At ten o'clock that night I sat in the coffee-room of the "Virginia
Arms," outwardly cool enough, I trust, but terribly excited
nevertheless, and scarce able to touch the food on my plate.
Heretofore, although I have always dreaded physical pain, I may
truthfully say that the prospect of it had never deterred me from
facing necessary danger; and I can also maintain that, until the
present moment, the possibility of disaster to me or mine had never
terrified me beforehand.
Now it was different; I seemed to be utterly unable to contemplate
with philosophy the chance of misfortune to Silver Heels, through
failure of my plans or accident to my proper person. It was, I think,
responsibility and not cowardice that frightened me; for who was there
to take care of Silver Heels if anything happened to me?
One by one I counted and discounted the dangers I ran: first, arrest
at any moment as an accomplice of the notorious Jack Mount; second,
assassination by Dunmore's agents; third, assassination by Butler's
company; fourth, arrest and imprisonment as a suspected rebel and open
advocate of sedition; fifth, danger from the Cayugas after our escape
from Fort Pitt.
Should any of these things befall me, as well they might, what in the
world would become of Silver Heels? Small wonder I found no heart to
eat, though this totally new condition of mind parched me with a
thirst so persistent that my host, James Rolfe, was obliged to caution
me and bring me to my senses ere I had dulled them hopelessly in his
brown home-brew.
The post-chaise, loaded and ready for a three weeks' journey, stood in
the mews with the four strong horses harnessed, and Jack Mount at
their heads. He and the Weasel were to ride as post-boys, with Shemuel
and I in front.
It lacked an hour yet of the time appointed, and it was the suspense
of that hour's waiting which set every nerve in my body aching. If we
could only have gone somewhere else to wait!--but where could we go
and find safety from warrants in this little town where every patriot
inn was known? Certainly it was better for us to endure the strain
here among sympathizers, where we could count on our host and on his
guests and on every servant from stable to kitchen.
The arms and ammunition which the Weasel had purchased were now
properly stowed in the post-chaise. Rifles and pistols had been primed
and loaded, powder-horns replenished, flint and ball fitted, and pans
oiled.
Again and again I went out into the mews, leaving my food untasted,
only to find Mount standing quietly at the horses' heads and the
Weasel pacing up and down, plunged in reverie.
At last Shemuel appeared, slinking past the lighted inn windows and
into the mews, where we waited in the starlight, rubbing his hands and
peering about with alert obsequiousness and an apparent inability to
appreciate the tension that I, for one, quivered under.
"I haff sold all my goots," he remarked, cheerfully; "my packets I
haff stored mit my friends at dose 'Bear and Cubs.' I puy me Delaware
paskets in Baltimore--eh, Jack?"
"Here are your pistols," I said; "do you know how to use them?"
"Ach yess," he replied, with a sly smile at Mount, who grunted, and
said:
"Shemmy is just as handy with pistols as he is with his needles. No
fear, Mr. Cardigan," and looking around, he motioned the peddler to
his side.
"I hear that the Monongahela is in flood," he said. "Is the wooden
bridge all right, Shemmy?"
Shemuel did not know and went away to inquire, returning presently
from the stables with the information that heavy storms had swept the
southern mountains and the Monongahela was over its banks, but the dam
below the bridge had gone out, leaving the wooden structure safe.
"Then there won't be a ford for twenty miles," muttered Mount, "and
I'm glad of it. Shemmy, just borrow four new axes of Rolfe, will you?
And, say, just shove them into the boot!"
Again Shemuel disappeared, and after a short absence came trotting
back with the bundle of brand-new axes on his shoulder.
"Are they ground?" asked Mount.
"You can shave mit them," said Shemuel, running his dirty thumb along
the edges. Then he shoved them into the boot and looked cunningly up
at me.
The slow minutes dragged on. Hands clasped behind me, I walked up and
down the muddy alley, twisting my interlocked fingers until every nail
throbbed. Mount smoked a cob-pipe and watched me; Renard stood apart,
staring up at the stars, immersed in thought; Shemuel pattered
silently among the restive horses, thumbing the harness and poking his
prying fingers into axle and unlighted coach-lamp.
Up and down I walked, heart beating heavily, watching the mouth of the
alley for a lurking spy, or a file of soldiers, or Heaven knows what
phantoms, which fancy conjured in my excited brain. But I saw nothing
to alarm us, and was about to recommence an examination of the new
rifle which Renard had bought me, when we were all startled by a
rattle of hoofs filling the square with quick echoes.
Instantly every man there reached for his rifle; the alley itself
suddenly resounded with the clattering hoof-strokes of a hard-ridden
horse. There was a rush, a shadow, and a breathless shout from the
horseman: "Express--ho! Stand back! I pass! I pass!"
"It's an express," muttered Mount, lowering his long rifle to lean on
it and watch the dark rider pull his frantic horse to its haunches and
fling the bridle on the snorting creature's neck, while he turned in
his stirrups and searched his wallet by the glow of the opening
kitchen door.
Rolfe, in his shirt-sleeves and apron, came out of the door, holding
his hands up for the packets.
"Three for you, Jimmy," said the bareheaded express-rider, passing the
letters over. "Draw me a pot o' beer, for Heaven's sake."
"Where is your mate?" asked Rolfe, anxiously.
"Hiram? Full of war-arrows t'other side o' Crown Gap. Here's his
pouch."
"Scalped?" asked Rolfe, in a low voice.
"I reckon he is. He never knowed nothing after the third arrow. Them
Wyandottes done it."
A tap-boy hurried out with the brimming pewter, and the shadowy rider
emptied it at a gulp.
"'Nother, Jim," he said, stolidly.
"There's blood onto your jaw," said Rolfe, gloomily.
