“THERE’S MANY A SLIP ’TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP.”
Van Curter and his men made good time in their march to Windsor, and at
four o’clock in the afternoon they were encamped behind the three hills.
Hardly had they settled themselves to wait for night, when Carl Anselm
came in. His face was disfigured by the knife-cut; the blood lay in
thick clots about it, and his small eyes sparkled with vicious fire under
his heavy brows. He made his way at once to the place where Van Zandt
sat, under a large maple tree.
“Welcome, Carl,” said the captain. “In the name of the saints, what is
the matter with your face?”
“I have taken the mark in your service,” replied the other, angrily.
“Come away from the rest and I will tell you how.”
The captain followed him to a retired spot, then called upon him to speak.
“I waited in the path for the coming of your enemy until I became weary
and fell asleep; their voices woke me as they came, and I started up so
quickly that the bush stirred. He was not alone.”
“Ah-ha!”
“No; that cursed spy—for he is nothing better—Bainbridge, was with him.
Sturm and wetter! I will have _his_ heart’s blood upon my own account.”
“On with your tale, quick. You fired, did you not?”
“Yes. As the bush stirred, Bainbridge called out to his companion, and he
jumped; if he had not done it, a ball would have been in his heart. My
curse upon the meddler.”
“Then he escaped?” demanded the other, hoarsely.
“Escaped. Not fully, for my ball struck him on the arm, and there was
blood starting through his clothing. Before I could look, that devil,
whom we call the peddler, was upon me with an open knife. I had mine in
my hand, and made a blow at him. He is quick as a cat; he dodged the
knife, and struck at me. You see the result. I lay that wound up against
him. I shall do him mischief yet.”
“What did you do then?”
“I saw that he was not what he seemed, and more than a match for me, I
dropped the knife and ran for my horse, I had tied him in a ravine by the
river-side. Curse the Yankee, he was like a greyhound; if there had been
twenty rods more to run I should be a dead man; but I got to my horse and
was off.”
“It is a total failure, then?”
“Not so. Before, I worked only for you; now I work for both. I have an
account with the man who calls himself Boston Bainbridge.”
“You might have had before, if you had any eyes. You love Katrine, the
cousin of Theresa.”
The young man turned upon him with a quick look. “Who told you that?” he
said.
“It matters not.”
“Why do you bring her into the conversation?”
“Have you no eyes? Why, man, the other night, while Barlow stood at the
window of my willful maid, whispering in her ear, whom think you stood at
that of Katrine?”
“Who?”
“Boston Bainbridge.”
“You know this to be true? It is not a trick to make me more surely your
friend?”
“I saw it myself.”
“Ah.” Carl stopped, and with his knife-blade stabbed the earth at his
feet. “Would that I had him here,” he cried, “would that I knelt upon his
breast as I kneel upon the earth. He is my enemy until death.”
“You never knew this?”
“I knew that she was proud, and would not listen to me. I hoped for
better things; I thought that a lover’s persistency would bring about the
desired end, and this is the re—result.”
His countenance became as that of a fiend; in the heat of his passion
the blood gushed anew from his wounded face. He caught some of it in his
hand, and cast it from him, crying passionately:
“Let this blood witness against him.” After that he was calmer.
“We will work together, my master; much may be done where there is a good
heart in the cause. I am with you, body and soul.”
“The compact is made. By knife, cord and bullet, I will be true to you in
this business.”
“So let it be,” responded Carl.
“Have you seen Wampset?”
“Yes. Before nightfall he will be here with a hundred men.”
“Well done. The English power shall be swept from this river; our enemies
shall be—where?”
“It matters little so that they cumber the earth no more. It is time
Wampset were here.”
“You are sure he will keep his appointment?”
“The promise of an Indian is sure. He will keep his word.”
“Did you look over the block-house and note the entrances?”
“Yes. There are eighteen men in all, now that this spy and Barlow are
here; the whole is under the command of William Holmes; his second in
command is his brother, who is away in Boston.”
“His brother?”
“Yes.”
“I never heard of such a man until I came here.”
“Few have; he is seldom seen; people who live in this region know that
there is such a man as Robert Holmes. He tramps the forest, makes
treaties with the Indians, and prepares the country for the next inroad
of Yankees. No man can put his finger on him and say, ‘This is Robert
Holmes,’ and yet, he is a fixed fact. The people in Windsor have great
faith in him, but are non-committal about him.”
“He is a mystery, then?”
