Complete weird tales of.., p.181
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 181
It was a fascinating and alarming spectacle to see Sir Lupus walking a minuet with Lady Schuyler, and I marvelled that the gold buttons on his waistcoat did not fly off in volleys when he strove to bend what once, perhaps, had been his waist.
Ceremony dictated what we had both forgotten, and General Schuyler led out Dorothy, who, scarlet in her distress, looked appealingly at me to see that I understood. And I smiled back to see her sweet face brighten with gratitude and confidence and a promise to make up to me what the stern rule of hospitality had deprived us of.
So it was that I had her for the Sir Roger de Coverley, and after that for a Delaware reel, which all danced with a delightful abandon, even Miss Haldimand unbending like a goddess surprised to find a pleasure in our mortal capers. And it was a pretty sight to see the ladies pass, gliding daintily under the arch of glittering swords, led by Lady Schuyler and Dorothy in laughing files, while the fiddle-bows whirred, and the music of bassoon and hautboys blended and ended in a final mellow crash. Then breathless voices rose, and skirts swished and French heels tapped the polished floor and solemn subalterns stalked about seeking ices and lost buckles and mislaid fans; and a faint voice said, “Oh!” when a jewelled garter was found, and a very red subaltern said, “Honi soit!” and everybody laughed.
Presently I missed the General, and, a moment later, Dorothy. As I stood in the hallway, seeking for her, came Cecile, crying out that they were to have pictures and charades, and that General Schuyler, who was to be a judge, awaited me in the gun-room.
The door of the gun-room was closed. I tapped and entered.
The General sat at the mahogany table, leaning back in his arm-chair; opposite sat Dorothy, bare elbows on the table, fingers clasped. Standing by the General, arms folded, Jack Mount loomed a colossal figure in his beaded buckskins.
“JACK MOUNT LOOMED A COLOSSAL FIGURE IN HIS BEADED BUCKSKINS”.
“Ah, Mr. Ormond!” said the General, as I closed the door quietly behind me; “pray be seated. They are to have pictures and charades, you know; I shall not keep Miss Dorothy and yourself very long.”
I seated myself beside Dorothy, exchanging a smile with Mount.
“Now,” said the General, dropping his voice to a lower tone, “what was it you saw in the forest to-day?”
So Mount had already reported the apparition of the painted savage!
I told what I had seen, describing the Indian in detail, and repeating word for word his warning message to Mount.
The General looked inquiringly at Dorothy. “I understand,” he said, “that you know as much about the Iroquois as the Iroquois do themselves.”
“I think I do,” she said, simply.
“May I ask how you acquired your knowledge, Miss Dorothy?”
“There have always been Iroquois villages along our boundary until last spring, when the Mohawks left with Guy Johnson,” she said. “I have always played with Iroquois children; I went to school with Magdalen Brant. I taught among our Mohawks and Oneidas when I was thirteen. Then I was instructed by sachems and I learned what the witch-drums say, and I need use no signs in the six languages or the clan dialects, save only when I speak with the Lenni-Lenape. Maybe, too, the Hurons and Algonquins have words that I know not, for many Tuscaroras do not understand them save by sign.”
“I wish that some of my interpreters had your knowledge, or a fifth of it,” said the General, smiling. “Tell me, Miss Dorothy, who was that Indian and what did that paint mean?”
“The Indian was Joseph Brant, called Thayendanegea, which means, ‘He who holds many peoples together,’ or, in plainer words, ‘A bundle of sticks.’”
“You are certain it was Brant?”
“Yes. He has dined at this table with us. He is an educated man.” She hesitated, looking down thoughtfully at her own reflection in the polished table. “The paint he wore was not war-paint. The signs on his body were emblems of the secret clan called the ‘False-Faces.’”
The General looked up at Jack Mount.
“What did Stoner say?” he asked.
“Stoner reports that all the Iroquois are making ready for some unknown rite, sir. He saw pyramids of flat river-stones set up on hills and he saw smoke answering smoke from the Adirondack peaks to the Mayfield hills.”
“What did Timothy Murphy observe?” asked Schuyler, watching Mount intently.