"Ay, they drew blood. I lost my hat"--here he swore fiercely--"and it
ain't even paid for, Jim!"
"You orter be glad you got through, Ben Prince," said Rolfe, grimly.
"I am--drat that boy! where's my beer? Oh, there you are, are you?
Gimme the pot and quit gaping. Hain't you never seed a express
before?"
An admiring circle of hostlers and kitchen wenches laughed
hysterically. The post-rider swaggered in his saddle and stretched out
his feet contentedly.
"Life ain't all skittles," he observed; "but beer is beer the round
world round!" and he drained the pot and tossed it dripping to an
honoured scullion.
"News o' Boston?" asked Rolfe, meaningly.
"Plenty! Plenty! Port Bill in force; Tommy Gage on top; Sam Adams
lying low; more redcoats landed, more on the way, more to come; rich
poorer; poor starving; that's all!"
He gathered his bridle and winked at a coy kitchen-maid.
"Your beau has went to Johnstown, Sairy," he said; "I seen him
a-training hay-foot, straw-foot, with old Sir Billy's Tryon County
milish. That reminds me, Jim"--turning to Rolfe--"I've a packet for a
certain Michael Cardigan, somewhere to be hunted up south o' Crown
Gap--"
"Right here!" said Rolfe, promptly, and the express passed the letter
to him. Then, with a careless, "See you later!" he wheeled his horse
short and galloped back along the alley, which rang with shouts of
"Good luck! Good luck! There's bed and bait for you here, Benny!"
The crowd on the steps flocked back into the kitchen, the door
closed, then opened to let out Rolfe, who advanced towards me, letter
in one hand, flaring candle in the other.
"Light the coach-lamps," I whispered, and, taking the candle and
letter, sat down on a pile of pine timber to read what Sir William had
sent me:
"DEAR LAD,--By runners from the Cayuga, I know how gallantly
you have conducted. Dearer than son you are to me, prouder am
I than any parent. If what we had hoped and prayed for has
failed--as I can no longer doubt--it is so ordained, and we
struggle in vain. _Nitor in adversum; nisi Dominus, frustra!_
"I am holding the Mohawks back by their very throats, but
mischief brews at the Upper Castle, whither Joseph
(Thayendanegea) has gone with the belts from me.
"Red Jacket's conduct condemns me to uneasiness. He is an
orator; the foul murder of Logan is his text. I need say no
more, save that I still hold the Mohawks back.
"Colonel John Butler, his conduct concerns me, and I needs
must view it with grief and alarm. His dishonoured son,
Walter Butler, is still absent; the elder Butler has retired
to the lakes, where I am informed he is gathering Tory
malecontents and foolish young Onondagas, for what ultimate
purpose I can only imagine.
"A most deadly and bitter feeling runs flood in Johnstown;
nightly outrages are reported to me, and I fear that the
so-called patriots are quite as blameworthy as are the
loyalists. Whig and Tory hate and wait.
"Dear lad, the sands of my life are running very swiftly. I
am so tired, so tired! Come when you can; I have much to talk
over ere these same sands run out, leaving a voided glass in
the sunlight. If you, by hazard, pass through Fort Pitt, you
will accompany Felicity on her return hither, which return I
have instantly commanded her by this express. I have received
a singular letter from my Lord Dunmore, which has astonished
me. My answer to him I delay until Felicity returns.
Doubtless she will travel hither by way of Richmond. The
escort, which Lord Dunmore must furnish, will, on their
return journey, take with them my reply to his Lordship.
"If this letter reaches you in time, come back with Felicity;
if not, come by the safe route through Richmond. Overtake her
if you can do so.
"Your Aunt Molly is well and sweetly anxious to see you safe
home. Esk and Peter do flourish--yet I like not Peter's
haunting the public houses where things are uttered to poison
young minds. I have trounced him soundly seven times, and
mean to continue.
"The news from Boston is ominous. More ships are about to
sail, bearing more troops and cannon. I know not how it will
end! Ay--but I _do_ know, and so must every thinking man.
_Praemonitus praemunitus!_
"Michael, I have had a most strange and unpleasant letter
from Sir Peter Warren, who encloses with it certain amazing
documents which he has carefully perused, to his great
mortification and discontent. These papers were lately sent
to him from Chatham dockyard, having been discovered under
the cabin flooring of the war-ship _Leda_, which his brother
lately commanded and which is now repairing at Chatham.
"The documents concern Felicity--and us all--and I wish you
to know that I no longer approve of your union with her, at
least not until both she and you are fully acquainted with
the contents of these documents.
"And now, dear son, I can but wait for you to come. The house
is dull without you. I have sometimes sought to drown care in
the river, whither I go with gillie Bareshanks to fly-fish
for trouts. But I am growing sad and old, and nothing
pleases, though I do throw my flies as I did at thirty,
looping each cast without a splash.
"Always y'r affectionate
"WM. JOHNSON, BART.
"Post Scriptum.--On y'r return I have planned a fishing-trip
to the Kennyetto at Fonda's Bush, where, report is, a
monstrous trout hath been seen to jump frequently in that
bend of the stream due east from the sugar bush on the hill.
"W. J."
My eyes were swimming when I lifted them from the sheets of paper, now
damp with dew. For a moment I rested my head on my hands, feeling the
rising tide of homesickness choking me. Then that subtle courage,
which a word from Sir William ever infused, warmed my blood and calmed
my beating heart.
I rose serenely, and laid the letter to the candle's flame, watching
it burn and crisp and fall in flakes which no prying spy might
decipher. Then I looked at my new watch, and was amazed to find that
it lacked but a few moments to the time set for our departure from the
"Virginia Arms."
