I called in guarded tones.
Presently I heard Flora’s voice inquiring timidly who I might be.
“Mr. Drogue is arrived to await her ladyship’s commands,” said I.
At that the bolts slid and the door creaked open. Black Flora stood there in her yellow night shift, rolling enormous eyes at me, and behind her I saw Colas with a lighted dip, gaping to see me enter with a strange woman.
“Is your mistress here?” I demanded.
“Yassuh,” answered Flora, “mah lady done gone to baid, suh.”
“Who else is here? Mistress Swift?”
“Yassuh.”
“Is there a spare bed?”
Flora rolled suspicious eyes at the Scotch girl, but thought there was a bed in Sir William’s old gun room.
I waited until the black wench had made sure, then bade Colas look to my mare, said a curt good-night to Penelope Grant, and went out to unroll my blanket on the front porch.
When I whistled softly Nick came across the garden from the well.
“Lady Johnson is here,” said I. “Yonder lies my blanket. I stand first watch. Go you and sleep now while you can — —”
“Sleep first, John. I am not weary — —”
“Remember I am your officer, Nick!”
“Oh, hell!” quoth he. “That does not awe me, John. What awes me in you is your kindness — and to remember that your ancestors wore their gold rings upon their fingers.”
I passed my arm about his shoulders, then released him and went slowly over to the well. And here I primed my rifle with bright, dry powder, shouldered it, and began to walk my post at a brisk pace to cheat the sleep which meddled with my heavy eyes and set me yawning till my young jaws crackled.
* * *
CHAPTER XI
SUMMER HOUSE POINT
THE SUN IN my eyes and the noise of drums awoke me, where, relieved on post by Nick, I had been sleeping on the veranda.
Beyond the orchard on the Johnstown road, mounted officers in blue and buff were riding amid undulating ranks of moving muskets; and I knew that the Continental Line had arrived at Summer House Point, and was glad of it.
As I shook loose my blanket and stood up, black Flora and Colas came up from their kitchen below ground, and seemed astonished to see me still there.
“Is your mistress awake?” I demanded. But they did not know; so I bade Flora go inside and awaken Lady Johnson. Then I went down to the well in the orchard, where Nick stood sentry, looking through the blossoming boughs at what was passing on the mainland road beyond the Point.
It was a soft, sunny morning, and a pleasant scent from the apple bloom, which I remember was full o’ bees.
Through the orchard, on the small peninsula, now came striding toward us a dozen or more officers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, all laughing together and seeming very merry; and some, as they passed under the flowering branches, plucked twigs of white and pink flowers and made themselves nosegays.
Their major, who seemed to know me as an officer, though I did not know him, called out in high good humour:
“Well, my lord Northesk, did you and your rangers arrive in time to close the cage on our pretty bird?”
“Yes, sir,” said I, reddening, and not pleased.
“Lady Johnson is here then?”
“Yes, Major.”
At that instant the front door opened and Lady Johnson came out quickly and stood on the veranda, the sun striking across her pallid face, which paleness was more due to her condition than to any fear of our soldiery.
She was but partly robed, and that hastily; her hair all unpowdered and undressed, and only a levete of China silk flung about her girlish figure, and making still more evident her delicate physical condition.
But in her eyes I saw storms a-brewing, and her lips and features went white as she stood there, clenching and unclenching one hand, and still a little blinded by the sun in her face.
We all had uncovered before her, bowing very low; and, if she noticed me at first, I am not certain, but she gave our Major such a deadly stare that it checked his speech and put him clean out o’ countenance, leaving him a-twiddling his sword-knot and dumb as a fish.
“What does this mean?” said she, her lip trembling with increasing passion. “Have you come here to arrest me?”
And, as nobody replied, she stamped her bare foot in its silken chamber-shoe, like any angry child in petty fury when disobliged.
“Is it not enough,” she continued, “that you drive my unhappy husband out of his own house, but you must presently follow me here to mock and insult me? What has our family done to merit this outrage?”
Our Major, astonished and out o’ countenance, attempted a civil word to calm her, but she swept us all with scornful eyes and stamped her foot again in such anger that her shoe fell off and landed on the grass.
“Our only crime is loyalty to a merciful and Christian King!” she cried, paying no heed to the shoe. “Our punishment is that we are like to be hunted as they hunt wild beasts! By a pack of rebels, too! Shame, gentlemen! Is this worthy even of embattled shop-keepers?”
“Madame, I beg you — —”
But she had no patience to listen.
“You have forced me out of my home in Johnstown,” she said bitterly, “and I thought to find refuge under this poor roof. But now you come hunting me here! Very well, gentlemen, I leave you in possession and go to Fish House. And if you hunt me out o’ Fish House, I shall go on, God knows where! — for I do not choose to endure the insult with which your mere presence here affronts me!”
I had picked up her silk shoe and now went to her with it, where she stood on the veranda, biting at her lip, and her eyes all a-glitter with angry tears.
“For God’s sake, madam,” said I, “do not use us so harshly. We mean no insult and no harm — —”
“John Drogue,” she said with a great sob, “I have loved you as a brother, but I had rather see you dead there on this violated threshold than know that the Laird of Northesk is become a rebel to his King!”
I knelt down and drew the shoe over her bare foot. Then I stood up and took her hand, laying it very gently upon my arm. She suffered me to lead her into the house — to the door of her bedroom, where Claudia, already dressed, took her from me.
“Oh, John, John,” she sobbed, “what is this pack o’ riff-raff doing here with their cobbler majors and carpenter colonels — all these petty shop-keepers in uniform who come from filthy Boston to ride over us?”
Claudia’s eyes were very bright, but without any trace of fear or anger.
“What troops are these, Jack?” she inquired coolly. “And do they really come here to make prisoners of two poor women?”