“Murphy brings news of their witch, Catrine Montour, sir. He. chased her till he dropped — like all the rest of us — but she went on and on a running, hop! tap! hop! tap! and patter, patter, patter! It stirs my hair to think on her, and I’m no coward, sir. We call her ‘The Toad-woman.’”
“I’ll make you chief of scouts if you catch her,” said the General, sharply.
“Very good, sir,” replied Mount, pulling a wry face, which made us all laugh.
“It has been reported to me,” said the General, quietly, “that the Butlers, father and son, are in this county to attend a secret council; and that, with the help of Catrine Montour, they expect to carry the Mohawk nation with them as well as the Cayugas and the Senecas.
“It has further been reported to me by the Palatine scout that the Onondagas are wavering, that the Oneidas are disposed to stand our friends, that the Tuscaroras are anxious to remain neutral.
“Now, within a few days, news has reached me that these three doubtful nations are to be persuaded by an unknown woman who is, they say, the prophetess of the False-Faces.”
He paused, looking straight at Dorothy.
“From your knowledge,” he said, slowly, “tell me who is this unknown woman.”
“Do you not know, sir?” she asked, simply.
“Yes, I think I do, child. It is Magdalen Brant.”
“Yes,” she said, quietly; “from childhood she stood as prophetess of the False-Faces. She is an educated girl, sweet, lovable, honorable, and sincere. She has been petted by the fine ladies of New York, of Philadelphia, of Albany. Yet she is partly Mohawk.”
“Not that charming girl whom I had to dinner?” I cried, astonished.
“Yes, cousin,” she said, tranquilly. “You are surprised? Why? You should see, as I have seen, pupils from Dr. Wheelock’s school return to their tribes and, in a summer, sink to the level of the painted sachem, every vestige of civilization vanished with the knowledge of the tongue that taught it.”
“I have seen that,” said Schuyler, frowning.
“And I — by your leave, sir — I have seen it, too!” said Mount, savagely. “There may be some virtue in the rattlesnake; some folk eat ‘em! But there is none in an Indian, not even stewed—”
“That will do,” said the General, ignoring the grim jest. “Do you speak the Iroquois tongues, or any of them?” he asked, wheeling around to address me.
“I speak Tuscarora, sir,” I replied. “The Tuscaroras understand the other five nations, but not the Hurons or Algonquins.”
“What tongue is used when the Iroquois meet?” he asked Dorothy.
“Out of compliment to the youngest nation they use the Tuscarora language,” she said.
The General rose, bowing to Dorothy with a charming smile.
“I must not keep you from your charades any longer,” he said, conducting her to the door and thanking her for the great help and profit he had derived from her knowledge of the Iroquois.
He had not dismissed us, so we awaited his return; and presently he appeared, calm, courteous, and walked up to me, laying a kindly hand on my shoulder.
“I want an officer who understands Tuscarora and who has felt the bite of an Indian bullet,” he said, earnestly.
I stood silent and attentive.
“I want that officer to find the False-Faces’ council-fire and listen to every word said, and report to me. I want him to use every endeavor to find this woman, Magdalen Brant, and use every art to persuade her to throw all her influence with the Onondagas, Oneidas, and Tuscaroras for their strict neutrality in this coming war. The service I require may be dangerous and may not. I do not know. Are you ready, Captain Ormond?”
“Ready, sir!” I said, steadily.
He drew a parchment from his breast-pocket and laid it in my hands. It was my commission in the armies of the United States of America as captain in the militia battalion of Morgan’s regiment of riflemen, and signed by our Governor, George Clinton.
“Do you accept this commission, Mr. Ormond?” he asked, regarding me pleasantly.
“I do, sir.”
Sir Lupus’s family Bible lay on the window-sill; the General bade Mount fetch it, and he did so. The General placed it before me, and I laid my hand upon it, looking him in the face. Then, in a low voice, he administered the oath, and I replied slowly but clearly, ending, “So help me God,” and kissed the Book.