Rolfe had already lighted the chaise-lamps; Shemuel had crawled inside
with our weapons, and Renard sat his post-saddle, adjusting the
stirrups; while Mount was preparing to climb into the saddle of the
nigh leader.
"Is it dark out there in the square?" I asked of Rolfe.
"I guess the lanthorns swing a-light on every seventh," he said. "I
darkened mine, but the watchman came battering and bawling tew the
door and made me light up again."
Mount was now in his saddle; I held my ticking time-piece under the
coach-lamp, eyes following the slow pointers travelling towards the
hour.
And, as I stood there, there came creeping a woman into the alley,
cloaked and bareheaded, halting and crouching to scan our chaise-lamps
under her inverted hand. Ere Rolfe or I could stop her she ran to the
horse on which Mount was sitting and caught the forest-runner by the
fringe on his sleeve. Then, in the rays of the chaise-lamp, I knew her
for the thief-taker's child.
"Hoity-toity, what the devil's tew pay?" said Rolfe. "Darn the ruddled
vixens who come a-drabbing into my mews, with a hussy tew hail you
afoot and a baggage tew boot on the boot--"
"Keep quiet!" I said, sharply. "There's trouble abroad somewhere!"
"Oh, Mr. Cardigan," called Mount, softly, "Sir Timerson and a gang o'
cudgels is coming up Pitt Street and Bully Bishop's with them!"
The girl turned her frightened face to me:
"They came for father to take Jack Mount; I ran out the back door,
sir. Oh, hasten! hasten!" she wailed, looking at Mount and wringing
her hands.
The big fellow stooped from his saddle and deliberately kissed her.
"Thank you, my dear," he said; "I'll come back for another before I
die. Au large, Jimmy! Up with you, Mr. Cardigan!"
"Turn those horses! Take their heads!" whispered Rolfe. "There's one
back way tew every mews, and half a dozen to this!"
The next moment I had wheeled the chaise-and-four back into the
darkness and around a rambling row of sheds and stables, following
Rolfe, then to the left, then a demi-tour to the right, which brought
us up against a heavy stockade. But already Rolfe had set a creaking
gate swinging loosely, and we bumped out into a field, hub-deep in
buttercups.
"I'll keep the scratch-wigs amused," whispered Rolfe, as I climbed to
the forward seat and picked up my rifle; and away we jolted across the
star-lit pasture and out into a narrow, unlighted cattle lane, which
we followed to the bars. These Shemuel let down, popping back into the
chaise like a jack-o'-box, and Mount rode our horses out into the dark
Boundary Road.
There was not a soul to be seen, not a light, not a sound but the hum
of our turning wheels and the slapping trot of our horses.
Presently, on a dark hillock to our right, I saw lighted windows
glimmering among trees, and I called in a low voice to Mount and
sprang noiselessly to the road. A lane led around the hillock to the
right; up this dim path I conducted the chaise-and-four until I found
room to turn them back, facing the Boundary Road again. Here our
chaise might lie concealed from passing folk on the highway, and here
I quietly bade Mount and Renard await me, while Shemuel held the
horses' heads.
The night was warm and fragrant under the great June stars as I passed
silently along the lane, climbed the hillock and entered the orchard.
Through the dim trees I stole towards the house, where two windows on
the ground floor were lighted up.
Then, as I leaned breathless against a tree, in the distant gloom the
fortress bell struck slowly, eleven times.
Second after second passed, minute followed minute, and my eyes never
left the closed door under the pillared porch. Presently I looked at
my watch; a quarter of an hour had passed. The seconds began to drag,
the minutes loitered. Time seemed to stand still in the world.
Far away in the fortress the bell struck the half-hour, and on the
west breeze came the dull cry of sentinels calling from post to post
under the summer stars.
Suddenly the dark door opened; a heavy figure appeared in silhouette
against the light. My heart stood still; it was Black Betty.
The negress peered out into the darkness, north, west, south, and
finally looked up at the stars. Then, as though summoned from within,
she turned quickly and entered the house, leaving the door wide open
behind her.
Impatience was racking me now; I waited until I could wait no longer;
then, in the shadow of the trellis-vines, I stole up to the porch. The
hallway was empty; I stepped to the sill, crossed it, and surveyed the
empty stairway and the gallery above. There was not a soul in sight.
Now alarm seized me, a swift, overpowering dread which drove me on to
seek and face whatever was in store for me. A door on my right stood
open; I looked in, then entered the smaller of two rooms, which were
partly separated from each other by folding doors. Candles burned in
gilt sconces; glass cabinets glittered; mirrors reflected my full
length so abruptly that I started at the apparitions and clutched my
hunting-knife.
Treading on the velvet carpet I passed into the farther apartment
which, by a little gallery and waxed floor, I knew to be the ballroom.
Not a soul to be seen anywhere. Glancing hurriedly at the empty ranks
of gilded chairs, I strove to crush out the fear which was laying icy
fingers on my breast, and I had already turned to re-enter the smaller
room when I heard the front door close and voices sounding along the
outer hallway. I stepped behind a gilt cabinet and drew my heavy
knife, perfectly aware that I was trapped like a fox in a snap-box.
Through the carved foliage of the cabinet I saw three people enter the
room. The skin all over my body roughened at the sight of them; and
what held me back I do not know--perhaps that kind Providence which
watches over fools--for I began to tremble in every contracting muscle
as do cats in ambush when their quarry passes unsuspecting.
There they stood in low-voiced consultation--Lady Shelton, my Lord
Dunmore, and my mortal enemy, Walter Butler, tricked out in lace and
velvet. He stood so near to me that my hot hand could have fastened on
his throat-strings where I crouched. He turned towards Dunmore with a
gesture.
