ORDERS
In June I was out o' bed and managed to set foot on ground for the first
time since early spring. By the end of the month I had my strength in a
measure and was able to hobble about town. Pernicious rheumatism is no
light matter, for with the agony,--and weakness afterward,--a dull
despair settles upon the victim; and it was mind, not body, that caused
me the deeper distress, I think.
Life seemed useless; effort hopeless. Dark apprehensions obsessed me; I
despaired of my country, of my people, of myself. And this all was part
of my malady, but I did not know it.
All through June and July an oppressive summer heat brooded over Tryon.
Save for thunder storms of unusual violence, the heat remained unbroken
day and night. In the hot and blinding blue of heaven, a fierce sun
blazed; at night the very moon looked sickly with the heat.
Never had I heard so many various voices of the night, nor so noisy a
tumult after dark, where the hylas trilled an almost deafening chorus
and the big frogs' stringy croaking never ceased, and a myriad confusion
of insects chirred and creaked and hummed in the suffocating dark.
At dawn the birds' outburst was like the loud outrush of a torrent
filling the waking world; at twilight scores of unseen whippoorwills put
on their shoes[30] and shouted in whistling whisper voices to one
another across the wastes of night like the False Faces [31] gathering
at a secret tryst.
[Footnote 30: Indian lore. The yellow moccasin flower is the
whippoorwill's shoe.]
[Footnote 31: A secret society common to all nations of the Iroquois
Confederacy.]
If the whole Northland languished, drooping and drowsy in the heat, the
very air, too, seemed heavy with the foreboding gloom of dreadful
rumours.
Every day came ominous tidings from North, from West, from South of
great forces uniting to march hither and crush us. And the terrible
imminence of catastrophe, far from arousing and nerving us for the
desperate event, seemed rather to confuse and daze our people, and
finally to stupefy all, as though the horror of the immense and hellish
menace were beyond human comprehension.
Men laboured on the meagre defences of the county as though weighted by
a nightmare--as though drowsing awake and not believing in their ghostly
dream.
And all preparation went slow--fearfully slow--and it was like dragging
a mass of chained men, whose minds had been drugged, to drive the
militia to the drill ground or force the labourers to the unfinished
parapets of our few and scattered forts.
Men still talked of the Sacandaga Block House as though there were such
a refuge; but there was none unless they meant the ruins at Fish House
or the unburned sheep-fold at Summer House Point, or the Mayfield
defenses.
There remained only one fort of consequence south of the Lakes--Fort
Stanwix, now called Schuyler, and that was far from finished, far from
properly armed, garrisoned, and provisioned.
Whatever else of defense Tryon County possessed were merest
makeshifts--stone farmhouses fortified by ditch, stockade, and bastions;
block-houses of wood; nothing more.
Fragments of our two regular regiments were ever shifting garrison--a
company here, a battalion there. A few rangers kept the field; a
regiment of Herkimer's militia, from time to time, took its turn at
duty; a scout or two of irregulars and Oneida Indians haunted the trail
toward Buck Island--which some call Deer Island, and others speak of as
Carleton Island, and others still name it Ile-aux-Chevreuil, which is a
mistake.
But any name for the damned spot was good enough for me, who had been
there in years past, and knew how strong it could be made to defy us and
to send out armed hordes to harass us on the Mohawk.
And at that instant, under Colonel Barry St. Leger, the Western flying
force of the enemy was being marshalled at Buck Island.
Our scouts brought an account of the forces already there--detachments
of the 8th British regulars, the 34th regulars, the regiment of Sir
John, called the Royal New Yorkers by some, by others the
Greens--(though our scouts told us that their new uniforms were to be
scarlet)--the Corps of Chasseurs, a regiment of green-coats known as
Butler's Rangers, a detachment of Royal Artillery, another of
Highlanders, and, most sinister of all, Brant's Iroquois under
Thayendanegea himself and a number of young officers of the Indian
Department, with Colonel Claus to advise them.
This was the flying force that threatened us from the West, directed by
Burgoyne.
From the South we were menaced by the splendid and powerful British army
which held New York City, Long Island, and the lower Hudson, and stood
ready and equipped to march on a straight road right into Albany,
cleaning up the Hudson, shore and stream, on their way hither.
