I awoke in a flood of brightest sunshine which poured over the walls
of my chamber and bathed the sweet lavender-scented sheets on my bed.
The water in the washing-bowl reflected the sunlight, and the white
ceiling above me wavered with golden-netted ripples. A gentle wind
moved the curtains to and fro, a brisk breeze, yet saturated with the
disquieting taint of unknown odours, odours of a town whose streets
are thronged with strange people. Those bred within the strip which
runs along the borders of a wilderness find the air of towns
confusing, as a keen hound, running perdu, enters a vast runway where
a thousand pungent trails recross.
Reconnoitring the room from my sunny couch, I poked my sun-warmed
muzzle out of the sheets, sniffing and inspecting the unfamiliar
surroundings. Then I cautiously stretched my limbs, and finding myself
supple and sound, leaped lightly onto the rag-carpet in my bare feet
and stood looking out of the window.
This lodging whither Mount and Renard had piloted me when our convoy
passed the ramparts of Fortress Pitt, was an inn called the "Virginia
Arms," a most clean and respectable hostelry, though sometimes
suspected as a trysting-place for rebels. James Rolfe, a Boston man,
was our host, a thin-edged, mottled, shrewd-eyed fellow, whose nasal
voice sounded continually through the house from tap-room to garret,
in sarcastic comment on his servants. I heard him now as I stood at
the window:
"Oh, Hiram, yew dinged sack o' shucks, the gentleman in 27 is knocking
on the floor! Jonas! A pot o' small-beer for the gentleman in 17! Land
o' Goshen, yew run like a frost-nipped spider! The gentleman in 6 is
waiting for his wig! What's that? Waal, yew go right 'round tew the
hairdresser's and tell him tew bring that wig! Hey? Yes, the wig
dressed a-lar-Francy! Don't set there rubbing yewr chin like a dumned
chipimunk, Simon, while Mister Patrick Henry is waiting for them queue
ribbons from Corwin's. Eh? You fetched 'em? Well, why in the name o'
Virginy can't you say so? Clean them buckles for the gentleman in 20,
yew darned clam!"
His penetrating, half-fretful, half-humorous voice died away towards
the stables in the rear, and I parted the dainty curtains and peeped
out into the streets of Pittsburg. Our inn stood on the corner of the
town square, opposite the village green. Across the square rose some
well-made barracks, painted white; I could see red-coated sentinels
posted at the gates and walking their beats along the west stockade. A
few handsome mansions faced the square, two churches and a public
house completed the north side of the quadrangle. East and west shops
and smaller houses lined the streets; the green bush hung in the
sunshine, the barber's basin swung and glittered among a forest of
gayly painted sign-boards.
But the people! Lord, how they trooped by, passing, repassing,
threading the alleys, streaming across the green, soldiers in scarlet
and buff, militia in brown and green, sober townsmen dressed as we
dress in Johnstown, old gentlemen in snuffy smalls and big coats with
broad cuffs and silver buttons, the butcher, bared of arm and head,
with the wind fluttering his apron, the baker, white and sallow as his
own muffins, ostlers, shop-keepers, chapmen, men in fustian
shouldering pick or shovels, drovers in blue smocks carrying looped
snake-whips. Now comes one in musty wig and steel spectacles, bulging
umbrella under one arm, inquisitive nose buried in a Maryland
newspaper--a schoolmaster!--or do I not know the breed. Anon, I see
some tall, awkward riflemen, loitering idly before signs or gawking up
at the county court-house, where a gilt fish swims in the sky.
Sometimes a horseman, in the uniform of Lord Dunmore's guards, trots
by gracefully, with a smile and low salute for his friends and a stare
at the fresh-cheeked maids who steal demurely along, basket on arm, to
rifle the market for an early squash or a bunch o' green pease.
Many citizens I notice are reading the newspapers as they walk; many
men meet and stop and converse eagerly, looking behind them at times
as though an eavesdropper might be near. With bell and clapper the
vender of ginger and cocoa-nut pushes his cart before him; peddlers,
bending under Delaware baskets or leather trays, stand in the street,
calling their wares: "Colours for the races!" "Tablets!" "Pencils!"
"Chains!" "Cock-gaffs--steel or brass!" "Gentlemen's fancy!"
"Dog-bells!" "Ferret-bits!"
A barefoot child in rags offers bills for the bull-baiting and for the
Theatre Royal, crying in a thin, monotonous voice: "Race-week bills,
my lords and gentlemen! Race-week bills for the Theatre Royal, my
lady! Plays to be played--'The Beau's Stratagem,' 'Beggar's Opera,'
'The Devil to Pay,' 'The Fair Penitent,' 'The Virgin Unmasked!' and a
variety of farces and merry pantomimes--and the bills are only a
penny, my lady! The tickets to be had at Jamison's Coffee-House at
four shillings--the bill to be had of me, Rosalie, child of Tanner
Bridewell--only a penny!"
The pitiful voice in the sunshine touched me; I opened the window and
tossed a shilling to the child, then hid behind the curtains while she
kissed her palm at my window.