"Sir Timerson should find them to-night," he said; "your thief-taker,
Bully Bishop, is with them, I understand."
"They are to search every rebel rat-hole in town," cried Dunmore,
eagerly; "they should claw them ere dawn, Captain Butler. _Vive Dieu,
nous allons les clouer en terrain bouche!_"
Lord Dunmore leered at Lady Shelton, and then contemplated his small
French hat as though seeking countenance for his halting tongue.
"If I am to conduct Miss Warren," said Butler, gloomily, "you had best
see her without delay, my Lord."
His round, amber eyes of a bird were fixed on Dunmore.
"Come now," said Dunmore, slyly, "I am half minded to conduct her
myself, Captain Butler, curse me if I am not. I hear you once vowed to
wed her in spite of Sir William and me too! Damme, I've a notion you
mean me ill, you rogue!"
"Your Lordship is merry," sneered Butler, but I saw his blank eyes
contracting as he spoke.
"Faith, I am not over-merry," said Dunmore, plaintively, drawing a
diamond pin from his wig and contemplating it. "I like not this night
journey to Williamsburg, that's flat!--and I care not if you know it,
Captain Butler."
"Then I pray you to release me from this duty," sneered Butler.
Dunmore eyed him askance, twirling his jewelled pin.
"If I merit your suspicions," added Butler, icily, "I beg to wish you
good fortune and good-night!" And he bowed very low and turned curtly
towards the door.
"No! Damme if I suspect you!" cried Dunmore, hastily. "Come back,
Captain Butler! Oh tally, man!--is there no wit in you that you freeze
at a jest from an over-fond suitor? You shall conduct Miss Warren to
Williamsburg. I say it! I mean it! Body o' Judas! am I not to follow
as soon as I hang this fellow Mount and his rabble o' ragged
pottle-pots?"
Butler came back, and--oh, the evil in his fixed stare as his kindling
eyes fastened on Dunmore again!
"Will you be pleased--to--to receive Miss Warren immediately?" asked
Lady Shelton, in a flutter of jellyfied excitement. "I have her
closely watched wherever she takes a step. She has her boxes packed,
the wilful child! Lud! she would have been gone these two hours had
not Captain Butler's man caught my footman with a guinea!"
"I have a copy of her letter," squeaked Dunmore, angrily. "Faith, I
could scratch her raw for what she wrote to that dirty forest-running
fellow, Cardigan!"
"Fie! Fie!" tittered Lady Shelton, hysterically, shaking a fat finger
at the painted beau. "Over-fond lovers should forgive!"
"Curse me if I forget, though," muttered his Lordship. "If I have to
wait till Innocents' day, I'll birch the little baggage yet!"
He turned nervously to Butler:
"You had best attend in the ballroom, Captain Butler. Gad! I can
persuade her, I think, within the half-hour. Lady Shelton, you will be
in one of your cursed twitters if you remain here, and those same
twitters set me dancing. Damme, madam! you are twittering now! I
sha'n't endure it! I can't endure it! Pluck me bald if I can!"
"I--I will send her to you," stammered the dowager, curtseying in a
panic.
"And stay away until you're wanted," added Dunmore, brutally.
Lady Shelton stared at him with frightened eyes; then her little fat
feet set themselves in motion, and she pattered hastily out of the
room. The men exchanged sneers.
"I'll be rid o' that ruddled sack o' lollypops now," observed Lord
Dunmore, complacently. "Will you not take your turn, Captain Butler?
No? Well, I owe thanks to Sir Timerson then. Pst! There's some one on
the stairs! Give me joy, Captain Butler, and mind you keep closed
eyes, you rogue!"
Butler gave him a contemptuous stare, then swung on his heel, and
balancing his thin hand on the hilt of his small-sword, walked
noiselessly into the dim ballroom.
Dunmore stood listening, passing the diamond pin back through his wig,
and shaking out the long, delicate lace on his cuffs.
Nobody came. He raised his spy-glass and tiptoed over to the mirror,
primping, preening, smirking, and ogling himself, occasionally turning
his good ear to the door to listen.
Presently he began to pace the velvet, fanning his nose with a lace
handkerchief, and simpering all to himself.
The extravagance of his dress might have amused me had not my mind
been filled with deadly thoughts. He was all in yellow, silk coat, and
silver-shot waistcoat, with breeches of gold brocade and white silk
stockings. Lace tumbled in soft cascades over his claw-like fingers; a
white sash and star, set with brilliants, covered his breast; a
gorgeous stock glittered under the fluffy lace at his withered throat.
I noted these features, one by one, but my thoughts had flown
up-stairs to seek throughout this shameful house for the dear maid who
had given herself to me.
Suddenly she appeared at the door, so suddenly that Lord Dunmore
started from the mirror with a suppressed squeal of surprise. As for
me, I quivered in my lurking-place, and for a moment could scarce see
her for the mist in my eyes.
Yet there she stood, hesitating, smiling, her hands busy with the
buckle of a travelling-coat adorned with row on row of dainty capes.
Under the silvery gray coat I could see her little doe-skin shoon
peeping out. Now, with gloved hands, she began widening the hood on
her head, to tie it beneath her chin, with a sidelong glance at the
mirror and a faint smile for her mirrored face.
Never, never had I seen her so lovely, never had her eyes so thrilled
me, nor her sweet, dumb lips called to me more clearly. For a moment I
thought she had perceived me through the cabinet's gilded foliage; but
my presence was still all unsuspected.
At first sight of her hood and travelling-coat, Lord Dunmore had
scowled. Then, fascinated, he pretended to a trance and clasped his
hands, rolling his rheumy eyes towards heaven. Seeing her face fall,
however, he recovered quickly enough and leered at her from head to
toe.