But our most terrible danger threatened us from the North, where General
Burgoyne, with a superb army and a half thousand Iroquois savages, had
been smashing his way toward us through the forests, seizing the lakes
and the vessels and forts defending them, outmanoeuvring our General
St. Clair; driving him from our fortress of Ticonderoga with loss of all
stores and baggage; driving Francis out of Skenesborough and Fort Anne,
and destroying both posts; chasing St. Clair out of Castleton and
Hubbardton, destroying two-thirds of Warner's army; driving Schuyler's
undisciplined militia from Fort Edward, toward Saratoga.
Every day brought rumours or positive news of disasters in our immediate
neighbourhood. We knew that St. Leger, Sir John, Walter Butler, and
Brant had left Buck Island and that Burgoyne was directing the campaign
planned for the most hated army that ever invaded the Northland. And we
learned the horrid details of these movements from Thomas Spencer, the
Oneida who had just come in from that region, and whose certain account
of how matters were swiftly coming to a crisis at last seemed to
galvanize our people into action.
I was now, in August, well enough to take the field with a scout, and I
applied for active duty and was promised it; but no orders came, and I
haunted the Johnstown Fort impatiently, certain that every man who rode
express and who went galloping through the town must bring my marching
orders.
Precious days succeeded one another; I fretted, fumed, sickened with
anxiety, deemed myself forgotten or perhaps disdained.
Then I had a shock when General Herkimer, ignoring me, sent for my
Saguenay, but for what purpose I knew not, only that old Block's
loud-voiced son-in-law, Colonel Cox, desired a Montagnais tracker.
The Yellow Leaf came to me with the courier, one Barent Westerfelt, who
had brought presents from Colonel Cox; and I had no discretion in the
matter, nor would have exercised any if I had.
"Brother," said I, taking him by both hands, "go freely with this
messenger from General Herkimer; because if you were not sorely needed
our brother Corlear had not ordered an express to find and fetch you."
He replied that he made nothing of the presents sent him, but desired to
remain with me. I patiently pointed out to him that I was merely a
subaltern in the State Rangers and unattached, and that I must await my
turn of duty like a good soldier, nor feel aggrieved if fortune called
others first.
Still he seemed reluctant, and would not go, and scowled at the express
rider and his sack of gew-gaws.
"Brother," said I, "would you shame me who, as you say, found you a wild
beast and have taught you that you are a real man?"
"I am a man and a warrior," he said quickly.
"Real men and warriors are known by their actions, my younger brother.
When there is war they shine their hatchets. When the call comes, they
bound into the war-trail. Brother, the call has come! Hiero!"
The Montagnais straightened his body and threw back his narrow,
dangerous head.
"Haih!" he said. "I hear my brother's voice coming to me through the
forests! Very far away beyond the mountains I hear the panther-cry of
the Mengwe! My axe is bright! I am in my paint. Koue! I go!"
* * * * *
He left within the hour; and I had become attached to the wild rover of
the Saguenay, and missed him the more, perhaps, because of my own sore
heart which beat so impotently within my idle body.
That Herkimer had taken him disconcerted and discouraged me; but there
was a more bitter blow in store for a young soldier of no experience in
discipline or in the slow habit of military procedure; for, judge of my
wrath when one rainy day in August comes Nick Stoner to me in a new
uniform of the line, saying that Colonel Livingston's regiment lacked
musicians, and he had thought it best to transfer and to 'list and not
let opportunity go a-glimmering.
"My God, Jack," says he, "you can not blame me very well, for my father
is drafted to the same regiment, and my brother John is a drummer in it.
It is a marching regiment and certain to fight, for there be three
Livingstons commanding of it, and who knows what old Herkimer can do
with his militia, or what the militia themselves can do?"
"You are perfectly right, Nick," said I in a mortified voice. "I am not
envious; no! only it wounds me to feel I am so utterly forgotten, and my
application for transfer unnoticed."
Nick took leave of us that night, sobered not at all by the imminence of
battle, for he danced around my chamber in Burke's Inn, a-playing upon
his fife and capering so that Penelope was like to suffocate with
laughter, though inclined to seriousness.
We supped all together in my chamber as we had so often gathered at
Summer House, but if I were inclined to gloomy brooding, and if Penelope
seemed concerned at parting with a comrade, Nick permitted no sad
reflexions to disturb us whom he was leaving behind.