The winding of a brass horn brought me out of my concealment to peep
again down into the street, where people were flocking around a public
crier, who stood on a horse-block blowing his horn.
"Attention! Attention!" he cried, unfolding a paper, and presently
commenced to read his news to the crowd:
"By permission of the Right Honourable Earl of Dunmore, Governor of
Virginia! Four days' sport on Roanoke Plain. The Colonial Club
offering prizes of L100 and L50; the Richmond Club offering two purses
of L50. Attention! Sport on the Roanoke; an even and delightsome
plain, most sweet and pleasant. To-day the Nobleman's and Gentleman's
Purse of L50, free for any horse except Doctor Connolly's _Scimitar_,
who won the plate last season. Second, a silver cup worth L12.
Tuesday, County Subscription Purse of L50. No person will erect a
booth or sell liquor without subscribing L2 to expenses of races.
"Gentlemen fond of fox-hunting will meet at the Buckeye Tavern by
daybreak during the races.
"God save the King!"
He folded his paper, picked up his horn, and stepped down from the
horse-block. After a little while I heard his horn again, sounding at
the north angle of the square, and his strident voice, announcing the
races, came fitfully on the wind.
I turned back into the room and began my toilet. How strange to find
this town, undisturbed in its rural pleasures, busy about its own
affairs, while scarce a night's journey to the north the frontier was
in ashes, and the dead lay in the charred embers of their own
door-sills!
How strange to look out on the peace of these sunny streets, with the
cinders of Cresap's camp still clinging to my hunting-shirt; with my
own blood caking the sore on my arm where a Cayuga child had thrust a
lighted pine-splinter into my flesh! Strange!--ay, astonishing that
these people here behind their fortress, their block-housen, their
earthworks and stockades, should forget those who dwelt beyond the
gates, wresting the dark soil, inch by inch, from the giant pines of
the wilderness.
With a knife which Cresap had given me, I sat down to scrape the mud
and filth from my hunting-shirt and to pick out the burrs and docks
which clotted the fringe on my leggings.
Sombre thoughts filled me; I had a hard role to play before Lord
Dunmore; I had a harder role to act before Silver Heels, if she were
still here in Pittsburg.
It gave me no pleasure to find myself so near her. The attitude she
had assumed towards me that last night in Johnstown had hurt enough to
leave a scar. But when scars appear, wounds are healed; and so was
mine. It was true, I had never loved her as men love sweethearts. Her
sudden and amazing appearance as a woman had aroused my curiosity; her
popularity and beauty my jealousy. It was hurt pride that tempered me
when the playfellow I had tolerated and protected and tormented at my
pleasure, tormented, tolerated, and finally ignored me.
I did not love her when I aroused her contempt with my courtship of
Mrs. Hamilton. I did not love her when I followed her to the pantry to
bully her into according me her respect once more. It was vanity:
vanity when I sulked because young Bevan took her from me; vanity when
I assailed the pretty ears of Mrs. Hamilton with callow cynicisms and
foolish wit. I scorned myself for having deceived my own heart with
the fancy that I had ever loved my cousin Silver Heels.
Now that the demon Butler had been exorcised by Sir William, and now
that Sir William wished for my union with Silver Heels, and had
promised me the means to maintain her as her rank required, I
understood plainly that I did not love her in that way. She was only
my playfellow; she had never been anything else. I meant to see her
and tell her so; I meant to ask her forgiveness for offending her; I
meant to seek her friendly confidence once more, to warn her that she
should not tarry here in these troublous times, but return at once to
Johnson Hall, where Sir William could protect her, not only from the
savages, but also from that creature whose every breath of life was an
offence to his Creator.
Doubtless, Silver Heels would go with me. Dunmore would be obliged to
provide our escort; indeed, his Lordship would be glad enough to see
me leave his town of Pittsburg ere I had finished with my business
here.
I stood smoothing the thrums on sleeve and legging, somewhat ashamed
to seek audience with anybody in such attire. I had money in my belt,
enough to purchase clothing suitable to my station, but it was time
that I lacked, not means or inclination.
I had laid my hand on the knob, intent on seeking breakfast below, and
was about to open the door, when somebody knocked. It was Saul
Shemuel, smiling and folding his hands over his belly--a greasy
spectacle in sooth for a hungry stomach--and I scowled and bade him
state his business quickly in the devil's name.
"Goot-day and greeding, sir," said the peddler, bowing and rubbing
himself against the door like a cat. "Gott save our country, Mr.
Cardigan. You are oxpected to join the gendlemens in 13, sir. Mr.
Mount begs you will hold no gonversation mit strangers hereabouts, nor
entertain no one until he sees you, sir."
"Who are you, anyway, Shemuel?" I asked, curiously.
"A peddler, Mr. Cardigan--only a poor peddler," he protested,
spreading out his grimy fingers and peeping up cunningly. "Pray, do
not look as if you knew me, sir, should you see me abroad in the
streeds, sir. But if you wish to speag to me, please to buy a buckle;
one buckle if I shall seek you here, two buckles if I am to follow you
in the streed, sir, three buckles if you would seek me in my lodgings,
Mr. Cardigan. I live at the 'Bear and Cubs Tavern,' sir, on the King's
Road."