“One which we can not unravel. Some of our people swear that Robert
Holmes is only a name for a devil, who has taken up his abode at Windsor.
I begin to think it is half right, for who but a devil could exert such
an influence over Yankees?”
“Phew, such talk as that will do for other men than us; as for this
imaginary potentate, if there is such a man, we probably shall meet him
to-night, and try the virtue of cold steel upon him. I wonder Wampset is
not here; he is not a man to shirk his appointment. Who comes there? Is
this the way they keep guard?”
An Indian, gliding forward like a stealthy ghost, at that moment appeared
before him. At the first look, Van Zandt knew him; it was one of the
men who belonged to the band of Wampset—his messenger, a light, active
fellow, with a cunning face.
The first salutation of the captain was sharp and to the point, “Where is
Wampset? It is long since the chief was known to linger on the war-trail.”
“Wampset has not lingered. But, he can not come to the aid of his young
friend. The Hawk hovers with outspread wings above his tree-top. Shall
not the Eagle guard his own nest first?”
“What mean you?”
“Sassacus has sent Mennewan upon the war-trail. A dog who had eaten bread
in our lodges told the Pequods that the Eagle rested his tired wings upon
the banks of the great river. The Pequods are very mad for the scalp of
Wampset, and his band are known in every lodge in the nation. They are
very brave.”
“How do you know this?”
“The band had painted their faces for war and set forth. Near the
river-side they met the Fox. He is the son of Miantonomah, sachem of the
Narragansetts. The Fox is very cunning, and he loves Wampset. He has
sworn to have the scalp of Sassacus. He told us that he had been in the
Pequod lodges, and they were on the way. They did not know that he was
with them. None are so cunning as the Fox.”
“What did he do then?”
“What could he do? Should he leave his little ones a prey to the
tomahawks of the Pequods?”
This was unanswerable, and Van Zandt could only mutter curses on the
unlucky fate which had worked against him. If he had only known the
truth, _fate_ would not have had the curses on that day. But, curses
would do no good. Wampset was by this time half way back to his camp,
and the Fox, who had done his work well, was back in Windsor, reporting
to his employer the success of the stratagem. As the reader has no doubt
surmised by this time, the coming of the Pequods was a coinage of the
brain of Boston, who hoped by this to send the Indians back to their
camp. The ruse succeeded to a charm, and deprived the Dutch of their
allies.
There was nothing for it but to take the place without help, and Carl,
in company with Captain Van Zandt, set out to reconnoiter the position.
It was now growing dark, and they advanced with caution. All about the
stockade was still. The silence, in fact, was so profound as to be
suspicious. Van Zandt, a practiced Indian-fighter, had his suspicions of
such quiescence. He advanced carefully. There was only one light in the
stockade. That was a fire in the center, around which sat four or five
of the garrison. They were all stalwart men, for Captain Holmes brought
no others into the wilderness. The spy could see through the chinks that
their arms lay beside them, and ready to take up at a moment’s notice.
In the mean time, Carl had stolen round to the other side of the
building, and looked through the chinks in the logs. The cabin in which
the officers lived stood close at hand, and through another orifice in
the logs, the young German could see the interior. There were three men
in the cabin—Barlow, Captain Holmes and Boston. They sat upon stools,
by the side of a wooden table, talking eagerly in low tones. From the
place where he stood, it was impossible for Carl to hear a word. But,
to his astonishment, he saw that Boston not only took an active part in
the conversation, but his opinion was listened to with great deference.
Carl’s blood boiled in his veins. Since the last night, an intense hatred
of the peddler had grown up in his heart. This was the man who had stolen
the heart of Katrine. He should die.
He drew a pistol from his pocket, and leveled it through the chinks. The
light of a candle upon the table glimmered along the barrel. He pulled
the trigger. The hammer came down upon the flint without a report. The
priming had been shaken out of the pan in coming from the camp. With a
muttered invective Carl slipped behind the logs of the stockade and felt
for his powder-flask. He had left it in the camp! The passion of the man
was fearful to see. He ran back to find his captain, and lead him to the
spot. The moment his eye rested upon the group he put a pistol into the
hand of Carl. “Hold,” he said, as that person was about to fire. “Don’t
do it. We must get nearer, and hear what they say.” The stockade was
about twelve feet high, but the corners were rough, and stood out about
six inches from the rest of the work, forming a sort of ladder. Van Zandt
took the lead, climbed over, and dropped down into the work, between the
wall and the cabin.