“Sit down, sir,” said the General; and when I was seated he told me how the Continental Congress in July of 1775 had established three Indian departments; how that he, as chief commissioner of this Northern department, which included the Six Nations of the Iroquois confederacy, had summoned the national council, first at German Flatts, then at Albany; how he and the Reverend Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Dean had done all that could be done to keep the Iroquois neutral, but that they had not fully prevailed against the counsels of Guy Johnson and Brant, though the venerable chief of the Mohawk upper castle had seemed inclined to neutrality. He told me of General Herkimer’s useless conference with Brant at Unadilla, where that chief had declared that “The King of England’s belts were still lodged with the Mohawks, and that the Mohawks could not violate their pledges.”
“I think we have lost the Mohawks,” said the General, thoughtfully. “Perhaps also the Senecas and Cayugas; for this she-devil, Catrine Montour, is a Huron-Seneca, and her nation will follow her. But, if we can hold the three other nations back, it will be a vast gain to our cause — not that I desire or would permit them to do battle for me, though our Congress has decided to enlist such Indians as wish to serve; but because there might be some thousand warriors the less to hang on our flanks and do the dreadful work among the people of this country which these people so justly fear.”
He rose, nodding to me, and I followed him to the door.
“Now,” he said, “you know what you are to do.”
“When shall I set out, sir?” I asked.
He smiled, saying, “I shall give you no instructions, Captain Ormond; I shall only concern myself with results.”
“May I take with me whom I please?”
“Certainly, sir.”
I looked at Mount, who had been standing motionless by the door, an attentive spectator.
“I will take the rifleman Mount,” I said, “unless he is detailed for other service—”
“Take him, Mr. Ormond. When do you wish to start? I ask it because there is a gentleman at Broadalbin who has news for you, and you must pass that way.”
“May I ask who that is?” I inquired, respectfully.
“The gentleman is Sir George Covert, captain on my personal staff, and now under your orders.”
“I shall set out to-night, sir,” I said, abruptly; then stepped back to let him pass me into the hallway beyond.
“Saddle my mare and make every preparation,” I said to Mount. “When you are ready lead the horses to the stockade gate.... How long will you take?”
“An hour, sir, for rubbing down, saddling, and packing fodder, ammunition, and provisions.”
“Very well,” I said, soberly, and walked out to the long drawing-room, where the company had taken chairs and were all whispering and watching a green baize curtain which somebody had hung across the farther end of the room.
“Charades and pictures,” whispered Cecile, at my elbow. “I guessed two, and Mr. Clavarack says it was wonderful.”
“It certainly was,” I said, gravely. “Where is Ruyven? Oh, sitting with Miss Haldimand? Cecile, would you ask Miss Haldimand’s indulgence for a few moments? I must speak to Sir Lupus and to you and Ruyven.”
I stepped back of the rows of chairs to where Sir Lupus sat in his great arm-chair by the doorway; and in another moment Cecile and Ruyven came up, the latter polite but scarcely pleased to be torn away from his first inamorata.
“Sir Lupus, and you, Cecile and Ruyven,” I said, in a low voice, “I am going on a little journey, and shall be absent for a few days, perhaps longer. I wish to take this opportunity to say good-bye, and to thank you all for your great kindness to me.”
“Where the devil are you going?” snapped Sir Lupus.
“I am not at liberty to say, sir; perhaps General Schuyler may tell you.”
The patroon looked up at me sorrowfully. “George! George!” he said, “has it touched us already?”
“Yes, sir,” I muttered.
“What?” whispered Cecile.
“Father means the war. Our cousin Ormond is going to the war,” exclaimed Ruyven, softly.
There was a pause; then Cecile flung both arms around my neck and kissed me in choking silence. The patroon’s great, fat hand sought mine and held it; Ruyven placed his arm about my shoulder. Never had I imagined that I could love these kinsmen of mine so dearly.
“There’s always a bed for you here; remember that, my lad,” growled the patroon.
“Take me, too,” sniffed Ruyven.
“Eh! What?” cried the patroon. “I’ll take you; oh yes — over my knee, you impudent puppy! Let me catch you sneaking off to this war and I’ll—”
Ruyven relapsed into silence, staring at me in troubled fascination.
“The house is yours, George,” grunted the patroon. “Help yourself to what you need for your journey.”
“Thank you, sir; say good-bye to the children, kiss them all for me, Cecile. And don’t run away and get married until I come back.”
