He slept deeply, and perhaps that was why he thought he had been in bed
but a few minutes when he was awakened by a sound. The room was
deserted, a fire burned cheerfully on the hearth and through the windows
came a dim light like that of the hour before dawn. Throwing aside a
quilt, he crossed the room—still dressed in the misfit suit—and looked
out of the curtains. People moved in the street and soldiers filed by;
overhead the clouds were particularly dense and momentarily growing
blacker. It was so still that he heard quite plainly the voices of
children around the corner and the click of feet on the cobbles. On
looking at his watch he was astonished to find it almost noon.
His long abused body had taken opportunity to recoup its vitality, and
while he slumbered the night and the day had rolled on and the storm had
changed tactics, recalling the cavalry of the east wind and massing all
the artillery of the sky.
There was a light tapping at the door, and on his summons Jane Welch
slid quietly through bearing a tray. There was food in sight and, what
excited Peale’s attention, a brace of dueling pistols. The girl put the
tray on the bed and lifted a cautioning finger. On coming closer he saw
her face had assumed a deep concern.
“The city’s been scoured all day,” she said in a low voice. “You’ve
never heard of a wilder search. Five poor people in gaol as suspects and
thrice some one shot at, being mistaken for you.”
“And what are the pistols for?” he asked, watching her pour coffee.
“Bring up a chair, Jeffry, and eat. I am beginning to be afraid for you.
Last night you couldn’t have gone on. You were dead tired and the guards
were double-posted, with every man on the street being stopped to
explain himself. Today is your only chance, and it must be soon. Captain
Tremble left ten minutes ago to bring back hounds from a farm up the
island.”
Peale lowered his cup.
“I’m to be treed with dogs, then?”
“But you have two or three good hours. It will take him that long to
fetch them.”
A sense of the danger—which he had before considered—came back to him
fourfold.
“My lady, I should not have come. But my memory failed me as to the
exact figures in that dossier you gave me to study. I meant to get it
and go on. But I must’ve overguessed my strength, for when I reached the
shed I could do no more than to make a small noise and give way. I had
never considered they would use dogs—had not thought dogs would be
available hereabouts.”
“You can’t harm me. They will carry the scent to the stone shed and no
farther. Sally spread pepper between there and the house and even now is
scrubbing the floor and the hall stairs. I am safe. And it will rain
soon.”
“Nevertheless the trail comes into the yard. That will be enough to put
a suspicion into men’s minds. Into Tremble’s above all else.”
“They may suspect—but they can prove nothing,” she returned stoutly.
“You are brave—very brave. I sometimes wonder how you manage all the
louts who come storming into your house.”
A slight shadow came over her face.
“Sometimes—not often—but sometimes a man of ill-breeding presumes on
decency. There is one below now. A friend of Captain Tremble, evidently,
for they sat beside the fire, head to head, and spoke very low for
better than a half-hour. He dresses like a gentleman but is none.”
“Then he does not keep his place?” demanded Peale, deserting his cakes
and standing before her.
Her eyes flashed. She had touched a spark to tinder and the knowledge
made the rich color come to her face, visible even in the darkened room.
“La, why do I worry you with my poor affairs? You must put your mind to
getting away from here. These pistols may help you. And here in the
closet is a sword of my father’s.”
She rummaged among clothes and brought it out, the scabbard gleaming in
the fire-light. Peale glanced through the window to the ever blackening
sky. One drop of rain splashed on the glass; in the street lights were
twinkling, though it was past noon.
“While they look for me in every back alley I shall try a bolder way.
What I need is an officer’s suit that will fit and the list of troops
you have. Is the house clear?”
“Save for this stranger.”
“Go down and bolt the door and come back.”
He heard her descend and presently, listening through the aperture of
the portal, made out the wheedling, strangely familiar voice of a man.
Jane Welch answered in curt monosyllables, at which the stranger’s
manner grew louder, more persistent. Peale closed the door with a
feeling of impotent anger and crossed to the window.
The sky was a mottled black; far off to the north he saw a pale blue
streak. Of a sudden lightning flashed and printed a vivid sprawling
track across his brain which lasted long after its disappearance. In a
moment a clap of thunder shook the town and sent its echoes thunderously
back and forth. There was a moment’s lull in which he heard a wind
rushing through the street and the first small patter of rain. Then a
second, more overwhelming flash lighted the buildings and streets in an
intense electric glare and heralded a sound as of the heavens falling
in. The windows rattled and the flames shot from the hearth into the
room, scattering ashes.
He heard the door open and swung around. There, faintly illumined by the
fire, he saw a man’s arm encircling Jane Welch and a man’s face bending
forward in a vain effort to catch her evading lips. Her arms flailed at
his chest and she spoke with a gusty passionate anger.