He made us drink a very devilish flip-cup, which he had devised in the
tap-room below with Jimmy Burke's aid, and which filled our young
noddles with a gaiety not natural.
He sang and offered toasts, and played on his fife and capered until we
were breathless with mirth.
Also, he took from his new knapsack a penny broadside,--witty, but like
most broadsides of the kind, somewhat broad,--which he had for
thrippence of a pedlar, the same being a parody on the Danbury
Broadside; and this he read aloud to us, bursting with laughter, while
standing upon his chair at table to recite it:
THE EXPEDITION TO JOHNSTOWN[32]
(In search of provisions)
Scene--New York City
(_Enter_ General Sir Wm. Howe and Mrs. ----, preceded by
Fame in cap and bells, flourishing a bladder.)
_Fame_ (speaks)
"Without wit, without wisdom, half stupid, half drunk,
And rolling along arm-in-arm with his Punk,
Comes gallant Sir William, the warrior (by proxy)
To harangue his soldiers (held up by his Doxy)!"
_Sir Wm._ (speaks)
"My boys, I'm a-going to send you to Tryon,
To Johnstown, where _you'll_ get as groggy as I am!
By a Tory from there I have just been informed
That there's nobody there, so the town shall be stormed!
For if nobody's there and nobody near it,
My army shall conquer that town, never fear it!"
(_Enter_ Joe Gallopaway, a refugee Tory)
_Joe_
"Brave soldiers, go fight that we all may get rich!"
_Regular Soldiers_
"We'll fetch you a halter, you * * * * !
Get out! And go live in the woods upon nuts,
Or we'll give you our bayonets plump in your guts!
Do you think we are fighting to feed such a crew
As Butler, Sir John, Mr. Singler and you?"
(_Enter_ Sir John Johnson)
_Sir John_
"Come on, my brave boys! Now! as bold as a lion!
And march at my heels to the County called Tryon;
My lads, there's no danger, for this you should know,
That I'd let it alone if I thought it was so!
So point all your noses towards the Dominion
And we'll all live like lords is my honest opinion!"
Scene--Buck Island Trail
(_Enter_ Fame, Sir John, and his Royal Greens)
_Fame_
"In cunning and canting, deceit and disguise,
In breaking parole by inventing cheap lies,
Sir John is a match for the worst of his species,
But in this undertaking he'll soon go to pieces.
He'll fall to the rear, for he'd rather go last,
Crying, 'Forward, my boys! Let me see you all past!
For his Majesty's service (so reads my commission)
Requires I push forward the whole expedition!"
_Sir John_
"I care not a louse for the United States,--
For General Schuyler or General Gates!
March forward, my lads, and account for each sinner,
While Butler, St. Leger, and I go to dinner.
For plenty's in Tryon of eating and drinking,
Who'd stay in New York to be starving and stinking."
March over the Mohawk! March over, march over,
You'll live like a parcel of hogs in sweet clover!"
Scene--Outside Fort Stanwix
(A council of war. At a distance the new American flag flying above the
bastions)
_Sir John_
"I'm sorry I'm here, for I'm horribly scared,
But how did I know that they'd all be prepared?
The fate of our forray looks darker and darker,
The state of our larder grows starker and starker,
I fear that a round-shot or one of their carkers[33]
May breech my new breeches like poor Peter Parker's![34]
Oh, say, if my rear is uncovered, what then!--"
(_Enter_ Walter Butler in a panic)
_Butler_
"Held! Schuyler is coming with ten thousand men!"
(A canon shot from the Fort)
_Sir John_ (falls flat)
"I'm done! A cannon ball of thirty pound
Has hit me where Sir Peter got his wound.
I'm done! I'm all undone! So don't unbutt'n'm;
But say adieu for me to Clairette Putnam!"[35]
(_Enter_ a swarm of surgeons)
_Surgeons_
"Compose yourself, good sir--forget your fright;
We promise you you are not slain outright.
The wound you got is not so mortal deep
But bleeding, cupping, patience, rest, and sleep,
With blisters, clysters, physic, air and diet
Will set you up again if you'll be quiet!"
_Sir John_
"So thick, so fast the balls and bullets flew,
Some hit me here, some there, some thro' and thro',
Beneath my legs a score of hosses fell,
Shot under me by twice as many shell;
And though my soldiers falter and beseech,
Forward I strode, defiant to the breech,
And there, as History my valour teaches,
I fell as Caesar fell, and lost--my breeches!