A stifled snivel was my answer.
Then into the room shuffled old Cato, and began to extinguish the candles; and I saw the green curtain twitch, and everybody whispered “Ah-h!”
General Schuyler arose in the dim light when the last candle was blown out. “You are to guess the title of this picture!” he said, in his even, pleasant voice. “It is a famous picture, familiar to all present, I think, and celebrated in the Old World as well as in the New.... Draw the curtain, Cato!”
Suddenly the curtain parted, and there stood the living, breathing figure of the “Maid-at-Arms.” Her thick, gold hair clouded her cheeks, her eyes, blue as wood-violets, looked out sweetly from the shadowy background, her armor glittered.
A stillness fell over the dark room; slowly the green curtains closed; the figure vanished.
There was a roar of excited applause in my ears as I stumbled forward through the darkness, groping my way towards the dim gun-room through which she must pass to regain her chamber by the narrow stairway which led to the attic.
She was not there; I waited a moment, listening in the darkness, and presently I heard, somewhere overhead, a faint ringing sound and the deadened clash of armed steps on the garret floor.
“Dorothy!” I called.
The steps ceased, and I mounted the steep stairway and came out into the garret, and saw her standing there, her armor outlined against the window and the pale starlight streaming over her steel shoulder-pieces.
I shall never forget her as she stood looking at me, her steel-clad figure half buried in the darkness, yet dimly apparent in its youthful symmetry where the starlight fell on the curve of cuisse and greave, glimmering on the inlaid gorget with an unearthly light, and stirring pale sparks like fire-flies tangled in her hair.
“Did I please you?” she whispered. “Did I not surprise you? Cato scoured the armor for me; it is the same armor she wore, they say — the Maid-at-Arms. And it fits me like my leather clothes, limb and body. Hark!... They are applauding yet! But I do not mean to spoil the magic picture by a senseless repetition.... And some are sure to say a ghost appeared.... Why are you so silent?... Did I not please you?”
She flung casque and sword on the floor, cleared her white forehead from its tumbled veil of hair; then bent nearer, scanning my eyes closely.
“Is aught amiss?” she asked, under her breath.
I turned and slowly traversed the upper hallway to her chamber door, she walking beside me in silence, striving to read my face.
“Let your maids disarm you,” I whispered; “then dress and tap at my door. I shall be waiting.”
“Tell me now, cousin.”
“No; dress first.”
“It will take too long to do my hair. Oh, tell me! You have frightened me.”
“It is nothing to frighten you,” I said. “Put off your armor and come to my door. Will you promise?”
“Ye-es,” she faltered; and I turned and hastened to my own chamber, to prepare for the business which lay before me.
I dressed rapidly, my thoughts in a whirl; but I had scarcely slung powder-horn and pouch, and belted in my hunting-shirt, when there came a rapping at the door, and I opened it and stepped out into the dim hallway.
At sight of me she understood, and turned quite white, standing there in her boudoir-robe of China silk, her heavy, burnished hair in two loose braids to her waist.
In silence I lifted her listless hands and kissed the fingers, then the cold wrists and palms. And I saw the faint circlet of the ghost-ring on her bridal finger, and touched it with my lips.
Then, as I stepped past her, she gave a low cry, hiding her face in her hands, and leaned back against the wall, quivering from head to foot.
“Don’t go!” she sobbed. “Don’t go — don’t go!”
And because I durst not, for her own sake, turn or listen, I reeled on, seeing nothing, her faint cry ringing in my ears, until darkness and a cold wind struck me in the face, and I saw horses waiting, black in the starlight, and the gigantic form of a man at their heads, fringed cape blowing in the wind.
“All ready?” I gasped.
“All is ready and the night fine! We ride by Broadalbin, I think.... Whoa! back up! you long-eared ass! D’ye think to smell a Mohawk?... Or is it your comrades on the picket-rope that bedevil you?... Look at the troop-horses, sir, all a-rolling on their backs in the sand, four hoofs waving in the air. It’s easier on yon sentry than when they’re all a-squealin’ and a-bitin’ — This way, sir. We swing by the bush and pick up the Iroquois trail ‘twixt the Hollow and Mayfield.”