"Cruel one," he piped out in ecstasy, mincing towards her. "Cruel one,
what do you ask that I may adore?"
"Your Lordship's pardon," she said, gravely; "I am here to ask
forgiveness."
"Granted! You have it," protested Dunmore, eagerly, leading her to a
chair and bowing above her as she was seated. "You have grieved me,
but man was made to grieve. I forgive, and give my love as guerdon."
"You are too generous," said Silver Heels, sorrowfully; "I may keep
only your forgiveness, my Lord."
She would have spoken again, but Dunmore bent his stiff joints and
dropped on both knees, ogling her with watery eyes.
She half rose and drew back with a pleading gesture, but the
infatuated fool drowned her protests with his shrill prattle, and
clasping his transparent hands together under the lace, pleaded his
suit so passionately that my gorge rose and I could scarce contain
myself.
At last his chatter died away in miscellaneous noises, sniffs, gulps,
and senile sounds; and he tried to seize her gloved hand, making a
clacking smack with his thin, dry lips.
Silver Heels shrank deep into her chair, hiding her hands from him
under her chin, and begging him to rise, which he did at last,
scowling his displeasure.
Then, very gravely and pitifully, she told him that she did not love
him, that she had given her love to another, and that she could now
only ask his forgiveness, yet never forgive herself for the wickedness
she had so wilfully practised.
He stood listening in silence at first, then his faded eyes narrowed
with fury, and in his worn cheeks, under the rouge, a sickly colour
stained the flesh. The change in the man was frightful.
"D'ye mean to throw me over for that wood-running whelp, Cardigan?" he
burst out. "Oh no, my lady, that cock won't fight, d'ye hear?"
The startling coarseness of the outbreak brought Silver Heels to her
feet in frightened astonishment. Horror mantled throat and cheeks with
crimson; she shrank back, catching support on a marble table beside
her.
All over Dunmore's scowling visage the enamel was cracking; he paced
the carpet like one demented, chattering and scratching at the air.
"I will not be so used! Curse me if I will!" he snarled, biting his
polished nails. "Hell's fury! madam; do you think to throw me over for
a hind of buckskin? Damn me if you shall!--and Lady Shelton saw him
kiss you on the knoll at that! Fine sport, madam! Fine sport! So you
think to make me the laughing-stock o' Virginia? So you write letters
to your buckskin lout and plan to run off with him in a
post-chaise--eh? Damned if you shall! Damned if you do!"
"Pray--pray let me pass," gasped Silver Heels, choking with fright.
He caught the door in his hand, closing it, and planted himself with
his back against it. Then he fumbled behind him for the key, but it
was in the other side of the door.
"Oh no, not yet," he said.
"I must pass that door," repeated Silver Heels, breathlessly.
"By God, you shall not!" he cried. "You shall stay here all night,
d'ye hear? Ay, and folk shall hear of it and gossip, too, and the
whole world shall know how the Governor of Virginia bundled to win a
worthless wife! I tell you I mean to have you, and if you wed me not
fair you shall wed me compromised, and thank me, too, for my name to
cloak your shame withal!"
His voice ended in a shriek; the door behind him burst open, flinging
him forward, and Black Betty appeared, eyes ablaze and teeth bared.
The next instant Silver Heels sprang through the portal, the door
banged, and I heard the key turn on the other side with a click.
Dumfounded, I looked stupidly through the window behind me, then my
heart leaped up, for there, at the foot of the garden, stood a
post-chaise and four, lamps lighted, and postilions sitting their
horses. There, too, were Silver Heels and Betty, setting foot to the
chaise step. Dark figures aided them, the chaise door shut. I thanked
God silently and turned to deal with these wicked men whom He had
given into my hands.
Dunmore, insane with fury, was clawing at the window to raise it;
Butler came swiftly from the ballroom and tried the door. Finding it
locked, he looked at Dunmore with a ghastly laugh.
"She's gone!" shrieked Dunmore. "Gone in a chaise! That black slut of
hers did it! Let me out! Let me out! I'll claw them raw! I'll pinch
them to death! I _won't_ stay here, d'ye hear?"
His voice soared into a falsetto screech, and he tore at his gums with
his nails and stamped his feet.
"Give place there!" said Butler, brutally elbowing the frantic man
aside. "Let me through that window, you doddering fool! You're done
for; it's my turn now."
"What!" gasped Dunmore. Then terror blanched his face, and he began to
scream: "That was _your_ chaise! You mean to cheat me! You mean to
steal her! That was your chaise, and it's gone! No! No! Damme, you
shall not catch them at the gates!" And he flung himself on Butler to
drag him from the open window.
"Drive on!" shouted Butler, leaning out and calling to the people in
the chaise.
Startled, I turned and stared through the window behind me. To my
horror the horses started and the chaise began to move off. Even yet I
did not comprehend that the chaise was not my own, but to see it
slowly rolling away in the night terrified me, and I bounded out into
the room--barely in time, for Butler had already forced Dunmore from
the open window and had laid his hand on the wall to hoist himself
out. Quick as the thought, I balanced my heavy knife, hilt to palm,
swung forward and let it fly like lightning. The blade whistled true
and struck, pinning Butler's arm to the wall. God! how he shrieked and
shrank, twisting and turning to tear the blade loose. Dunmore ran
around like a crazed rat, but I knocked him senseless with a chair,
and sprang at Butler, who, writhing and ghastly pale, had just freed
his left hand of the knife. He ran at me with his sword, but I
shattered my heavy chair across his face, and seized him, meaning to
cut his throat. Twist and tear and clutch as he would, he could not
escape or hurt me; the coolness of murder was in my heart; I strangled
him with one hand and hunted around the floor for my knife. It was
gone, I could not find it. Then a wave of fury blazed in my brain; I
lifted the struggling wretch with both hands above my head and brought
him down on the floor, where he crashed as though every bone in him
were shattered to the marrow.