The conversation continued; but, to the rage of the two spies, it was
now carried on in whispers. It was impossible to hear a word. Twice Carl
raised his pistol, and as often he was restrained by the hand of his
leader, who had no notion of betraying their presence by a shot, while
they were inside the fort. He feared the men who sat by the fire.
“In God’s name,” whispered Carl, “are you going to let him escape? I must
fire.”
“Who do you speak of?”
“He. That devil, Bainbridge.”
“I have not so much quarrel with him as with Barlow. Let us get out of
this. I tell you you must not, _shall_ not fire. Come.”
Carl obeyed, sullenly enough. They climbed the wall without molestation,
and reached the other side. All at once the captain was startled by the
report of a pistol, and saw Carl looking through the crack, with the
pistol still smoking in his hand. A terrible uproar was heard in the
cabin.
“Run for it, captain,” shouted Carl. “Missed him,” he hissed, in his
desperation.
They ran in silence until they reached the edge of the woods, when Van
Zandt turned, and took his companion by the throat. The epithets he
exhausted upon him were of the most fearful nature. Carl shook him off
with an angry gesture.
“Take your hand from my throat, Captain Joseph. You ought to know, by
this time, that the blood of the Anselms is hot, and can not brook an
insult. Hands off, I said!”
“You infernal hound! Did I not order you not to fire?”
“I know it. If I had expected to die the next moment, I would have fired
that pistol. I will have him yet. He is doomed. Either he or I.”
“Little cares he for such as you are. Fool, do you not see the immense
advantage this man has over you in every point. He is cool; your blood
is like fire. He calculates every chance; you act upon the first thought
which enters your crazy head. You have, doubtless, by this rash act,
spoiled our chance of taking the stockade. If you have, I am not the man
to shield you from the rage of Van Curter.”
“Take your own course,” replied Carl, angrily. “I care not. You had
better look to it, or you will cancel the bond between us.”
This was what Van Zandt did not care to do, and he begun to conciliate
the man. This led him back to the subject of Bainbridge.
“The unquiet beast stooped for a paper he had dropped just as I fired.
What has happened to me? Is my aim gone? When was I ever known to miss
such shots as these?”
They hurried back to camp, and put the men in order for the attack. When
they approached a change had taken place in the aspect of affairs. The
works were now brilliantly lighted. Pitch-pine torches blazed in every
crevice; the bright barrels of guns glistened along the wall. Van Curter
halted his men and came forward, demanding a parley.
“It shall be granted,” cried a voice from within. “Wait.”
In a few moments the door of the stockade swung open, and two men came
out. They were Captain Holmes and Barlow. Calling Van Zandt to his side,
Van Curter advanced to meet them.
“You have seen me once before,” said Holmes, “and know I have authority.
What has the commandant to say to me.”
“I am in the service of the Dutch republic. When you passed up the river,
on your way to this place, I warned you to strike and stay. You refused,
and kept on your course! I was not in a position then to enforce my
commands. I had even made up my mind to tolerate you, as well as I might.
But, since you have been here, the riot and disturbance caused by your
men are beyond the power of my nature to endure longer.”
“Of what do you complain?”
“You are a cheating set.”
“Ah!”
“You sell my men horses which are good for nothing.”
“They ought to know better than to buy.”
“But they don’t. Your men make a very bad horse look beautiful. There is
one vagabond among you whom I will give forty stripes save one, if he
ever comes to Good Hope. I have sworn it.”
“What is his name?”
“Boston Bainbridge.”
“Ah, indeed! What has Boston been doing?”
“Every thing that is bad; nothing that is good. I will make him wish that
he had never been born. He sold a horse to one of my council for a very
high price, bought it back for five guilders, and sold it to another man
for a hundred and fifty.”
“And you intend to flog him?”
“Surely.”
“I can’t do better than to warn him to keep out of your way when I see
him again. Boston _is_ a cheat in _one_ way. But to business. You have
run out of your course to talk of him. What are the men of Good Hope
doing here?”
“You are on our land. We claim it as the right of our country, in the
name of Hendrick Hudson, the man whom your country would not honor, and
who came to us for his due. You must break up this trading-house, and
take yourself again to your sloop, get out of the country, and keep out
of it.”
“You are modest in your demands, sir. I will say that for you. What if I
refuse?”
“You see these men?”
“Yes.”
“They have arms in their hands.”
“I see the arms. They are very rusty. You don’t use them much, I guess.”
