A SHOT FROM THE WINDOW.
Whitestone and I held a small conference in the dark. Though regretting
that the matter had ended in such tragic way, we believed we had done
a great thing, and I am not loath to confess that I expected words of
approval the next day when we would take the news of it to the army. We
agreed that we must not relax our vigilance in the smallest particular,
for where there was one plot there might be a dozen. Whitestone went
down into the valley while I remained near the house.
In my lonely watch I had great space for thought. I was grieved by my
discoveries in regard to Kate Van Auken. Of a truth she was nothing
to me, being betrothed, moreover, to Chudleigh the Englishman; but we
had been children together, and it was not pleasing to believe her a
patriot and find her a traitor. I could get no sort of satisfaction
out of such thoughts, and turning them aside walked about with vigor in
an attempt to keep myself from becoming very sleepy.
The moon was still showing herself, and I could see the house very
well. No light had appeared in it since our last withdrawal, but
looking very closely I saw what appeared to be a dark shadow at one of
the windows. I knew that room to be Mistress Kate’s, and I surmised
that she was there seeking to watch us. I resolved in return that I
would watch her. I stepped back where I would be sheltered by a tree
from her sight, and presently had my reward. The window was opened
gently and a head, which could be none other than that of Kate, was
thrust out a bit.
I could see her quite well, even the features of her face. She was
looking very earnestly into the surrounding night, and of a truth
anxiety was writ plainly on her countenance. She stretched her head out
farther and examined all the space before the house. I was hidden from
her gaze, but down in a corner of the yard she could see the sentinel
pacing back and forth. She inspected him with much earnestness for
some time, and then withdrew her head, closing the window.
I was of the opinion that some further mischief was afoot or intended,
but the nature of it passed me. It seemed that what had happened
already was not a sufficient warning to them. I began to walk around
the house that I might keep a watch upon it from every point.
Sleepiness no longer oppressed me. In truth, I forgot all about it.
I passed to the rear of the building and spoke to the sentinel
stationed in the yard there. He had seen nothing of suspicious nature
so far. I knew he was a faithful, watchful man, and that I could trust
him. I left him and pushed my way between two large flower bushes
growing very close together. Standing there, I beheld the opening of
another window in the house. Again the head of Mistress Kate appeared,
and precisely the same act as before was repeated. She looked about
with the intentness and anxiety of a military engineer studying his
ground. She saw the sentinel as she had seen his fellow before the
house, and her eyes rested long upon him. Her examination finished, she
withdrew, closing the window.
I set myself to deciphering the meaning of this, and of a sudden it
flashed upon me with such force that I believed myself stupid not to
have seen it before. Kate Van Auken herself was planning to go through
our lines with the news of Burgoyne’s plight. She was a bold girl, not
much afraid of the dark or the woods, and the venture was not beyond
her. The conviction of the truth depressed me. I felt some regard for
Kate Van Auken, whom I as a little boy had liked as a little girl, and
I had slight relish for this task of keeping watch upon her. Even now I
had caught her planning great harm to our cause.
I confess that I scarce knew what to do. Perhaps it was my duty, if
the matter be considered in its utmost strictness, to arrest both the
women at once as dangerous to our cause, and send them to the army. But
such a course was quite beyond my resolution. I could not do it. Being
unable to decide upon anything else, I continued my watch, determined
that Mistress Kate should not escape from the house.
The moon withdrew herself and then there was an increase of darkness.
Again I was thankful that I had been vigilant, for I saw a small
door in the rear of the house open. I could not doubt that it opened
to let forth Catherine Van Auken upon her traitorous errand. I made
my resolution upon the instant. If she came out, I would seize her
and compel her to return to the house in all quiet, in order that
Whitestone and the others might not know.
My suspicions--my fears, in truth I may call them--were justified, for
in a few moments her well-known figure appeared in the doorway all
clothed about in a great dark cloak and hood, like one preparing for a
long night’s journey. I retreated a little, for it was my purpose to
draw her on and then catch her, when no doubt about her errand could
arise.
She stood in the doorway for perhaps two minutes repeating her actions
at the window; that is, she looked around carefully to note how we were
watching. I could not see her face owing to the increase of darkness
and her attitude, but I had no doubt the same anxiety and eagerness
were writ there.