As I reeled, panting, towards the window, the key turned in the locked
door and Lady Shelton's frightened face appeared. When she saw me she
rushed at me and screamed, but I thrust the harridan out of my path,
vaulted through the open window, and ran down the orchard slope. Then,
as I sprang into the lane, I almost dropped, for there, where I had
left it, stood my post-chaise, awaiting me.
"Mount!" I shouted in terror. "Is she here?"
"Here?" he cried. "You are mad! Have you lost her?"
Through my whirling senses the awful truth broke like a living ray of
fire.
"Out o' the saddle!" I shouted. "She has taken another chaise. It's
Butler's men! Ride for her! Ride!"
"Gone?" thundered Mount, leaping to the seat, while I sprang to his
vacant saddle. But I only lashed at the horses, and set my teeth while
the dust flew and the pebbles showered through the flying wheels.
It seemed hours, yet it was scarcely five minutes, ere the gate-house
lights broke out ahead, dots of dim yellow dancing through the dust.
Now we were galloping straight into the eye of the great brass
lanthorn set above the guard-house; there came a far call in the
darkness, a shadow crossed the lamplit glare, then I turned in my
saddle and shouted: "Draw bridle!"--and our four horses came clashing
in a huddle with a hollow volley of hoof-beats.
"Road closed for the night!" said a sentinel, walking towards us from
the darkness ahead, cap, buckle, and buttons glittering in the
lamplight.
"A post-chaise passed five minutes ahead of us," began Mount, angrily.
"Tut! tut! my good fellow," said the sentry; "that's none o' your
business. Back up there!"
"I wish to see Mr. Bevan," said I, scarce able to speak.
"Mr. Bevan's gone home to bed," said the soldier, impatiently. "He
passed that other post-chaise at a gallop, or it would have been here
yet, I warrant you. Come, come, now! You know the law. Clear the road,
now!--turn your leaders, post-boy--back up, d'ye hear!"
"I tell you I've got to pass!" I persisted.
"Oh, you have, have you? And who are you, my important friend?" he
sneered, barring our way with firelock balanced.
"I am deputy of Sir William Johnson!" I roared, losing all
self-control. "Stand clear, there!"
"If you move I'll shoot!" he retorted; then without turning his head
he bawled out: "Ho, sergeant o' the quarter-guard! Post number
seven!--"
"Drive over him!" I shouted, lashing at the horses. There was a jolt,
an uproar, a rush of frantic horses, a bright flash and report. Then a
wheel caught the soldier and pitched him reeling into the darkness. I
turned in my stirrups, glancing fearfully at Renard, who was
recovering his balance in the saddle behind me and lifting a firelock
to the pommel.
"Shot?" I asked, breathlessly.
"No; I caught his firelock; it exploded in my hand."
"Look out!" called Mount, from his front seat on the chaise. "The
toll-gate's right ahead! There's a camp-guard due there at midnight!
Out with your coach-lamps!"
Shemuel jerked open each lanthorn and blew out the lights; darkness
hid even the horses from our sight.
A camp-guard! Suppose the gate was closed! Thirty men and a drummer
ahead of us!
"Cut the pike!" cried Mount, suddenly. "We save six miles by the old
Williamsburg post-road! Turn out! Turn out!"
Far ahead the toll-gate lamp twinkled through the dust; I signalled to
Renard and dragged the horses into a trot, straining my eyes for the
branch road we had seen that morning. I could see nothing.
"By Heaven! the guard is gone; there's only a sentry there!" said
Mount, suddenly.
"Pst!" muttered Renard. "We are the grand rounds, mind you. Answer,
Jack!"
"Halt!" cried a distant sentry. "Who goes there?"
"Grand rounds!" sang out Mount.
"Stand, grand rounds! Advance, sergeant, with the countersign!" came
the distant challenge again.
"Now," muttered Mount, leaping softly to the turf, "when I call, ride
up to me. Hark for a whippoorwill!"
He vanished in the darkness. I waited, scarcely breathing.
"He won't kill him," whispered the Weasel; "you will see, Mr.
Cardigan, how it's done. He'll get behind him--patience,
patience--pst!--there!"
A stifled cry, suddenly choked, came out of the night; the lanthorn at
the toll-gate went out and the toll-house door slammed.
"It's the keeper barricading himself," whispered Renard; "he thinks
the sentry has been surprised and scalped. Hush! Mount is calling."
"Whippoorwill! Whippoorwill!" throbbed the whimpering, breathless call
across the meadow; the Weasel answered it, and we trotted on until a
dark shape rose up in the road and caught at the leaders, drawing them
to a stand-still.
"'Nother firelock," said Mount, shoving the weapon into the chaise and
going back to the horses. "Here's the post-road; I'll guide you into
it." And he started east through a wall of shadow.
"Where's the sentry?" whispered Renard.
"In the ditch with his coat tied over his head and my new hanker in
his mouth. The frightened fool bit me so I scalped him--"
"What!" cried the Weasel.
"Oh, only his wig. Here it is!" And he flung the wig at Renard, who
caught it and tossed it into the chaise for Shemuel.
Mount halted the horses; Shemuel struck flint to tinder, and came
around to light the coach-lamps. Under their kindling radiance a dusty
road spread away in front of us. Mount unlocked a lighted coach-lamp
and went forward, holding the light close to the road surface. Several
times he squatted to look close into the dust.