"Very well," I said, somewhat amused at the idea of my pining for
Shemuel's company under any circumstances. "Where is room 13, Shemuel?
Eh? Oh, you appear to know this inn. Here's sixpence for you, Shemmy.
That's right, cut away now!"
"If I might speak von vort, sir," he began, hoisting his basket on his
back and looking slyly up at me as I passed him.
"Well?" I said, impatiently.
"I haf often seen you, sir, at Johnson Hall."
"Well?"
"And I haf also sold gilt chains to Miss Warren."
"Well!" I demanded, sharply.
"Miss Warren iss here in Pittsburg, sir," he ventured.
"I supposed so," I said, coldly; "but that does not interest me."
"Maybe," he said, spitefully, "you don'd know somedings?"
"What things?"
"Miss Warren weds mit Lord Dunmore in July."
He was gone like a slippery lizard before I could seize him. He
vanished around the corridor ere my thoughts assembled from the shock
that had routed them. Now they began to rally pell-mell, and my cheeks
burnt with scorn and anger, though I could not truly credit the
preposterous news. That unformed child thrown into the arms of a thing
like Dunmore! What possessed all these rakes and roues to go
mad--stark, staring, March-mad--over my playfellow? What did an Earl
want of her--even this bloodless Dunmore with his simper and his snuff
and his laces and his bird's claws for fingers? What the devil had
enchanted him to seek her for his wife; to make her Countess of
Dunmore and the first lady in Virginia?
And Silver Heels, had she sold her beauty for the crest on this man's
coach? Had she bargained her innocence for the rank that this
toothless conspirator and assassin could give her? How in God's name
could she endure him? How could she listen without scorn, look at him
without loathing? An old man, at least a man who might be a rotten
forty or a patched and mended sixty, with his painted face and his
lipless line of a mouth--horror!--if she had seen him grinning and
gumming his wine-glass as I had seen him--or sprawling on the carpet,
too drunk to clean his own chin!
Agitated and furious I paced the hallway, resolving to seek out my
lady Silver Heels without loss of time or ceremony, and conduct her
back to the nursery where the little fool belonged.
Countess, indeed! I'd bring her to her senses! And wait!--only wait
until Sir William should learn of this!
Somewhat comforted at the thought of the Baronet's anger and dismay, I
pocketed my excitement and began to search for the door of room 13,
where, according to Shemuel, I was expected. I had forgotten the
peddler's directions; besides the house was unexplored ground for me,
and I wandered about several corridors until I noticed a
pleasant-faced gentleman watching me from the stairs.
He doubtless noticed my perplexity, for he bowed very courteously as I
passed him and made some polite observation which required a civil
answer; and before I was fully aware of it, he had invited me to a
morning cup with him in the tap-room.
This was a trifle too friendly on short acquaintance; Shemuel's
warning to hold my tongue and avoid strangers instantly occurred to
me. On my guard, I prayed him to pardon my declining, with many
compliments and excuses, which I heaped upon him to avoid the seeming
discourtesy of refusing him my name.
He was truly a most pleasant gentleman, a stranger in Pittsburg, so he
said, and bearing very gracefully the title of captain and the name of
Murdy. He appeared most anxious to present me to his friend, Doctor
Connolly, in the tap-room; but I begged permission to defer the
honour and left him, somewhat nonplussed, on the stairway.
In a few moments I found room 13, and knocked. And, as I was ushered
in, I glanced back at the stairway, and was annoyed to see my friendly
Captain Murdy peering at me through the balustrade.
It was Corporal Paul Cloud who admitted me, greeting me respectfully,
and immediately closing and locking the door. The room was large; a
table stood in the centre, around which were gathered Jack Mount, Cade
Renard, Jimmy Rolfe, the landlord of the "Virginia Arms"; my former
host, Timothy Boyd; and another man whom I had never before seen.
Cresap was not there, but, in a corner, wrapped to the eyes in his
dark blanket, sat the bereaved Cayuga chief, Logan, staring at the
floor.
The company were at breakfast, and when I approached to greet them,
Mount jumped to his feet and gave me a warm handclasp, leading me to a
chair beside the only man whom I did not know.
I saluted the stranger, and he bowed silently in return. He appeared
to be a man of forty, elegantly yet soberly dressed, wearing his own
dark hair, unpowdered, in a queue--a gentleman in bearing, in voice,
in every movement--a thoroughbred to the tips of his smooth,
well-ordered fingers. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles which he wore
had been pushed up over his forehead; now he lowered them to the
bridge of his nose again, and looked at me gravely and searchingly,
yet entirely without offence. The scrutiny of certain men sometimes
conveys a delicate compliment.
Mount, in a very subdued voice, asked permission to present me, and
the gentleman bowed, saying he knew my name from hearing of my father.
As for his name, I think anybody in the colonies--ay, in London,
too--would know it. For the gentleman beside whom I had been placed
was the famous Virginian, Patrick Henry, that fiery orator who had
bade our King mark well the lives of Caesar and Charles the First to
profit by their sad examples: and when the cries of "Treason!" dinned
in his ears, had faced a howling Tory Legislature with the
contemptuous words: "If this be treason--make the most of it!"