Presently she seemed to arrange her dark draperies in a manner more
satisfactory and, stooping somewhat, came out of the house. The
sentinel in this part of the yard was doing his duty and was as
watchful as could be, but he could scarce see this shadow gliding along
in the larger shadow of the rose bushes. I deemed it good fortune
that I was there to see and prevent the flight. I would face her and
confound her with the proof of her guilt.
She came on quite rapidly, and I shrank a little farther back into the
rose bushes. Her course was directly toward me, and suddenly I rose
up in the path. I expected her to show great surprise and to cry out
after the fashion of women, but she did not. In truth I fancied I saw
a start, but that was all. In a moment she whirled about and fled back
toward the house with as little noise as the shadow she resembled. I
had scarce recovered my presence of mind when she was halfway to the
house, but I pursued in the effort to overtake her and confound her.
I observed that when she came forth she had shut the door behind her,
but as she fled swiftly back it seemed to open of its own accord for
her entrance. She passed within, disappearing like a ghost, and the
door was shut with a snap almost in my face. I put my hands upon it
and found it was very real and substantial--perhaps a stout two inches
in thickness.
I deliberated with myself for a moment or two and concluded to do
nothing further in the matter. Perhaps it had turned out as well as
might be, for I had stopped her errand, and her return, doubtless, had
released me from unpleasant necessities.
I made no effort to force the door or to enter the house otherwise, but
visited the sentinels, telling them to be of good caution, though I
gave them no hint of what had happened.
I found Whitestone in the valley sitting on a stump and sucking at
his pipe, which contained neither fire nor tobacco. He told me naught
unusual had happened there. I took him back to the house with me, and
together we watched about it until the coming of the day, without
further event of interest.
Sunrise found my men and me very tired and sleepy, as we had a right
to be, having been on guard near to twenty-four hours, with some very
exciting things occurring in that long space. I awaited the relief
which must come soon, for we were not iron men.
The sun had scarce swung clear of the earth when a door of the house
was opened and Mistress Kate coming out, a pail in hand, walked lightly
toward the well. I approached her, and she greeted me with an unconcern
that amazed me.
“I trust that you enjoyed your night watch, Master Shelby?” she said.
“As well as was likely under the circumstances,” I replied. “I hope
that you slept soundly?”
“Nothing disturbed us after your invasion of our house,” she said
with fine calmness. “Now, will you help me draw this water? Since the
approach of the armies there is no one left in the house save my mother
and myself, and we must cook and do for ourselves.”
I helped draw the water, and even carried the filled pail to the house
for her, though she dismissed me at the door. But she atoned partly for
her scant courtesy by bringing us a little later some loaves of white
bread, which she said she had baked with her own hands, and which we
found to be very good.
We had but finished breakfast when the soldiers who were to relieve us
came, and right glad were we to see them. They were followed a few
minutes later by the colonel in charge, to whom I related the affair
of Captain Martyn, and to whom I showed the order commanding us to
withdraw. He instantly pronounced it a forgery and commended us for
staying.
“It was a traitorous attempt to get through our line,” he said, “but we
are none the worse off, for it has failed.”
I said nothing of Kate Van Auken’s share in the conspiracy, but I told
him the women in the house inclined strongly to the Tory side.
“I will see that the house is watched every moment of the day and
night,” he said.
Then I felt easy in mind and went off to sleep.
When I awoke it was about two by the sun, and the afternoon was fine.
I heard that fresh troops had arrived from the Massachusetts and New
Hampshire provinces in the morning, and the trap was closing down on
Burgoyne tighter than ever. Everybody said another great battle was
coming, and coming soon. Even then I heard the pop-pop of distant
skirmishing and saw an occasional red flash on the horizon.
I was eager to be at the front, but such duty was not for me then. As
soon as I had eaten I was sent back with Sergeant Whitestone and the
same men to keep watch at precisely the same point.
“Best take it easy,” said the sergeant consolingly. “If the big
battle’s fought while we’re away we can’t get killed in it.”
Then he lighted the inevitable pipe, smoked, and was content.
I questioned very closely the men whom we relieved near the house,
and they said there had been nothing to note. The elder woman had
never come out of the house, but the younger had been seen in the yard
several times, though she had naught to say, and seemed to be concerned
not at all about anything.
I thought it best not to visit the house, and took my station with
Whitestone in the valley, disposing the men in much the same manner as
before. Whitestone puffed at his pipe with the usual regularity and
precision, but some of his taciturnity was gone. He was listening to
the sounds of the skirmishing which came to us fitfully.