“Drop your arms, you swine!”
It was too dark to make out the character of the fellow. Peale seized
the sword on the mantel and strode forward, feeling the blood rush
toward his head.
“Step away or you are a dead man!”
The intruder sprang back and his hand went to the gentleman’s blade at
his side. Peale, peering at the blur of his face, had an uncomfortable
memory flash into his head and elude him. Precisely at the moment the
whole room was made day-bright by another of those transitory streaks of
lightning and he recoiled as a man does from the sight of horror.
The intruder was Priam Lafferty—the same bulky, uneven comrade of the
Morristown camp-fires. The same Priam with the lust of pleasure in his
eyes. Out of that moment came Jeffry Peale’s cry of detestation—
“Oh, you —— decoy duck!”
“Ha! So here you are! Tremble said ye’d been abroad. Well, my fine lad,
your meat is burnt now. I shall have the pleasure—”
“You scurvy traitor!” cried Peale. “D’you stand there and feel like a
man? Why, you dog, you should be hiding your face! And to top it y’
pursue a woman! Gad!”
“The trull was not backward about bein’ pleasant—”
“Stop! ’Tis always been your abominable conceit that all women were
forward. Another word about it and I’ll slit your heart!”
“Well, cockatoo, d’ye want to test blades?”
Peale turned from flame to ice. Silence fell across the room like a
blanket and he saw in one tragic picture the course of his friendship
with Priam Lafferty from boyhood up. And where before he had always
denied Priam’s weakness he recalled now the odds and ends of pettiness,
the bullying spirit, the avid search of pleasure. They led step by step
to the present treachery. He bowed toward the girl and said evenly—
“My lady, if you will go outside and close the door.”
In the following flash of lightning he saw her body swaying and her face
turned on him, pale and concerned. Then it was dark and she had
vanished.
He took a grip on the sword and shook it in his wrist, observing
Lafferty’s shoulders loom larger and hearing the man’s mocking voice.
“It irks your straight-laced mind to find me turnin’ politics, don’t it?
Why, —— you, Jeff, I’ve played false to the army almost a year! And I’m
not ashamed! What’s the use of sufferin’ for nothin’? Bah, I’ll be a man
of consequence, drinkin’ my wine long after you’re dead and the army
beaten. ’Tis only little intellects that abominate a change o’ side. As
for me, I am pliant and to show you how I cherish my new allegiance I
shall spit you nicely and render you up to Captain Tremble.”
“That,” replied Peale without emotion, “reveals the heart of a jackal.”
“—— you!” shouted Lafferty. “Up blade! Y’ve always assumed a superior
air to me! Gad, but I’ve endured it for the last time! Up blade! At
you!”
Peale was silhouetted, his back to the fire; out of the darkness he saw
Lafferty’s blade sweep, a flash of yellow running from tip to guard. His
own weapon sang gaily and they were at grips.
Lafferty pressed; always he pressed. It was his temper, a temper that
fitted well with any kind of conflict, growing hotter, stronger, more
violent as the contest endured, with a small core of shrewdness within
all this heat to preserve him from that blindness which usually rises of
rage.
Peale gave way, feeling the opposite blade slide in and out with
gathering strength. This was a tide he did not feel able to stem. Let
Priam wear himself out. Parry, lunge, parry! The shuffling of feet
across and around the floor. The click and rattle of steel on steel,
overborne by the thunder and the fury of the rain just bursting about
the house.
In the lightning he saw Priam’s jaws set as they had never been before
and the frenzy of combat blazing in his eyes. Darkness again.
Parry—lunge! That time the man was halted. Priam who took defeat badly
and stooped to conquer by trickery. Trickery! He must watch that.
Priam’s voice taunted across the whining blades.
“You’re strong, Jeff, but I’ll wear ye down! Remember, I’ve done it
before!” His own breath rose and fell in great sweeps and when they
fought close to the fire-light his cheeks glistened with beads of sweat.
Lunge! And this was the Priam so careless of his courtesies with Jane
Welch. Power came to Jeffry’s tiring arm. Here was a time to press! His
blade ripped into substance and across the small space he heard Priam
gasp.
“Done! Oh, by God, I’m done, Jeff!”
Peale halted, blade outstretched, seeing Lafferty’s figure sag; if the
man was done, why didn’t that sword arm drop. Treachery! He leaped,
hearing Priam’s point penetrate his sleeve. His voice, remote from his
body, spoke.
“Now I know I shall kill you, Priam. Stand fast, you dog, and meet my
point!”
His arm was made of lead. It was suffocatingly hot and his neck-piece
choked him. On blade! Thank God it stormed outside, that men might not
hear! He saw the bulky figure shift in front of him and followed. Once
more they circled and then he felt the weapon opposed him begin to
tremble. Press!