Sideways I admired his delicate aquiline nose, his firm chin, the
refinement of every muscle, every line.
He drank sparingly; once he raised his glass to me and I had the
honour of drinking a draught of cinnamon cold-mulled with him.
There was little conversation at table. Mr. Henry asked Boyd about the
burning of Cresap's village, and the brave old man told the story in a
few, short phrases. Once he spoke to Cloud about the militia.
Presently, however, he left the table and sat down by Logan; and for a
long time we watched them together, this sensitive, high-bred orator,
and the sombre savage, burying his grief in the dark ruins of a broken
heart. Their blended voices sounded to us like the murmur of the deep
thrilling chords of a harp, touched lightly.
Mount came over beside me, and, resting his massive head on his hands,
spoke low, "Cresap was arrested last night by Doctor Connolly,
Dunmore's deputy, and is to be relieved of his command."
"Is Doctor Connolly Dunmore's agent?" I asked, quietly. "Then he's
here in the house now."
"I know it," said Mount. "He and his fawning agent, Murdy, are
watching the inn to learn who is here. By-the-way, my name is anything
you please, if they ask you. It won't do for the Weasel and me to
flaunt our quality in Pittsburg town. There was once a fat Tory judge
walking yonder on the highway, and--well, you know, moonlight and
mischief are often abroad together. Curious, too, that this same fat
judge should have come to grief; for he once issued some valentines to
me and the Weasel."
I looked up sharply; Mount blinked mildly as a kitten who is filled
with milk.
"Why did they arrest Cresap?" I asked.
"Why? Oh, Lord, the town is full o' people blaming Dunmore for this
new war. There was like to be a riot yesterday when one of Cresap's
runners came in with news of the rising. So Dunmore, frightened,
called in Connolly and Murdy and they went about town swearing that
Dunmore was innocent and that the wicked Cresap did it all. And now
Connolly has had Cresap arrested, and he swears that Dunmore will
make an example of Cresap for oppressing the poor Indians. There's
your Tory Governor for you!"
Horrified at such hypocrisy, I could only gasp while Mount shrugged
his broad shoulders and went on:
"But this rattlesnake, Dunmore, has bitten off more than he can
poison. Logan's here to demand justice on Greathouse. And now you are
here to protest in Sir William's name. Oh, it's a fine pickle Dunmore
will find himself swimming in."
"When is Logan to have an audience with Dunmore?" I asked.
"To-night, in the fortress. And, Mr. Cardigan, I took the liberty of
announcing to the Governor's secretary, Gibson, that an envoy from Sir
William Johnson had arrived with a message for Lord Dunmore. So you
also are to deliver your message to the Governor of Virginia in the
hall to-night."
"But," said I, puzzled, "does Dunmore expect a messenger from Sir
William?"
"Haven't you heard from Shemuel?" asked Mount. "I told him to tell you
that Dunmore wants to marry the beautiful Miss Warren, who's cutting
such a swath here. He sent his offer by runner to Sir William, and,
being a Tory, an Earl, and Governor of Virginia, he naturally expects
Sir William will throw the poor girl at his head!"
I took Mount's arm in my hand and tightened my grip till he groaned.
"Mark you, Mount," I said, choking back my passion, "this night my
Lord Dunmore will learn some things of which he is ignorant. One of
them is that my kinswoman, Miss Warren, is betrothed to me!"
The big fellow's eyes had grown wider and bluer as I spoke. When I
finished he gaped at me like a dying fish. Suddenly he seized my hand
and wrung it till the whole table shook, and Mr. Henry looked at us in
displeasure.
"Tell the Weasel," said Mount, gently. "Tell him, lad. It will please
him. He's full o' sentiment; he'll never breathe a word, Mr. Cardigan;
the Weasel's a gentleman. He dotes on love and lovers."
Lovers! Love! The words fell harshly on my ear.
I did not love Silver Heels; I did not want to wed her. But something
had to be done, and that quickly, if I was to take the silly, deluded
girl back to Johnstown with me.
"Won't you tell the Weasel?" said Mount, anxiously.
"You tell him," I said. "You must stick by me now, Jack Mount, for the
Lord knows what trouble lies before me ere I shake the Pittsburg dust
off my moccasins!"
After a moment Mount said, "I suppose you don't know where Butler is?"
"You mean to say that Butler is back in Pittsburg?" I asked, faintly.
"He's in attendance on Dunmore, lad. Shemmy told me last night."
"Very well," said I, smacking my suddenly parched lips. "I will kill
him before I leave Pittsburg."
Mr. Henry rose from his seat beside Logan and came over to where I was
standing by the window.
"Mr. Cardigan," he said, "I know from Mount something concerning your
mission here. I know you to be a patriot, and I believe that your
honourable guardian, Sir William Johnson, will aid us with all his
heart in whatever touches the good of our country. Am I not right?"
"Sir William's deeds are never secret, sir," I replied, cautiously.
"All men may read his heart by that rule."
"Sir William has chosen in you a discreet deputy, to whom I beg to pay
my sincerest compliments," said Mr. Henry, smiling.