Presently he turned and ran back to us, set the lamp in its socket,
locked the clamp, and sprang into his seat. Shemuel hastily scrambled
into the chaise, stuffing the wig into his pocket.
"They've taken the turnpike!" cried Mount, cheerily. "Now, lads! Whip
and spur and axle-grease! Ride, Cade! Look sharp, Shemmy, you
weasel-bellied rascal! We've got them by half an hour, or I'll eat my
coon-skin cap!"
"Freshen all primings!" I called out to Shemuel, and sent my whip
whistling among the horses.
Away we bolted, chaise swaying, lamps sweeping the dusty roadside
bushes, and the gallop increased to a dead run as we whirled down an
incline and out along a broad, flat, marshy road, where the jolting
lamps flashed on the surface of a swift stream keeping pace with us
through the night.
"We catch them where the pike swings south into this road," called
Mount; but through the whistling wind I could barely hear him. Louder
and louder blew the wind across the flats, shrieking in my ears;
wetter and wetter grew the road, until the splash of the horses grew
to a churning, trampling roar. Like a flash the stream turned across
the road; the shallow water boiled under our rush--a moment only--then
into the wet road again, with the stream scurrying on our right.
Through the pelting storm of mud I clutched bridle and whip with one
hand and pushed my pistol under my shirt with the other, calling out
to Renard to do the same.
"Get my axe loose from the boot, Shemmy!" cried Mount. "Draw rein,
Cade! Now, Mr. Cardigan!" And he leaped to the ground and ran
splashing through the road, calling out for us to follow at a walk.
Suddenly our horses' hoofs sounded hollow on a wooden bridge; the
muddy planks glimmered under the coach-lamps, and, as he walked the
horses over, far below us we heard the dull roar of water pouring
through the solid rock. Now came the echoing cracks of Mount's axe,
biting the supports of the bridge, and presently Shemuel joined him,
chopping like a demon.
"We lose time!" I groaned, turning to the Weasel. "Call Mount to let
the bridge go."
"We'll lose time if the bridge stands," said Renard, coolly.
"Dunmore's horse will take our trail sooner or later, and we may have
to wait an hour for the chaise we are chasing."
Minute after minute dragged, timed by the interminable axe-strokes.
Presently the Weasel wriggled out of his saddle, ran to the boot, and
hurried away, axe on shoulder, and I sat there alone in the lamplight,
gnawing my lips and groaning.
But now, above the sharp axe-strokes and the deep roar of the torrent,
I caught the sound of creaking timbers. Crack! Crack! Then a
long-drawn crackle of settling beams, ending in a crash which set the
blowing horses on their hind legs. Ere I could pull them down, Mount
came running back, followed by Renard and Shemuel.
"No need to gallop now," observed Mount, shoving the axes into the
boot and brushing the mud from his face. He climbed into his seat;
Shemuel sought the body of the chaise, and Renard mounted the horse
behind me.
"Walk the horses," said Mount; "we are an hour ahead yet. The roads
cross just below here. Cheer up, Mr. Cardigan; we'll sight them over
our rifles yet. And when Dunmore's horsemen come to the bridge yonder,
they'll have some twenty miles to wander ere they can cross the
Monongahela to-night."
"The river is in flood; you can hear it," added Renard. "There's no
ford for twenty miles where a horse could live to-night."
"Lord! Won't Dunmore rage!" muttered Mount.
I had not thought of pursuit, but there was probably no doubt that
Dunmore's horse were already hunting our trail somewhere between the
stockade and the toll-gate. If that were so our plans must be changed,
for we could not traverse Virginia with the Governor's dragoons at our
heels.
Distracted with anxiety, cold and feverish by turns, I strove to
regain self-command, and in a measure succeeded. Mount was of my
opinion that we must take a forest road over the mountains and make
straight for Philadelphia--on foot, if our chaise could not take us.
He asked me about the Indians we might encounter, and I told him we
had nothing as yet to fear from the Lenape, who could not be bound by
clan ties to take up the Cayugas' quarrel until the Mohawks rose.
"Well," said Mount, "curse them all, I say. One moccasin looks like
another, and all redskins smell like foxes. I take your word for it
that the Lenape are afraid to breathe unless the Mohawks give them
leave, so I hope we get through without a war-yelp in our ears."
"There's the Tuscaroras," said Renard, gloomily.
It was true. In my misery and torturing fear for Silver Heels, I had
forgotten the Sixth Nation, bands of whom roamed the forests north of
the Virginia line. But reflection quieted apprehensions concerning the
Tuscaroras, who also must first take council with our Mohawks before
drawing their hatchets in a Cayuga quarrel.
I explained this to Mount, who swore a great deal and shrugged his
shoulders, but nevertheless I knew he was greatly relieved.
"There's a wood road over the mountains," he said. "Cade knows it. He
came that way hunting his wife at Annapolis when the British fleet put
in. Didn't you, Cade?"
The Weasel turned in his saddle.
"Jack," he said, gently, "I know my wife is dead. We will never speak
of her any more."
Mount was silent. Presently he jumped to the ground and came walking
along beside my horse, one hand on my stirrup.
"I don't know," he muttered, under his breath--"I don't know whether
that's a healthy sign or not. Ever since Cade saw your lady--Miss
Warren--he keeps telling me that his wife is dead, and that God has
forgiven her and has told him to do so, too. Somehow he has changed.
Do you note it? His voice, now, is different--like a gentleman's.
Somehow, he makes me feel lonely."
I was scarcely listening, for, just ahead, I fancied I could see a
signpost which must mark cross-roads. After a moment I called
excitedly to Mount, pointing out to him the tall post in the middle of
the road. Behind it the moon was setting.