Above the elements that clash of metal sounded and stopped. It was done!
Priam Lafferty had got his pay. He stood, an uncertain figure with a
face that, in the ensuing flash, was quite disturbed, drenched in sweat.
The man’s blade fell with a clatter and he began to sag, going upon his
knees as if he meant to pray. Then he collapsed and the floor sounded
under his bulk.
“—— you—Jeff—you beat me—this time!”
The door burst open and the girl ran through. Jeffry Peale dashed the
perspiration from his brow and relaxed his aching muscles. Into his head
came the most pressing thought.
“Now, my lady, your usefulness here is at end! You must come away with
me!”
“Thank the Lord—oh, thank the Lord!”
By the light Jeffry saw again that wide-eyed emotion so inexplicable to
him. He stepped away and ran an eye down the length of his blade to
where the tip showed crimson in the yellow rays. He sheathed it and went
to the girl.
“Come, we’ve got to be moving. Yourself and your maid. Is there a
shelter you can find outside the lines?”
“My maid need not stir beyond the city. She has particular friends here.
Once I give her the word she will disappear as if the earth had
swallowed her. ’Tis her own secret.”
“And you?”
She studied him for several moments, speaking at last in a subdued
voice.
“I have friends beyond the Passaic.”
“No nearer?” He shook his head. “My dear girl, d’ye mean you must travel
back through all this weather with me? ’Twill be a hard trip. Have you
no nearer friends?”
“I am sturdy,” said she, almost meekly. “I can stand hard travel.”
“Then we go. Haste! Company may burst in any moment. I must get a
uniform.” He caught up a candle and lighted it in the fire.
“Come, Ensign Osbaldeston is nearly as tall. This room—next Captain
Tremble’s.”
He stood in the hall and issued swift directions.
“Have the maid get you a coach. Do you have the power to get beyond
lines?”
“Oh, yes. It’s been my habit to go into the country every week for fresh
vegetables. I have a pass.”
“Good! Then have the maid tell the stableman to bring around a horse.
Wrap yourself well, meanwhile.”
He slipped into Osbaldeston’s room and crossed to the clothes closet.
There were several uniforms hung on the wall, some of them rather
splendid things for parade, even by candlelight. Without much hesitation
he picked himself a plainer field-service suit and set about getting
into it, speeded by the thought that at any moment officers might return
to the house —and that Tremble was probably at this time returning with
hounds. The hounds, he told himself, would be of little use after the
torrent of rain.
Pulling on boots, he looked for a cloak and hat. With them he returned
to the girl’s room, to find her standing ready, holding out a slip of
paper to him. It was the list. He thrust on his cloak, buckled on the
sword and pocketed the pistols.
“My lady, you are going to share rough fare.”
“I am not afraid—hush!”
She ran to the door and after a bit drew in the maid, dripping wet.
“’Tis ready, ma’am. And the driver bids ye come. The horse, sir, is
behint.”
Peale nodded.
“Go ahead, my lady. Pass through the lines and have the coachman drive
at a fair rate. I shall be coming behind.”
“If you meet a like officer,” she mused, “or the guard refuses you—”
“’Tis as dark as a cave out, and they would have to peer close. As for
the guard—that will take care of itself.”
The girl bent forward and kissed the maid.
“Fend for yourself, Sally. After this war—”
Peale turned away, a little affected by the parting of the two.
Presently he heard them go down and not long after the coach rolled
away. It was time for his own adventure. With a last look at the dead
Lafferty he left the room and passed down to the front door. Holding the
cape tightly, he ducked out, to be met by a fierce, driving wind. A
hostler stood at the steps, holding a restive horse. Without comment
Peale sprang into the wet saddle.
“An’ who, sir, shall I s’y stan’s back o’ this?” asked the hostler.
“Put it to the account of Captain Tremble,” replied Peale and spurred
the animal into the gale.
He followed the street for a short distance, seeing here and there a
solitary passer-by and once overhauling a file of soldiers who bent
their necks against the bitter rain. But he felt safe; the elements
conspired to protect him, and with a degree of elation he turned into a
side alley and came presently to the guard where he was brought to a
halt by a sentry’s sharp challenge. He came abreast the man and leaned
down.
“Have you seen a coach roll by the past few minutes?”
The guard, seeing the boots and the binding on the hat, spoke
respectfully.
“Yes sir. Not five minutes ago. Your pass—”
“——!” shouted Peale. “Why did you let it get through?”
“The lady showed a pass,” replied the sentry. “’Tis common for her to go
out in the country, though I can’t see why she should choose this day.
Your pass—”
“Damnation!” exclaimed Peale. “You made a mistake! The pass was forged!