"I can say this, sir," I replied, with a bow; "that I have heard him
many times commend your speeches and the public course which you
pursue."
"Sir William is too good," he replied, bowing.
"Ay, sir," I said, eagerly; "he is good! I do believe him to be the
greatest and best of men, Mr. Henry. I am here as his deputy, though
without orders, now that my mission to Colonel Cresap has failed. But,
sir, I shall use my discretion, knowing Sir William's mind, and this
night I shall present to my Lord Dunmore a reckoning which shall not
be easily cancelled!"
"In the face of all his people?" asked Mr. Henry, curiously.
"In the face of the whole world, sir," I said, setting my teeth with a
snap.
He held out his finely formed hand; I took it respectfully.
When he had gone away I drew Mount and Renard aside and asked them
where Miss Warren was staying. They did not know.
"We'll make a tour of the town and find Shemuel; he knows," suggested
Mount.
I assented, smiling bitterly to find myself so soon seeking Shemuel's
company; and we three, clad in our soiled buckskins, descended the
stairway and sallied forth into the sunlit streets of Pittsburg, arm
in arm.
Riflemen, rangers, forest-runners, and the flotsam and jetsam from the
wilderness were no rare spectacles in Pittsburg, so at first we
attracted little attention. We would have attracted none at all had
not Mount swaggered so, arms akimbo, fur cap over his left eye. He
stopped at every tap-room, a sad habit of his in towns; and the
oftener he stopped the more offensive became his swagger. The Weasel,
too, strutted along, cap defiantly cocked, reaching up to tuck his arm
under the elbow of his giant comrade, which at moments forced the
little Weasel to march on tiptoe.
It was strange and ludicrous, the affection between these waifs of the
wilderness; what Mount did the Weasel imitated most scrupulously,
drinking whatever his companion drank, swaggering when he swaggered,
singing whatever catch Mount sang. And the oftener they drank the more
musical they became with their eternal:
"Diddle diddle dumpling,
My son John!--"
until I remonstrated so vigorously that they quieted their voices if
not their deportment.
It was on Pitt Street that we found Shemuel, trudging towards the
King's Road. A number of people gathered about him and followed him.
Some bought ribbons or tablets for the races. The peddler saw us
immediately, but made no sign as we approached until I asked the price
of gilt buckles, and purchased three.
Then the little Jew fumbled in his pockets and whined and protested
he could not make change, and I was uncertain what to say until he
brightened up and begged us to follow to the "Bear and Cubs," just
opposite, where change might be had in the tap-room.
The "Bear and Cubs" was a grizzly tavern, a squalid, unpainted house,
swinging a grotesque sign which was meant to represent a she-bear
suckling her young. The windows were dim with filth; the place reeked
with the stale stench of malt and spirit dregs.
Into this grewsome hostelry I followed, perforce, to the tap-room,
where Mount and Renard bawled for ale while I made known my business
to Shemuel, who curiously enough appeared to suspect in advance what I
wanted.
"If you hatt dold me this morning--ach!--bud I pelieved you care
noddings, Mister Cardigan. She wass waiting to see you, sir, at Lady
Shelton's in the Boundary--"
"Did you tell her I was here?" I asked, angrily.
"Ach--yess! I wass so sure you would see her--"
Exasperated, I shook my fist at the peddler.
"You miserable, tattling fool!" I said, fiercely. "Will you mind your
own business hereafter? Who the devil are you, to pry into my affairs
and spy upon your betters?"
"It wass to hellup you, sir," he protested, spreading his fingers and
waving his hands excitedly. "I dold you she wass to marry Lord
Dunmore; if you hatt asked me I could haff dold you somedings more--"
"What?"
"The bans will be published to-morrow from efery church in Pittsburg,
Richmond, and Williamsburg!"
I glared at him, catching my breath and swallowing.
"Sir," he whined, "I ask your pardon, but I haff so often seen you in
Johnstown, and Miss Warren, too, and--and--I would not haff harm come
to her, or you, sir; and I pelieved you--you lofed her--"
I looked at him savagely.
"Ach!--I will mix me no more mit kindness to nobody!" he muttered.
"Shemmy, you mint your peezeness and sell dem goots in dot
pasket-box!"
"Shemuel," I said, "what did she say when you told her I was in Fort
Pitt?"
"Miss Warren went white like you did, sir."
"And you said you would tell me where she was to be found?"
"Ach!--yess."
"What did she say?"
"Miss Warren wass crying, sir--"
"What?" I asked, astonished.
"Yess, sir; Miss Warren she only sat down under the drees, and she cry
mit herselluf."
"And you came to get me? And my manner made you believe I did not care
to see Miss Warren?"
"Miss Warren she knew I hatt come to fetch you. I dold her so. When I
passed py dot Boundary again, she wass waiting under the drees--"
"How long since?"
"It is an hour, sir."
I fumbled in my belt and pulled out a gold piece.
"Thank you, Shemmy," I muttered, dropping it into his greasy cap;
"tell Mount and Renard where I have gone."