His face lay in his toga, in defeat,
So let me hide my face within my seat,
My requiem the rebel cannons roar,
My duty done, my bottom very sore.
Tell Willett he may keep his flour and pork,
For I am going back to dear New York."
(Exit on a litter to the Rogue's March)
[Footnote 32: 32 parallel to _The Expedition to Danbury_, printed in a
Pennsylvania newspaper, May 14th, 1777.]
[Footnote 33: Carkers--carcass--a shell fired from a small piece of
artillery.]
[Footnote 34: Sir Peter Parker's breeches were carried away by a round
shot at Fort Moultrie.]
[Footnote 35: His charming but abandoned mistress.]
"If we fight at Stanwix," says Penelope, "God send the business end as
gaily as your broadside, Nick!"
And so, amid laughter, our last evening together came to an end, and it
was time to part.
Nick gave Penelope a hearty smack, grinned broadly at me, seized my
hands and whispered: "What did I tell you of the Scotch girl of
Caughnawaga, who hath a way with her which is the undoing of all
innocent young men?"
"Idiot!" said I fiercely, "I am not undone in such a manner!" Like two
bear-cubs we clutched and wrestled; then he hugged me, laughed, and
broke away.
"Farewell, comrades," he cried, snatching sack and musket from the
corner. "If I can not fife the red-coats into hell to the Rogue's March,
or my brother John drum them there to the Devil's tattoo, then my daddy
shall persuade 'em thither with musket-music! Three stout Stoners and
three lanky Livingstons, and all in the same regiment! Hurrah!"
And off and down the tavern stairs he ran, clattering and clanking, and
shouting out a fond good-bye to Burke, who had forgiven him the goat.
Standing in the candle-light by the window, where a million rainwashed
stars twinkled in the depthless ocean of the night, I rested my brow
against the cool, glazed pane, lost in most bitter reflexion.
Penelope had gone to her chamber; behind me the dishevelled table stood,
bearing the candles and the debris of our last supper; a nosegay of
bright flowers--Nick's parting token--lay on the floor, where they had
fallen from Penelope's bosom.
After a while I left the window and sat down, taking my head between my
hands; and I had been sitting so for some time in ugly, sullen mood,
when a noise caused me to look up.
Penelope stood by the door, her yellow hair about her face and
shoulders, and still combing of it while her brown eyes regarded me with
an odd intentness.
"Your light still blazed from your window," she said. "I had some
misgiving that you sat here brooding all alone."
I felt my face flush, for it had deeply humiliated me that she should
know how I was offered no employment while others had been called or
permitted to seek relief from inglorious idleness.
She flung the bright banner of her hair over her right shoulder,
caressed the thick and shining tresses, and so continued combing, still
watching me, her head a little on one side.
"All know you to be faithful, diligent and brave," said she. "You should
not let it chafe your pride because others are called to duty before you
are summoned. Often it chances that Merit paces the ante-chamber while
Mediocrity is granted audience. But Opportunity redresses such
accidents."
"Opportunity," I repeated sneeringly, "--where is she?--for I have not
seen or heard of that soft-footed jade who, they say, comes a-knocking
once in a life-time; and thereafter knocks at our door no more."
"Oh, John Drogue--John Drogue," said she in her strange and wistful way,
"you shall hear the clear summons on your door very soon--all too soon
for one of us,--for one of us, John Drogue."
Her brown eyes were on me, unabashed; by touch she was dividing the
yellow masses of her hair into two equal parts. And now she slowly
braided each to peg them for the night beneath her ruffled cap.
When she had braided and pegged her hair, she took the night-cap from
her apron pocket and drew it over her golden head, tying the tabs under
her chin.
"It is strange," she said with her wistful smile, "that, though the
world is ending, we needs must waste in sleep a portion of what time
remains to us.... And so I am for bed, John Drogue.... Lest that same
tapping-jade come to your door tonight and waken me, also, with her loud
knocking."
"Why do you say so? Have you news?"
"Did I not once foresee a battle in the North? And men in strange
uniforms?"
"Yes," said I, smiling away the disappointment of a vague and momentary
hope.
"I think that battle will happen very soon," she said gravely.
"You said that I should be there,--with that pale shadow in its shroud.