“The bees are stinging,” said he. Then he added, with a fine mixture of
metaphors: “The mouse is trying to feel his way out of the trap. The
big battle can’t be far off, for Burgoyne must know that every day lost
is a chance lost.”
It seemed to me that he was right, and I regretted more than ever my
assignment to sentinel duty. I do not pretend to uncommon courage, but
every soldier will bear me out that such waiting as we were doing is
more trying than real battle.
Of a sudden the skirmishing seemed to take on an increase of vigor and
to come nearer. Flashes appeared at various points on the horizon.
Whitestone became deeply interested. He stood at his full height on a
stump, and I would have done likewise had there been another stump.
Presently he leaped down, exclaiming:
“I fancy there is work for us!”
I saw at once what he meant. A dozen men were coming down the valley
at full speed. The bright sun even at the distance brought out the
scarlet of their uniforms, and there was no mistaking the side to which
they belonged. Evidently a party of Burgoyne’s skirmishers had slipped
through our main line somehow and were bent upon escape southward,
with all its momentous consequences.
That escape we would prevent. I sent Whitestone in a run to the two men
near the house to bid them take refuge behind it and fight from its
shelter. He was back in a breath, and he and I and the other soldiers
prepared to hold the passage of the valley. Most fortunate for us, a
rail fence ran across this valley, and we took refuge behind it--a wise
precaution, I think, since the approaching party outnumbered us.
All of ours, except myself, had rifles, and I carried two good pistols,
with which I am no bad shot. The British came on with much speed. Two
of them were mounted.
I glanced toward the house. At one of the windows I saw a figure. I
trusted if it was Kate Van Auken that she would withdraw speedily from
such an exposed place. But I had no time to note her presence further,
for just then the British seemed to perceive that we barred the way,
for they stopped as if hesitating. I suppose they saw us, as we were
sheltered but in part by the fence.
Wishing to spare bloodshed I shouted to them to surrender, but one of
the men on horseback shook his head, said something to the others, and
they dashed toward us at all speed. I recognized this man who appeared
to be their leader. He was Chudleigh, the Englishman, the betrothed of
Kate Van Auken, and, so far as I knew, an honest, presentable fellow.
Whitestone poised his rifle on the top rail of the fence and I surmised
that it was aimed at Chudleigh. Were the matter not so desperate I
could have wished for a miss. But before Whitestone pulled the trigger
one of the men from the shelter of the house fired, and Chudleigh’s
horse, struck by the ball intended for his master, went down, tossing
Chudleigh some distance upon the ground, where he lay quite still.
Whitestone transferred his aim and knocked the other mounted man off
his horse.
The remainder, not daunted by the warmth of our greeting and the loss
of their cavalry, raised a cheer and rushed at us, firing their pistols
and muskets.
I do not scorn a skirmish. It may, and often does, contain more heat to
the square yard than a great battle with twenty thousand men engaged.
These men bore down upon us full of resolution. Their bullets pattered
upon the rails of the fence, chipping off splinters. Some went between
the rails and whizzed by us in fashion most uncomfortable. One man
cried out a bit as the lead took him in the fleshy part of the leg, but
he did not shrink from the onset.
Meanwhile we were not letting the time pass without profit, but fired
at them with as much rapidity and aim as we could. The two men at the
corner of the house helped us much with fine sharpshooting.
Our fortification, though but slender, gave us a great advantage, and
nearly a third of their number had fallen before they were within a
dozen feet of the fence. But it was our business not only to defeat
them but to keep any from passing us. I was hopeful of doing this, for
the sound of the firing had reached other portions of the line, and I
saw re-enforcements for us coming on the run.
Our fire had been so hot that the British when within a dozen feet of
us shrank back. Of a sudden one of them, a very active fellow, swerved
to one side, darted at the fence, and leaping it with a single bound
ran lightly along the hillside. I called to Whitestone and we followed
him at all speed. I was confident that the others would be taken by our
re-enforcements, who were coming up fast, and this man who had passed
our line must be caught at all hazards.
One of my men at the house fired at the fugitive, but missed. My
pistols were empty, and so was Whitestone’s rifle. It was a matter
which fleetness would decide and we made every effort.
The fugitive curved toward a wood back of the house, and we followed.