“If you refuse we shall take the place.”
“Perhaps you mean you will _try_ to take it.”
“We will _take_ it,” said Van Zandt, speaking for the first time.
“If you can,” replied Barlow, returning the Dutchman’s look of hate and
defiance.
“Be quiet, Willie,” said the captain. “It can do no good. Now, sir, to
your demand. I hold this post in the name and by the authority of my
monarch, king of England. I care nothing for other powers. My force is
not large; but, while I or any of my officers or men can lift an arm in
its defense, no Dutchman shall enter the block-house, except as a friend.
If he comes as an enemy we will give him English steel.”
“You speak plainly.”
“I speak as I feel. Twice to-day murder has been attempted by one of your
men. We know him. His name is Carl Anselm, and he is a servant of Captain
Van Zandt.”
“Murder!”
“Nothing else. This morning he fired from a bush and missed my lieutenant
here, or rather wounded him in the arm, though his intent was to kill.”
“The other?”
“That occurred to-night. The captain and his servant came down together
to reconnoiter. While the captain was on one side of the building, his
servant snapped a pistol at one of my officers through a chink in the
logs. Then they climbed over the wall at the corner.”
“The devil!” cried Joseph.
“You see we were not altogether uninformed in regard to your movements,
sir. You climbed over the wall and listened at the chink in the cabin. We
whispered, and you could not hear what we said.”
“_Are_ there devils upon earth?” muttered Joseph, in utter astonishment.
“Your man still wanted to fire, and you restrained him. You climbed the
wall first, and as your back was turned, Carl fired the pistol, and
missed. Is the account correct?”
“Perfectly. And now tell me, if you will do so, how you know all this?”
“Certainly. You were watched all the time. And since Mynheer Van Curter
has thought proper to speak of one of my men, and of the punishment he
intends to give him, let me say that I have my eye on this Carl Anselm.
If he falls into my hands he shall not taste a whipping-post, but he
shall have a ride on a higher horse than any he has ever saddled. And he
will find it a tough colt to ride. I shall hang him as sure as my name is
Holmes.”
“You refuse to surrender?”
“Utterly—and I advise you to clear out at once.”
“The consequences must light upon your own head then.”
“I am ready to abide them. My stockade is strong, and I have men enough
to man it. If you try to take it you will have to fight. It is useless
to prolong this conference. Let me bid you good-night.”
As they turned to leave, Barlow saw some men creeping up in the rear, led
by Carl. He whispered to the captain. He turned quickly, when Van Curter
laid hands upon him, and attempted to detain him. Willie found himself
in the grasp of Joseph. With one effort of his prodigious strength,
Holmes dashed Van Curter breathless to the ground, and turned to the aid
of Willie. But, the young men, clinching, had fallen, and Joseph’s head
struck the earth with such force as to deprive him of his senses. Rising
quickly, the two turned toward the stockade. There were seven men between
them and the gate—unarmed, however, as they had intended to overpower the
officers—not to harm them. Holmes measured the distance to the gate with
his eye, threw forward his chest, bringing his fists up to his sides. The
Dutchmen gathered in a body to seize them as they started to run for the
gate. As the two men came near they increased their speed, and came down
upon the little group with the might of giants; using their hands in a
manner which astounded their would-be captors. Carl, who threw himself
directly in Willie’s path, got a “facer” from the one uninjured arm which
sent him down as if struck by a bullet, with a broken nose. Right and
left went the Dutchmen, the dull thud of the blows sounding ominously of
defeat to them. At last the two men broke through the crowd and reached
the stockade, breathing hard, but not in the least hurt.
“The scoundrels,” said one of the garrison. “Say the word, captain, and
we will go out and whip the entire lot.”
“That word I won’t say. I think too much of my men. What are they doing,
Bailey?”
“Picking up the broken bones and taking them away. Oh, sir, if you could
only have seen the blow the lieutenant gave the Dutchman who was here
this morning!”
“I am glad he got a stroke at him. I will hang that fellow yet.”
“Here comes Van Curter again, sir,” said one of the men. “What shall I
say to him?”
“Give him a shot. Be careful not to hit him; only give him a hint to keep
out of way or he will get hurt.”
The man obeyed. Van Curter, seeing the uselessness of further parley,
formed his men in the woods and made ready for the attack. Holmes threw
more wood on the fire, ordered his men to cheer, which they did with a
will, and waited.
“Do you think they will try it,” asked the captain of Barlow.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “We are ready for them in any case.”