That coach must come back!” And, without further parley he put a spur to
his horse and dashed onward. He half expected to have a bullet sent
after him; but as the semi-darkness took him under cover no rifle report
sounded in his ears and finally, looking back, he saw the sentry
standing in the roadway, an indistinct, uncertain figure. His ruse had
worked.
“’Tis the same as has been done by reckless officers on our own lines,”
he muttered. “The British guard is no less gullible than the American.”
He urged his mount to as fast a pace as the rutted, unreliable road
would allow, expecting at every bend to catch a view of the coach. It
had gone on at a better rate than expected, and with some small concern
he began to count the odds yet ahead of them. The road was patrolled at
intervals by outguards and dragoons, and sooner or later he must
encounter one or the other unless he turned aside.
Thus thinking, he found himself thrust without warning into the jaws of
a trap. Riders loomed not twenty yards away—four of them—and in another
five paces he saw a pack of dogs being led behind. This was Tremble
returning home!
He jammed his hat farther on his head and rode boldly up to the group,
giving way to the side of the highway. The rain was falling in torrents
and the wind fairly drove his breath into his lungs. By the half-light
he saw the riders straighten and turn toward him; and by viewing the
size of their figures he picked upon the slight one on the far side as
being Tremble.
The near man drew up as if to talk. Peale shouted a meaningless phrase
into the teeth of the wind, pointed and kept on. The other man tarried,
then gave his horse the rein. They forged southward and soon were lost.
And at the next turn Peale saw the lumbering coach making hard progress
in the mud.
Coming abreast the driver, he held up his hand and motioned to the side
of the road. When the driver hesitated, Peale drew his sword and at that
the horses swerved and the coach wheels, reaching the soft shoulder,
sank deep and were stuck. Jane Welch put her head out of the door; Peale
rode alongside, threw back the latch and opened it.
“Your arm!” said he.
She understood. Balancing herself on the coach step, she gave her arm
and in a moment had swung outward and was sitting in front of Peale. He
hesitated one moment, debating as to the coachman. But it was dark and
the storm seemed in no way abating. Pursuit could not be particularly
dangerous in the next hour. And so he forgot the man and drove his mount
off the road and through the brush.
There was a field ahead and this he took, traveling at the best speed
possible. They were met by a fence which they skirted for fifty yards
before finding a gap. The storm pounded them on all quarters, ceaseless,
stinging in its force. Southward the thunder muttered, following the
less frequent flashes of lightning. Out of this turbulence they saw the
winking of a light, toward which the girl pointed.
“That’s Tory—I know them!” said she, raising her voice against the wind.
“You had better go around it.”
He nodded and guided the horse into a ditch swollen with water. The
ground rose sharply and fell away with equal abruptness. In front of
them was the Hudson, a river of strength always, and now whipped and
lashed by the gale sweeping through the gorge. They had a view of the
immediate stretch out from the shore and could see the waves driving in
upon the gravel. The girl turned a wondering face to him.
“Where are we going?”
He stopped the horse and slid off, offering her his arm. Once on the
ground, he pointed directly beneath them. There, drawn beyond the
water’s reach, was an overturned boat and beside it lay a pair of oars.
“Fortune is with us! There is your Tory’s skiff. I had expected to look
farther. Here is our escape from Manhattan Isle.”
* * * * *
It was not much more than an hour later when the sodden afternoon was
giving way to a premature night. Captain Tremble stood before the
general with the look of a man bitterly disappointed. His usually severe
face was even darker and his lips were nothing more than sharp edges.
“Give me leave to observe, sir, that I have never approved the freedom
allowed suspicious characters within this city. It is here proved. This
Jane Welch well duped us.”
The general frowned.
“She bore excellent character, Mr. Tremble.”
“I did not believe it and had I been given the support of any officer at
all I should have searched that house last night. But, knowing the
general infatuation for the girl—”
“Tut, sir,” broke in the general testily. “We can not all have your
penetration of mind.”
The captain drew himself up rather stiffly.
“I do not mean to call any officer’s ability into question.”
“But,” continued the general, “this girl and this spy must be overtaken.
’Tis a most flagrant flouting of his majesty’s forces. I want them back
here to suffer their fate. The coachman said they turned to the left,
riverward. And now comes the word from Mr. Symmes that his boat is
missing. There’s a piece of addition for ye.”
“Give me twenty horse and I shall bring them back,” said Tremble.
“Get your dinner, sir, and I shall have a barge to put you over the
river with an order on the dragoons stationed there.”
“Let me disregard the dinner, sir. The sooner started the better.”
The general favored him with an extraordinarily long glance and then
reached for quill and paper.
“You live well up to your reputation. I believe you will get them.”
“There can be no question of that,” answered Tremble coldly. “I make it
a matter of personal honor. They will not dupe me again.”