"Ach--ach, Mister Cardigan," cried Shemuel, plucking me timidly by the
sleeve, "von vort, if you please, sir. Remember, sir, I beg of you,
that Miss Warren must not stay here. And if she will stay, and if she
will not listen to you, sir, I beg you to gome to me at vonce."
"Why?" I asked, searching his agitated face.
"Pecause I haff a knowledge that will hellup you," he muttered.
"Very well," I said, calmly. "I will come to you, Shemmy, if I need
you. Where is Lady Shelton's house?"
He led me to a back window and pointed out the Boundary, which was a
tree-shaded road skirting the inner fortifications. Then he opened the
rear door, pointed out the way through a filthy alley, across the
market square, and then north until I came to a large, white-pillared
house on a terrace, surrounded by an orchard.
As I walked swiftly towards the Boundary my irritation increased with
every stride; it appeared to me that the world was most impudently
concerning itself with my private affairs. First, Mount had coolly
arranged for my reception by Dunmore without a word on the subject to
me; and now the peddler, Shemuel, had without my knowledge or consent
made a rendezvous for me with Silver Heels before I knew for certain
that she still remained in Pittsburg. The free direction of my own
affairs appeared to be slipping away from me; apparently people
believed me to be incapable of either thinking or acting for myself. I
meant to put an end to that.
As for Silver Heels, no wonder the announcement to her of my presence
here had frightened her into tears. She knew well enough, the little
hussy, that Sir William would not endure her to wed such a man as
Dunmore: she knew it only too well, and, by the publishing of the
bans, it was clear enough to me that she meant to wed Dunmore in spite
of Sir William and before he could interfere or forbid the bans.
As I hastened on, biting my lip till it bled, I remembered her vow to
wed rank and wealth and to be "my lady," come what might. And now the
mad child believed she was in a fair way to fulfil her vow! I would
teach her to try such tricks!
I found no great difficulty in discovering the house. Stone steps set
in the hill-side led up to an orchard, through which, bordered by a
garden, walks of gravel stretched to the veranda of the white-pillared
house with its dormers and dignified portico.
There was a lady in the orchard, with her back turned towards me,
leaning on a stone-wall and apparently contemplating the town below.
My moccasins made no noise until I stepped on the gravel; but, at the
craunch of the pebbles, the lady looked around and then came hastily
towards me across the grass.
"Are you a runner from Johnstown?" she asked, sharply.
I stood still. The lady was Silver Heels. She did not know me.
She did not know me, nor I her, at first. It was only when she spoke.
And this change had come to us both within four weeks' time!
That she did not recognize me was less to be wondered at. The dark
mask of the sun, which I now wore, had changed me to an Indian;
anxiety, fatigue, and my awful peril in the Cayuga camp had made
haggard a youthful face, perhaps scored and hollowed it. In these
weeks I had grown tall; I knew it, for my clothes no longer fitted in
leg or sleeve. And I was thin as a kestrel, too; my added belt holes
told me that.
But that I had not recognized her till she spoke distressed me. She,
too, had grown tall; her face and body were shockingly frail; she had
painted her cheeks and powdered her hair, and by her laces and frills
and her petticoat of dentelle, she might have been a French noblewoman
from Quebec. It were idle to deny her beauty, but it was the beauty of
death itself.
"Silver Heels," I said.
Her hand flew to her bosom, then crept up on her throat, which I saw
throbbing and whitening at every breath. Good cause for fear had she,
the graceless witch!
After a moment she turned and walked into the orchard. 'Deed I scared
her, too, for her dragging feet told of the shock I had given her, and
her silk kirtle trembled to her knees. She leaned on the wall, looking
out over the town as I had first seen her, and I followed her and
rested against the wall beside her.
"Silver Heels," I asked, "are you afraid to see me?"
"No," she said, but the tears in her throat stopped her. Lord! how I
had frightened her withal!
"Do you know why I am here?" I demanded, impressively, folding my arms
in solemn satisfaction at the situation.
To my amazement she tossed her chin with a hateful laugh, and shrugged
her shoulders without looking at me.
"Do you realize why I am here?" I repeated, in displeasure.
She half turned towards me with maddening indifference in voice and
movement.
"Why you are here? Yes, I know why."
"Why, then?" I snapped.
"Because you believed that Marie Hamilton was here," she said, and
laughed that odd, unpleasant laugh again. "But you come too late,
Micky," she added, spitefully; "your bonnie Marie Hamilton is a widow,
now, and already back in Albany to mourn poor Captain Hamilton."
My ears had been growing hot.
"Do you believe--" I began.
But she turned her back, saying, "Oh, Micky, don't lie."
"Lie!" I cried, exasperated.
"Fib, then. But you should have arrived in time, my poor friend. Last
week came the news that Captain Hamilton had been shot on the
Kentucky. Boone and Harrod sent a runner with the names of the dead.
If you had only been here!--oh dear; poor boy! Pray, follow Mrs.
Hamilton to Albany. She talked of nobody but you; she treated Mr.
Bevan to one of her best silk mittens--"
"What nonsense is this?" I cried, alarmed. "Does Mrs. Hamilton believe
I am in love with her?"
