OUT OF THE HOUSE.
The night came on and I was uneasy. Many things disturbed me. The house
was a sore spot in my mind, and with the dusk the signs of battle
seemed to increase. Upon this dark background the flashes from the
skirmishing grew in size and intensity. From under the horizon’s rim
came the deep murmur of the artillery. I knew that Burgoyne was feeling
his way, and more than ever it was impressed upon me that either he
would break out soon or we would close in upon him and crush him.
The faint pop-pop of the distant rifles was like the crackling that
precedes the conflagration.
To the south there was peace, apparent peace, but I knew Burgoyne must
turn his face hopefully many a time that way, for if rescue came at all
it must come thence.
“Another day nearer the shutting of the trap,” said Whitestone,
walking up and down with his arm in a sling. I found that he could
manage his pipe as well with one hand as with two.
The night was darker than usual, for which I was sorry, as it was
against us and in favor of the others. Again asking Whitestone to stand
sponsor for the hollow, I approached the house. I had repeated my
precautions of the day before, placing one sentinel in front of it and
another behind it. But in the darkness two men could be passed, and I
would watch with them.
From the hill top the flashes of the skirmishing seemed to multiply,
and for a few moments I forgot the house that I might watch them. Even
I, who had no part in the councils of my generals and elders, knew how
much all this meant to us, and the intense anxiety with which every
patriot heart awaited the result. More than ever I regretted my present
duty.
The house was dark, but I felt sure in my heart that Kate would make
another attempt to escape us. Why should she wait?
I thought it my best plan to walk in an endless circle around the
house; it would keep sleep away and give me the greater chance to see
anything that might happen. It was but dull and tiresome work at the
best. Around and around I walked, stopping once in a while to speak to
my sentinels. Time was so slow that it seemed to me the night ought to
have passed, when the size of the moon showed that it was not twelve.
I expected Kate to look from the windows again and spy out the ground
before making the venture; so I kept faithful watch upon them, but
found no reward for such vigilance and attention. Her face did not
appear; no light sparkled from the house. Perhaps after her failures
her courage had sunk. Certainly the time for her venture, if venture
she would make, was passing.
As I continued my perpetual circle I approached the beat of the
sentinel who was stationed behind the house. I saw him sooner than I
expected; he had come farther toward the side of the house than his
orders permitted him to do, and I was preparing to rebuke him when I
noticed of a sudden that he seemed to be without his rifle. The next
moment his figure disappeared from me like the shadow of something that
had never been.
Twenty yards away I saw the sentinel, upright, stiff, rifle on
shoulder, no thought but of his duty. I knew the first figure was
that of Kate Van Auken, and not of the sentinel. How she had escaped
from the house unseen I did not know and it was no time to stop for
inquiry. I stepped among the trees, marking as closely as I could that
particular blotch of blackness into which she had disappeared, and I
had reward, for again I saw her figure, more like shadow than substance.
I might have shouted to the sentinels and raised hue and cry, but I
had reasons--very good, it seemed to me--for not doing so. Moreover, I
needed no assistance. Surely I could hold myself sufficient to capture
one girl. She knew the grounds well, but I also knew them. I had played
over them often enough.
The belt of woods began about fifty yards back of the house, and was
perhaps the same number of yards in breadth. But the trees seemed not
to hinder her speed. She curved lightly among them with the readiness
of perfect acquaintance, and I was sure that the elation coming from
what she believed to be escape was quickening her flight.
She passed through the trees and into the stretch of open ground
beyond. Then for the first time she looked back and saw me. At least I
believe she saw me, for she seemed to start, and her cloak fluttered as
she began to run with great speed.
A hundred yards farther was a rail fence, and beyond that a stretch of
corn land. With half a leap and half a climb, very remarkable in woman,
who is usually not expert in such matters, she scaled this fence in a
breath and was among the cornstalks. I feared that she might elude me
there, but I, too, was over the fence in a trice and kept her figure in
view. She had shown much more endurance than I expected, though I knew
she was a strong girl. But we had come a good half mile, and few women
can run at speed so far.
She led me a chase through the cornfield and then over another fence
into a pasture. I noted with pleasure that I was gaining all the time.
In truth, I had enjoyed so much exercise of this kind in the last day
that I ought to have been in a fair way of becoming an expert.
Our course lengthened to a mile and I was within fifteen yards of her.
Despite my general disrelish for the position I felt a certain grim
joy in being the man to stop her plans, inasmuch as she had deceived me
more perhaps than any one else.
It was evident that I could overtake her, and I hailed her, demanding
that she stop. For reply she whirled about and fired a pistol at me,
and then, seeing that she had missed, made an effort to run faster.
I was astounded. I confess it even after all that had happened--but
she had fired at Whitestone before; now she was firing at me. I would
stop this fierce woman, not alone for the good of our cause, but for
the revenge her disappointment would be to me. The feeling gave me
strength, and in five minutes more I could almost reach out my hands
and touch her.
“Stop!” I shouted in anger.
She whirled about again and struck at me, full strength, with the butt
of her pistol. I might have suffered a severe, perhaps a stunning,
blow, but by instinct I threw up my right hand, and her wrist gliding
off it the pistol struck nothing, dashing with its own force from her
hand. I warded off another swift blow aimed with the left fist, and
then saw that I stood face to face not with Kate Van Auken but with
her brother Albert.
There was a look upon his face of mingled shame and determination. How
could he escape shame with his sister’s skirts around him and her hood
upon his head?