Very well; only that I be given employment and live to see at least one
battle, I care not whether I meet my weird in its winding-sheet. Because
any man of spirit, and not a mouse, had rather meet his end that way
than sink into dissolution in aged and toothless idleness."
"If you were not a very young and untried soldier," said she, "you would
not permit impatience to ravage you and sour you as it does. And for me,
too, it saddens and spoils our last few days together."
"Our last few days? You speak with a certainty--an authority----"
"I know the summons is coming very soon."
"If I could but believe in your Scottish second-sight----"
"Would you be happy?"
"Happy! I should deem myself the most fortunate man on earth!--if I
could believe your Scottish prophecy!"
She came nearer, and her eyes seemed depthless dusky in her pale face.
"If that is all you require for happiness, John Drogue," said she in her
low, still voice, "then you may take your pleasure of it. I tell you I
_know_! And we have but few hours left together, you and I."
Spite of common sense and disbelief in superstitions I could not remain
entirely unconcerned before such perfect sincerity, though that she
believed in her own strange gift could scarcely convince me.
"Come," said I smilingly, "it may be so. At all events, you cheer me,
Penelope, and your kindness heartens me.... Forgive my sullen
temper;--it is hard for a man to think himself ignored and perhaps
despised. And my ears ache with listening for that same gentle tapping
upon my door."
"I hear it now," she said under her breath.
"I hear nothing."
"Alas, no! Yet, that soft-footed maid is knocking on your door.... If
only you had heart to hear."
"One does not hear with one's heart," said I, smiling, and stirred to
plague her for her mixed metaphor.
"I do," said she, faintly.
After a little silence she turned to go; and I followed, scarce knowing
why; and took her hand in the doorway.
"Little prophetess," said I, "who promises me what my heart desires,
will you touch your lips to mine as a pledge that your prophecy shall
come true?"
She looked back over her shoulder, and remained so, her cheek on her
right shoulder.
"Your heart desires a battle, John Drogue; your idle vanity my lips....
But you may possess them if you will."
"I do love you dearly, Penelope Grant."
She said with a breathless little smile:
"Would you love me better if my prophecy came true this very night?"
But I was troubled at that, and had no mind to sound those unventured
deeps which, at such moments, I could feel vaguely astir within me. Nor
yet did I seriously consider what I truly desired of this slender maid
within the circle of my arms, nor what was to come of such sudden
encounters with their swift smile and oddly halting breath and the
heart, surprised, rhyming rapidly and unevenly in a reckless measure
which pleasured less than it embarrassed.
She loosed her hands and drew away from me, and leaned against the wall,
not looking toward me.
"I think," she said in a stifled voice, "you are to have your wish this
night.... Do you hear anything?"
In the intense stillness, straining my ears, I fancied presently that I
heard a distant sound in the night. But if it had been so it died out,
and the beat of my heart was louder. Then, of a sudden, I seemed to hear
it again, and thought it was my pulses startled by sudden hope.
"What is that sound?" I whispered. "Do you hear it?"
"Aye."
"I hear it also.... Is it imagination? Is there a horse on the highway?
Why, I tell you there is!... There _is_! Do you think he rides express?"
"Out o' the North, my lord," she whispered. And suddenly she turned,
gave me a blind look, stretched out one hand.
"_Why_ do you think that horseman comes for me!" I said. My imagination
caught fire, flamed, and I stood shivering and crushing her fingers in
my grasp. "Why--why--do you think so?" I stammered. "He's turned into
William Street! He gallops this way! Damnation! He heads toward the
Hall!--No! _No!_ By God, he is in our street, galloping--galloping----"
Like a pistol shot came a far cry in the darkness: "Express-ho! I pass!
I pass!" The racket of iron-shod hoofs echoed in the street; doors and
windows flew open; a confusion of voices filled my ears; the rattling
roar of the hoofs came to a clashing halt.
"Jimmy Burke's Tavern!" shouted a hoarse voice.
"Ye're there, me gay galloper!" came Burke's bantering voice. "An'
phwat's afther ye that ye ride the night like a banshee? Is it Sir John
that's chasin' ye crazy, Jock Gallopaway?"
"Ah-h," retorted the express, "fetch a drink for me and tell me is there
a Mr. Drogue lodging here? Hey? Upstairs? Well, wait a minute----"
I still had Penelope's hand in mine as in the grip of a vise, so excited
was I, when the express came stamping up the stairs in his jack-boots
and pistols--a light-horseman of the Albany troop, who seemed smart
enough in his mud-splashed helmet and uniform.