"Believe it? What could anybody believe after you had so coolly
compromised her--"
"What?" I stammered.
"You kissed her, didn't you?"
"Who--I?"
"Perhaps I was mistaken; perhaps it was somebody else."
I fairly glared at my tormentor.
"Let me see," said Silver Heels, counting on her fingers. "There were
three of us there--Marie Hamilton, I, and Black Betty. Now I'm sure it
was not me you kissed, and if it was not Marie Hamilton--why--it was
Betty!"
"Silver Heels," said I, angrily, "do you suppose I am in love with
Mrs. Hamilton?"
"Why did you court her?" demanded Silver Heels, looking at me with
bright eyes.
"Why? Oh, I--I fancied I was in love with you--and--and so I meant to
make you jealous, Silver Heels. Upon my honour, that was all! I never
dreamed she might think me serious."
The set smile on Silver Heels's lips did not relax.
"So you fancied you loved me?" she asked.
"I--oh--yes. Silver Heels, I was such a fool--"
"Indeed you were," she motioned with her lips.
How thin she had grown. Even the colour had left her lips now.
"There's one thing certain," I said. "I don't feel bound in honour to
wed Mrs. Hamilton. I like her; she's pretty and sweet. I might easily
fall in love with her, but I don't want to wed anybody. I could wed
you if I chose, now, for Sir William wishes it, and he promised me
means to maintain you."
"I thank Sir William--and you!" said Silver Heels, paler than ever.
"Oh, don't be frightened," I muttered. "I can't have you, and--and my
country too. Silver Heels, I'm a rebel!"
She did not answer.
"Or, at least, I'm close to it," I went on. "I'm here to seek Lord
Dunmore."
As I pronounced his name I suddenly remembered what I had come for,
and stopped short, scowling at Silver Heels.
"Well, Micky?" she said, serenely. "What of Lord Dunmore?"
I bent my head, looking down at the grass, and in a shamed voice I
told her what I had heard. She did not deny it. When I drew for her a
portrait of the Earl of Dunmore in all his proper blazonry, she only
smiled and set her lips tight to her teeth.
"What of it?" she asked. "I am to marry him; you and Sir William will
not have him to endure."
"It's a disgraceful thing," I said, hotly. "If you are in your senses
and cannot perceive the infamy of such a marriage, then I'll do your
thinking for you and stop this shameful betrothal now!"
"You will not, I suppose, presume to interfere in my affairs?" she
demanded, icily.
"Oh yes, I will," said I. "You shall not wed Dunmore. Do you hear me,
Silver Heels?"
"I shall wed Dunmore in July."
"No, you won't!" I retorted, stung to fury. "Sir William has betrothed
you to me. And, by Heaven! if it comes to that, I will wed you myself,
you little fool!"
The old wild-cat light flickered in her eyes, and for a moment I
thought she meant to strike me.
"You!" she stammered, clinching her slender hands. "Wed you! Not if I
loved you dearer than hope of heaven, Michael Cardigan!"
"I do not ask you to love me," I retorted, sullenly. "I do not ask you
to wed me, save as a last resort. But I tell you, I will not suffer
the infamy of such a match as you mean to make. Renounce Dunmore and
return with me to Johnstown, and I promise you I will not press my
suit. But if you do not, by Heaven! I shall claim my prior right
under our betrothal, and I shall take you with me to Johnstown. Will
you come?"
"Lord Dunmore will give you your answer," she said, looking wicked and
shaking in every limb.
"And I will give him his!" I cried. "Pray you attend to-night's
ceremony in the fortress, and you will learn such truths as you never
dreamed!"
I wiped my hot forehead with my sleeve, glaring at her.
"Doubtless," said I, sneeringly, "my attire may shock your would-be
ladyship and your fashionable friends. But what I shall have to say
will shock them more than my dirty clothes. True, I have not a bit of
linen to clean my brow withal, and I use my sleeve as you see. But
it's the sleeve of an honest man that dries the sweat of a guiltless
body, and all the laces and fine linen of my Lord Dunmore cannot do
the like for him!"
"I think," said she, coldly, "you had best go."
"I think so too," I sneered. "I ask your indulgence if I have detained
you from the races, for which I perceive you are attired."
"It is true; I remained here for you, when I might have gone with the
others."
Suddenly she broke down and laid her head in her arms.
Much disturbed I watched her, not knowing what to say. Anger died out;
I leaned on the wall beside her, speaking gently and striving to draw
her fingers from her face. In vain I begged for her confidence again;
in vain I recalled our old comradeship and our thousand foolish
quarrels, which had never broken the strong bond between us until that
last night at Johnstown.
As I spoke all the old tenderness returned, the deep tenderness and
affection for her that lay underneath all my tyranny and jealousy and
vanity and bad temper, and which had hitherto survived all quarrels
and violence and sullen resentment for real or imaginary offence.
I asked pardon for all wherein I had hurt her, I prayed for her
trustful comradeship once more as few men pray for love from a cold
mistress.
Presently she answered a question; other questions and other answers
followed; she raised her tear-marred eyes and dried them with a rag of
tightly fisted lace.