My own feelings were somewhat mixed in character. First, there was a
sensation of great relief, so quick I had not time to make analysis,
and then there came over me a strong desire to laugh. I submit that the
sight of a man caught in woman’s dress and ashamed of it is fair cause
for mirth.
It was dark, but not too dark for me to see his face redden at my look.
“You’ll have to fight it out with me,” he said, very stiff and haughty.
“I purpose to do it,” I said, “but perhaps your clothes may be in your
way.”
He snatched the hood off his head and hurled it into the bushes; then
with another angry pull he ripped the skirt off, and, casting it to one
side stood forth in proper man’s attire, though that of a citizen and
not of the British soldier that he was.
He confronted me, very angry. I did not think of much at that moment
save how wonderfully his face was like his sister Kate’s. I had never
taken such thorough note of it before, though often the opportunity was
mine.
Our pause had given him breath, and he stood awaiting my attack like
one who fights with his fists in the ring. My loaded pistol was in my
belt, but he did not seem to think that I would use it; nor did I think
of it myself. His, unloaded, lay on the ground. I advanced upon him,
and with his right fist he struck very swiftly at my face. I thrust my
head to one side and the blow glanced off the hard part of it, leaving
his own face unprotected. I could have dealt him a heavy return blow
that would have made his face look less like his sister Kate’s, but I
preferred to close with him and seize him in my grasp.
Though lighter than I he was agile, and sought to trip me, or by some
dexterous turn otherwise to gain advantage of me. But I was wary,
knowing full well that I ought to be so, and presently I brought him
down in a heap, falling upon him with such force that he lay a few
moments as if stunned, though it was but the breath knocked out of him.
“Do you give up?” I asked, when he had returned to speaking condition.
“Yes,” he replied. “You were always too strong for me, Dick.”
Which was true, for there never was a time, even when we were little
boys, when I could not throw him, though I do not say it as a boast,
since there were others who could throw me.
“Do you make complete and unconditional surrender to me as the sole
present representative of the American army, and promise to make no
further effort to escape?” asked I, somewhat amazed at the length of my
own words, and a little proud of them too.
“Yes, Dick, confound it! Get off my chest! How do you expect me to
breathe?” he replied with a somewhat unreasonable show of temper.
I dismounted and he sat up, thumping his chest and drawing very long
breaths as if he wished to be sure that everything was right inside.
When he had finished his examination, which seemed to be satisfactory,
he said:
“I’m your prisoner, Dick. What do you intend to do with me?”
“Blessed if I know,” I replied.
In truth, I did not. He was in citizens’ clothes, and he had been
lurking inside our lines for at least a day or so. If I gave him up to
our army, as my duty bade me to do, he might be shot, which would be
unpleasant to me as well as to him for various reasons. If I let him go
he might ruin us.
“Suppose you think it over while I rest,” he said. “A man can’t run a
mile and then fight a big fellow like you without getting pretty tired.”
In a few minutes I made up my mind. It was not a way out of the matter,
but it was the only thing I could think of for the present.
“Get up, Albert,” I said.
He rose obediently.
“You came out of that house unseen,” I resumed, “and I want you to go
back into it unseen. Do exactly as I say. I’m thinking of you as well
as of myself.”
He seemed to appreciate the consideration and followed close behind me
as I took my way toward the house. I had no fear that he would attempt
escape. Albert was always a fellow of honor, though I could never
account for the perversion of his political opinions.
He walked back slowly. I kept as good a lookout as I could in the
darkness. It was barely possible that I would meet Whitestone prowling
about, and that was not what I wanted.
“Albert,” I asked, “why did you shoot at Whitestone from the house? I
can forgive your shooting at me, for that was in fair and open strife.”
“Dick,” he said so earnestly that I could not but believe him, “to tell
you the truth, I feel some remorse about the shot, but the man you were
pursuing was Trevannion of ours, my messmate, and such a fine fellow
that I knew only one other whom I’d rather see get through with the
news of our plight, and that’s myself. I couldn’t resist trying to help
him. Suppose we say no more about it; let it pass.”
“It’s Whitestone’s affair, not mine,” I said. I was not making any
plans to tell Whitestone about it.
When we came to the edge of the wood behind the house I told him to
stop. Going forward, I sent the sentinel to the other side of the
building, telling him to watch there with his comrade for a little,
while I took his place. As soon as his figure disappeared behind the
corner of the house Albert came forward and we hurried to the side
door. We knocked lightly upon it and it was promptly opened by his
sister. I could guess the anxiety and dread with which she was waiting
lest she should hear sounds which would tell of an interrupted flight,
and the distress with which she would see us again. Nor was I deceived.
When she beheld us standing there in the dark, her lips moved as if she
could scarce repress the cry that rose.
I spoke first.
“Take him back in the house,” I said, “and keep him there until you
hear from me. Hurry up, Albert!”
Albert stepped in.
“And don’t forget this,” I continued, for I could not wholly forgive
him, “if you shoot at me or Whitestone or anybody else, I’ll see you
hanged as a spy, if I have to do it myself.”
They quickly closed the door, and recalling the sentinel, I went in
search of Whitestone.
I had some notion of confiding in Whitestone, but, after thought, I
concluded I had best not, at least not fully.
I found him walking up and down in the valley.
“Whitestone,” I said, “do me a favor? if anybody asks you how you got
that scratch on your arm, tell him it was in the skirmish, and you
don’t know who fired the shot.”
He considered a moment.
“I’ll do it,” he said, “if you’ll agree to do as much for me, first
chance.”
I promised, and, that matter off my mind, tried to think of a plan to
get Albert out of the house and back to his own army unseen by any of
ours. Thinking thus, the night passed away.