"You are Mr. Drogue, sir?"
"I am."
He promptly saluted, fished out a letter from his sack and offered it.
In my joy I gave him five shillings in hard money, and then, dragging
Penelope by the hand, hastened to break the numerous and heavy seals and
open my letter and read it by the candle's yellow flare.
"Headquarters Northern Dist:
Dept: of Tryon County.
Albany, N. Y.
August 1st, 1777.
_Confidential_
"To John Drogue, Esqr,
Lieut: Rangers.
Sir,
"An Oneida runner arrived today, who gives an account that Genl
St. Leger, with the corps of Sir John Johnson and Colonel John
Butler, including a thousand savages under Joseph Brant, has been
detached from the army of Genl Burgoyne, and is marching on Fort
Schuyler.
"You are directed to take the field instantly with a scout of
Oneida Indians, who await you at a rendezvous marked upon the
secret map which I enclose herewith.
"You will cross the Buck Island trail somewhere between Rocky River
and the Mohawk, and observe St. Leger's line of communications,
cutting off such small posts as prove not too strong, taking
prisoners if possible, and ascertaining St. Leger's ultimate
objective, which may be Johnstown or even Schenectady.
"Having satisfied yourself concerning these matters, you will send
your despatch by a runner to Albany, and instantly move your
detachment toward Saratoga, where you should come into touch with
our Northern forces under General Gates, and there render a verbal
report to General Gates in person.
"You are strictly cautioned to destroy this letter after reading,
and to maintain absolute secrecy concerning its contents. The map
you may retain, but if you are taken you should endeavour to
destroy it.
"Sir, I have the honour to be, etc., etc.,
"Ph. Schuyler,
"Maj: Gen'l."
Twice I read the letter before I twisted it to a torch and burned it in
the candle flame.
Then I called out to the express: "Say to the personage who sent you
hither that his letter is destroyed, and his orders shall be instantly
obeyed. Burke has fresh horses for those who ride express."
Off downstairs he went in his jack-boots, equipments jingling and
clanking, and I unfolded my map but scarce could hold it steady in my
excitement.
Immediately I perceived that I did not need the map to find the
rendezvous, for, as Brent-Meester, I had known that wilderness as
perfectly as I knew the streets in Johnstown.
So I made another torch of the map, laughing under my breath to think
that Sir William's late forest warden should require such an article.
All this time, too, I had forgotten Penelope; and turned, now, and saw
her watching me, slim and motionless and white as snow.
When her eyes met mine she strove to smile, asking me whether indeed she
had not proven a true prophetess.
As she spoke, suddenly a great fear possessed me concerning her; and I
stood staring at her in a terrible perplexity.
For now there seemed to be nothing for it but to leave her here, the
Schenectady road already being unsafe, or so considered by Schuyler
until more certain information could be obtained.
"Do you leave tonight?" she asked calmly.
"Yes, immediately."
She cast a glance at my rifle standing in the corner, and at my pack,
which I had always ready in the event of such sudden summons.
Now I went over to the corner where my baggage lay, lifted the pack and
strapped it; put on powder horn, bullet pouch, and sack, slung my knife
and my light war-hatchet, and took my cap and rifle.
The moment of parting was here. It scared and confused me, so swiftly
had it come upon us.
As I went toward her she turned and walked to the door, and leaned
against the frame awaiting me.
"If trouble comes," I muttered, "the fort is strong.... But I wish to
God you were in Albany."
"I shall do well enough here.... Will you come again to Johnstown?"
"Yes. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, John Drogue."
"Will you care for Kaya?"
"Yes."
"And if I do not return you are to have all with which I die possessed.
I have written it."
"In that event I keep only my memory of you. The rest I offer to the
needy--in your name."
Her voice was steady, and her hand, too, where it lay passive in mine.
But it crisped and caught my fingers convulsively when I kissed her; and
crept up along my fringed sleeve to my shoulder-cape, and grasped the
green thrums.
And now her arm lay tightly around my neck, and I looked down into the
whitest face I ever had gazed upon.
"I love you dearly," I said, "and am deep in love.... I want you,
Penelope Grant."
"I want you," she said.