To soothe and gain her I told her bits of what I had been through
since that last quarrel in Johnstown. I asked her if she remembered
that sunset by the river, where she had spoken charms to the tiny red
and black beetles, so that when they flew away the charm would one day
save me from the stake.
But when I related the story of my great peril, she turned so sick and
pallid that I ceased, and took her frail hands anxiously.
"What is the matter, Silver Heels?" I said. "Never have I seen you
like this. Have you been ill long? What is it, little comrade?"
"Oh, I don't know--I don't know, truly," she sobbed. "It has come
within the few weeks, Michael. I am so old, so tired, so strangely ill
of I know not what."
"You _do_ know," I said. "Tell me, Silver Heels."
She raised her eyes to me, then closed them. Neck and brow were
reddening.
"You are not in love!" I demanded, aghast.
"Ay, sick with it," she said, slowly, with closed lids.
It was horrible, incredible! I attempted to picture Dunmore as an
inspirer of love in any woman. The mere idea revolted me. What
frightful spell had this shrunken nobleman cast over my little comrade
that she should confess her love for him?
And all I could say was: "Oh, Silver Heels! Silver Heels! That man! It
is madness!"
"What man?" she asked, opening her eyes.
"What man?" I repeated. "Do you not mean that you love Dunmore?"
She laughed a laugh that frightened me, so mirthless, so bitter, so
wickedly bitter it rang in the summer air.
"Oh yes--Dunmore, if you wish--or any man--any man. I care not; I am
sick, sick, sick! They have flattered and followed and sought me and
importuned me--great and humble, young and old--and never a true man
among them all--only things of powder and silks and painted
smiles--and all wicked save one."
"And he?"
"Oh, he is a true man--the only one among them all--a true man, for he
is stupid and vain and tyrannical and violent, eaten to the bone with
self-assurance--and a fool to boot, Michael--a fool to boot. And as
this man is, among them all, the only real man of bone and blood--why,
I love him."
"Who is this man?" I asked, cautiously.
"Not Dunmore, Michael."
"Not Dunmore? And yet you wed Dunmore?"
"Because I love the other, Michael, who uses me like a pedigreed
hound, scanning and planning his kennel-list to mate me with a blooded
mate to his taste. Because I hate him as I love him, and shall place
myself beyond his power to shame me. Because I am dying of the
humiliation, Michael, and would wish to die so high in rank that even
death cannot level me to him. Now, tell me who I love."
"God knows!" I said, in my amazement.
"True," she said, "God knows I love a fool."
"But who is this fellow?" I insisted. "What man dares attempt to mate
you to his friends? The insolence, the presumption--why, I thought I
was the only man who might do that!"
How she laughed at me as I stood perplexed and scowling and fingering
the fringe on my leggings, and how her laughter cut, with its
undertone ringing with tears. What on earth had changed her to a woman
like this, talking a language that dealt in phrases which one heard
and marked and found meant nothing, with a sting in their very
emptiness?
"Very well," said I, "you shall not have Dunmore for spite of a fool
unworthy of you; and as for that, you shall not have the fool either!"
"I am not likely to get him," she said.
"You could have him for the wish!" I cried, jealously. "I'd like to
see the man who would not crawl from here to Johnstown to kiss your
silken shoe!"
"Would _you_?"
"It pleases you to mock me," I said; "but I'll tell you this: If I
loved you as a sweetheart I'd do it! I'll have the world know it is
honoured wherever you touch it with your foot!"
"Do you mean it?" she asked, looking at me strangely.
"Mean it! Have you ever doubted it?"
The colour in her face surged to her hair.
"You speak like a lover," she said, with a catch in her breath.
"I speak like a man, proud of his kin!" said I, suspiciously, alert to
repel ridicule. Lover! What did she mean by that? Had I not asked
pardon for my foolishness in Johnson Hall? And must she still taunt
me?
If she read my suspicions I do not know, but I think she did, for the
colour died out in her face and she set her lips together as she
always did when meaning mischief.
"I pray you, dear friend," she said, wearily, "concern yourself with
your kin as little as I do. Bid me good-bye, now. I am tired,
Michael--tired to the soul of me."
She held out her slim hand. I took it, then I bent to touch it with my
lips.
"You will not wed Dunmore?" I asked.
She did not reply.
"And you will come with me to Johnstown on the morrow, Silver Heels?"
There was no answer.
"Silver Heels?"
"If you are strong enough to take me from Dunmore, take me," she said,
in a dull, tired voice.
"And--and from the other--the one you love--the fool?"
"He will leave me--when you leave me," she answered.
"You mean to say this pitiful ass will follow you and me to
Johnstown!" I cried, excited.
"Truly, he will!" she said, hysterically, and covered her face with
her hands. But whether she was laughing or crying or doing both
together I could not determine; and I stalked wrathfully away,
determined to teach this same fool that his folly was neither to my
taste nor fancy.
And as I passed swiftly southward through the darkening town I heard
the monotonous call of the town watchman stumping his beat:
"Lanthorn, and a whole candle-light! Hang out your lights here!
Light--ho! Maids, hang out your light, and see your lamp be clear and
bright!"