I heard a rifle shot from a new direction, and Whitestone staggered;
but in a moment he recovered himself, saying it was only a flesh wound.
I was amazed, not at the shot but at the point from which it came. I
looked up, and it was no mistake of hearing, for there was the white
puff of smoke rising from an upper window in the house. It was but the
glance of a moment, as the fugitive then claimed my attention. His
speed was slackening and he seemed to be growing very tired.
A little blood appeared on Whitestone’s arm near the shoulder, but he
gave no other sign that the wound affected him. Our man increased his
speed a bit, but the effort exhausted him; he stopped of a sudden,
dropped to the earth, and lay there panting, strength and breath quite
gone.
We ran up to him and demanded his surrender. He was too much exhausted
to speak, but he nodded as if he were glad the thing was over. We let
him rest until his breath came back. Then he climbed to his feet, and,
looking at us, said in the fashion of one defending himself:
“I did the best I could; you can’t say I didn’t.”
“I guess you did,” I replied. “You went farther than any of your
comrades.”
He was a most likely young fellow, not more than twenty, I should say,
and I was very glad he had come out of the affair unhurt. We took him
back to the valley, where the conflict was over. Our re-enforcements
had come up so fast that the remainder of the British surrendered after
a few shots. All the prisoners were delivered to one of our captains
who had arrived, and he took them away. Then I turned my attention to
Whitestone. Having some small knowledge of surgery, I asked him to let
me see his arm. He held it out without a word.
I pushed up his sleeve and found that the bullet had cut only a little
below the skin. I bound up the scratch with a piece of old white cloth,
and said:
“You needn’t bother about that, Whitestone; the bullet that cut it
wasn’t very well aimed.”
“It was aimed pretty well, I think, for a woman,” he said.
“You won’t say any more about that, Whitestone, will you?” I asked
quietly.
“Not to anybody unless to you,” he replied.
There was a faint smile on his face that I did not altogether like; but
he thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, took out
his pipe, lighted the tobacco with great deliberation, and began to
smoke as if nothing had happened.
The prisoners taken away and other signs of conflict removed, we were
left to our old duty, and hill and hollow resumed their quiet. I
was much troubled, but at last I made up my mind what to do. Asking
Whitestone to keep a good watch, I went to the house and knocked with
much loudness at the front door. Kate opened the door, self-possessed
and dignified.
“Miss Van Auken,” I said with all my dignity, “I congratulate you upon
your progress in the useful art of sharpshooting. You have wounded
Sergeant Whitestone, a most excellent man, and perhaps it was chance
only that saved him from death.”
“Why should you blame me?” she said. “I wished the man you were
pursuing to escape, and there was no other way to help him. This is
war, you know.”
I had scarce expected so frank an admission.
“I will have to search the house for your weapon,” I said. “How do I
know that you will not shoot at me as I go away?”
“Do not trouble yourself,” she said easily, “I will bring it to you.”
She ran up the stairway and returned in a moment with a large, unloaded
pistol, which she held out to me.
“I might have tried to use it again,” she said with a little laugh,
“but I confess I did not know how to reload it.”
She handed me the pistol with a gesture of repulsion as if she were
glad to get rid of it. Her frankness changed my purpose somewhat, and I
asked her how her mother fared.
“Very well, but in most dreadful alarm because of the fighting,” she
replied.
“It would be best for both of you, for your own safety, to remain in
the house and keep the windows closed,” I said.
“So I think,” she replied.
I turned away, for I wished to think further what disposition to
make of Kate Van Auken and her mother. It seemed that they should
remain no longer at such a critical point of our line, where in an
unwatched moment they might do us a great evil. Moreover, I was much
inflamed against Kate because of the treacherous shot which had come
so near to ending Whitestone’s career. But even then I sought for some
mitigating circumstance, some excuse for her. Perhaps her family had so
long worked upon her that her own natural and patriotic feelings had
become perverted to such an extent that she looked upon the shot as a
righteous deed. Cases like it were not new.
I thought it best to take Whitestone into my confidence.
“We can not do anything to-day,” he said, “for none of us can leave
here; but it would be well to keep a good watch upon that house again
to-night.”
This advice seemed good, for like as not Kate Van Auken, not at all
daunted by her failure, would make another attempt to escape southward.
Therefore with much interest I waited the coming of our second night
there, which was but a brief time away.