My heart was suffocating me:
"Shall we exchange vows?" I managed to say.
"What vows, sir?"
"Such as engage our honour. I want you to wife, Penelope Grant."
"Dear lad! What are you saying? You should travel widely and at leisure
before you commit your honour to an unconsidered vow. I desire that you
first see great cities, other countries, other women--of your own
caste.... And then ... if you return ... and are still of the same
mind ... concerning me...."
"But _you_? There are other men in the world. And I must have your vows
before I go!"
"Oh, if it be only mine you desire, then I promise you, John Drogue, to
look at no man with kindness in your absence, think of no man excepting
you, pray for none save only His Excellency and General Schuyler, dream
of none, God willing, but you. And to remain in deed and thought and
word and conduct constant and faithful to you alone."
"Then," said I, trembling, "I also promise----"
"No!"
"But I----"
"Wait! For God's sake mind what you say; for I will not have it that
your honour should ever summon you hither and not your heart! No! Let be
as it is."
Her sudden warmth and the quick flush of determination on her face
checked and silenced me.
She said very coolly: "Any person of sense must know that a marriage is
unsuitable between a servant to Douw Fonda and John Murray Drogue
_Forbes_, Laird of Northesk, and a Stormont to boot!"
"Where got you that _Forbes_?" I demanded, astonished and angry.
She laughed. "Because I know the clan, _my lord_!"
"How do you know?" I repeated, astounded.
"Because it is my own clan and name. Drogue-Forbes, Grant-Forbes!--a
claymore or a pair of scissors can snip the link when some Glencoe or
Culloden of adversity scatters families to the four winds and seven
seas.... Well, sir, as the saying is in Northesk, 'a Drogue stops at
nothing but a Forbes. And a Grant is as stubborn.' Did you ever hear
that?"
"Yes.... And _you_ are a Forbes of Northesk?"
"Like yourself, sir, we _stop before a liaison_."
Her rapier wit confused and amazed me; her sudden revelation of our
kinship confounded me.
"Good God," said I, "why have you never told me this, Penelope?"
She shook her yellow head defiantly: "A would na," quoth she, her chin
hanging down, but the brown eyes of her watching me. "And it was a
servant-maid you asked to wife you, and none other either.... D'ye ken
that, you Stormont lad? It was me--me!--who may wear the _Beadlaidh_,
too!--me who can cry '_Lonach! Lonach! Creag Ealachaidh!_' with as stout
a heart and clean a pride as you, Ian Drogue, Laird o' Northesk!--laird
o' my soul and heart--my lord--my dear, dear lord----"
She flung her arms across her face and burst into a fit of weeping; and
as I caught her in my arms she leaned so on my breast, sobbing out her
happiness and fears and pride and love, and her gratitude to God that I
should have loved her for herself in the body of a maid-servant, and
that I had bespoken her fairly where in all the land no man had offered
more than that which she might take from him out of his left hand.
So, for a long while, we stood there together, clasped breast to breast,
dumb with tenderness and mazed in the spell of first young love.
I stammered my vows, and she now opposed me nothing, only clinging to me
the closer, confident, submissive, acquiescent in all I wished and asked
and said.
There were ink, paper, a quill, and sand in her chamber. We went
thither, and I wrote out drafts upon Schenectady, and composed letters
of assurance and recognition, which would be useful to her in case of
necessity.
I got Jimmy Burke out o' bed and shewed him all I had writ, and made him
witness our signatures and engaged him to appear if necessary.
These papers and money drafts, together with Penelope's papers and
letters she had of Douw Fonda and of the Patroon, were sufficient to
establish her with the new will I made and had witnessed at the fort a
week before.
And so, at midnight, in her little chamber at Burke's Inn, I parted from
Penelope Grant,--dropped to my knee and kissed her feet, who had been
servant to the county gentry and courted by the county quality, but had
been mistress of none in all the world excepting only of herself.
* * * * *
When I was ready she handed me my rifle, buckled up my shoulder sack,
smoothed my fringed cape with steady hands, walked with me to her
chamber door.
Her face rested an instant against mine, but there were no tears, no
trembling, only the swift passion of her lips; and then--"God be with
you, John Drogue!" And so, with gay courage, closed her chamber door.
I turned and stumbled out along the corridor, carrying my rifle and
feeling my way to the hand-rail, down the creaking stairway, and out
into the starry night.