"Ay," he said, coolly, "that's our runway. The game will cross here in
an hour or so. Sit your saddle, Mr. Cardigan; there's time to whistle
the devil's jig to an end yet."
But I was out of my saddle and priming my rifle afresh before he could
finish.
"Poor lad," he said, pityingly. "Lord, but you're white as a
cross-roads ghost. Shemmy, take the chaise south till you come to a
spring brook that crosses the road; it's a hundred yards or so. Cover
the coach-lamps with blankets and look to the horses a bit. Cade, I
guess you had better take this side of the road with me. We want to be
sure o' the post-boys. Mr. Cardigan, try to shoot the driver through
the head. There's too much risk in a low shot."
"For God's sake, be careful!" I begged them. "Remember the lady is in
the chaise. Can't you kill the leading horses--wouldn't that be
safer?"
They were silent for a while. Presently Mount looked guiltily at me,
muttering something about "highwayman style," but Renard shook his
head.
"Well," began Mount, combatively, "it's the safest. I can stop the
chaise all alone without a shot fired if you wish."
He looked at me; there was a joyously evil light in his sparkling
eyes.
"This is familiar ground to me," he said, impudently. "Cade and I
stopped Sir Timerson Chank by that signpost."
After a moment he added: "Coach and six; post-boys, coachman, footmen,
and guards--all armed--eh, Cade, old spark? Lord, how they gaped when
I took off my hat and invited Sir Timerson to a stroll! Do you mind
that fat coachman, Cade?--and all the post-boys agape and cross-eyed
with looking into your rifle-barrel?"
"Jack," I groaned, "I cannot endure delay. Post us, for Heaven's sake.
I'm nigh spent with fright and grief."
"There, there!" said Mount, affectionately clapping me on the
shoulder. "You will see your dear lady in half an hour, lad. No fear
that we will miss--eh, Cade? We shoot straighter for our friends' than
for our own lives."
Then he bade the Weasel take his stand to the left, and posted me to
the right; he himself sat down cross-legged under the signpost--a
strange, monstrous shape squatting in the light of the setting moon.
I heard the click, click, of the closing rifle-pans in the darkness,
and for the twentieth time I renewed my priming, fearing the night air
might flash the powder in the pan.
The silence weighed me down; awful fear shot through and through me,
stabbing my swelling heart till I quivered from head to toe. Try as I
might I could scarcely crush back the dread which sometimes chained my
limbs, sometimes set them trembling. Suppose that after all they had
gone north, risking the war-belt for a dash through to Crown Gap? This
was foolish, and I knew it, for they were bound for Williamsburg. Yet
the dreadful chance of their mistaking the route and plunging into a
Cayuga ambuscade drove me almost frantic.
I thought of Silver Heels, while straining my ears for the sound of
the chaise that bore her. Strange, but in my excitement I found myself
utterly unable to recall her face to mind. Other faces crowded it out,
and I could see them plainly, God wot!--Dunmore, falling under my
heavy blow; Butler, his ghastly visage shattered, writhing with my
clutch at his throat; Greathouse, as he lay in the alley with the
lanthorn's light on his bloated face--enough! Ay, enough now, for in
my ears I seemed to hear the crash of Butler's bones as I had dashed
his accursed body to the floor, and I trembled and wondered what God
did to punish those who had slain.
Punish? Perhaps this was my punishment now--perhaps I was never to see
Silver Heels again! Terrible thoughts gathered like devils and
clamoured at my ears for a hearing, and I lay on the wet grass,
listening and staring into the night, while my dry lips burnt with the
fever that consumed me. Around me the darkness seemed to be rocking
like water; my head swam as if invisible tides were ebbing through it.
Again and again I seemed to be falling, and I started to find my eyes
wide open and burning like fire.
Suddenly a faint, far sound in the night stilled every pulse. I saw
Mount slowly rise to his feet and step into the shadow of the
signpost. The whispering call of a whippoorwill broke out from the
bushes where Renard lurked, and I stood up, icy cold but calm, eyes
fixed on the darkness which engulfed the road ahead.
Again the distant sound broke out in the stillness; it came again,
clear and unmistakable. Now the noise of rapidly galloping horses
sounded plainly; wheels striking stones rang out sharp and clear; two
lights sparkled in the distance, growing yellower and bigger, while
the road beneath flashed into sight in the advancing radiance.
On, on they came, horses at a heavy gallop, chaise swinging and
lurching, right into the cross-roads. Then a blinding flash and crash
split the gloom, echoed by another, and then a third. I leaped from my
cover into a frantic mass of struggling horses which Renard was
dragging violently into the road-ditch, while Mount, swinging his
rifle, knocked down a man who fired at him and beat him till he lay
still.
A shadowy form leaped from the seat in front and ran across my path,
doubling and disappearing into the darkness; another slid from his
horse, sinking to the ground without a sound, though the crazed animal
kicked and trampled him into the mud.
As I sprang to the chaise, I saw the driver lurch towards me, and I
aimed a blow at him with my rifle, but he pitched off heavily, landing
in a heap at my feet, face downward in the grass. Now the horses swung
in front of me, plunging furiously in the smashed harness; crash!
went a wheel; the chaise sank forward; a horse fell.
"Look out! Look out!" shouted Mount, behind me, as I ran to the
swaying vehicle.
"Silver Heels!" I cried, tearing at the door of the chaise.
For a second I saw her terrified face at the window; her cry rang in
my ears; then the door burst open and Wraxall sprang out, burying his
knife in my neck.
Down we went together, down, down into a smothering darkness that had
no end, yet I remember, after a long, long time, looking up at the
stars--or perhaps into her eyes.
Then my body seemed to sink again, silently as a feather, and my soul
dropped out, falling like a lost star into an endless night.