"Captain Butler," I said, "if our swords be to-day stainless, he who
first dares employ a savage to do his work forfeits the right to bear
the arms and title of a soldier."
"Mr. Ormond! Mr. Ormond!" broke in Colonel Claus. "Do you impeach Lord
George Germaine?"
"I care not whom I impeach!" I said, hotly. "If Lord George Germaine
counsels the employment of Indians against Englishmen, rebels though
they be, he is a monstrous villain and a fool!"
"Fool!" shouted Colonel Campbell, choking with rage. "He'd be a fool to
let these rebels win over the Iroquois before we did!"
"What rebel has sought to employ the Indians?" I asked. "If any in
authority have dreamed of such a horror, they are guilty as though
already judged and damned!"
"Mr. Ormond," cut in Guy Johnson, fairly trembling with fury, "you deal
very freely in damnation. Do you perhaps assume the divine right which
you deny your King?"
"And do you find merit in crass treason, sir?" burst out McDonald,
striking the table with clinched fist.
"Treason," cut in Sir John Johnson, "was the undoing of a certain noble
duke in Queen Anne's time."
"You are in error," I said, calmly.
"Was James, Duke of Ormond, not impeached by Mr. Stanhope in open
Parliament?" shouted Captain McDonald.
"The House of Commons," I replied, calmly, "dishonored itself and its
traditions by bringing a bill of attainder against the Duke of Ormond.
That could not make him a traitor."
"He was not a traitor," broke out Walter Butler, white to the lips, "but
you are!"
"A lie," I said.
With the awful hue of death stamped on his face, Walter Butler rose and
faced me; and though they dragged us to our seats, shouting and
exclaiming in the uproar made by falling chairs and the rush of feet, he
still kept his eyes on me, shallow, yellow, depthless, terrible eyes.
"A nice scene to pass in women's presence!" roared the patroon. "Dammy,
Captain Butler, the fault lies first with you! Withdraw that word
'traitor,' which touches us all!"
"He has so named himself," said Walter Butler, "Withdraw it! You foul
your own nest, sir!"
A moment passed. "I withdraw it," motioned Butler, with parched lips.
"Then I withdraw the lie," I said, watching him.
"That is well," roared the patroon. "That is as it should be. Shall
kinsmen quarrel at such a time? Offer your hand, Captain Butler. Offer
yours, George."
"No," I said, and gazed mildly at the patroon.
Sir George Covert rose and sauntered over to my chair. Under cover of
the hubbub, not yet subsided, he said: "I fancy you will shortly require
a discreet friend."
"Not at all, sir," I replied, aloud. "If the war spares Mr. Butler and
myself, then I shall call on you. I've another quarrel first." All
turned to look at me, and I added, "A quarrel touching the liberties of
Englishmen." Sir John Johnson sneered, and it was hard to swallow, being
the sword-master that I am.
But the patroon broke out furiously. "Mr. Ormond honors himself. If any
here so much as looks the word 'coward,' he will answer to me--old and
fat as I am! I've no previous engagement; I care not who prevails, King
or Congress. I care nothing so they leave me my own! I'm free to resent
a word, a look, a breath--ay, the flutter of a lid, Sir John!"
"Thanks, uncle," I said, touched to the quick. "These gentlemen are not
fools, and only a fool could dream an Ormond coward."
"Ay, a fool!" cried Walter Butler. "I am an Ormond! There is no
cowardice in the blood. He shall have his own time; he is an Ormond!"
Dorothy Varick raised her bare, white arm and pointed straight at Walter
Butler. "See that your sword remains unspotted, sir," she said, in a
clear voice. "For if you hire the Iroquois to do your work you stand
dishonored, and no true man will meet you on the field you forfeit!"
"What's that?" cried Sir John, astonished, and Sir George Covert cried:
"Brava! Bravissima! There speaks the Ormond through the Varick!"
Walter Butler leaned forward, staring at me. "You refuse to meet me if I
use our Mohawks?"
And Dorothy, her voice trembling a little, picked up the word from his
grinning teeth. "Mohawks understand the word 'honor' better than do you,
Captain Butler, if you are found fighting in their ranks!"
She laid her hand on my arm, still facing him.
"My cousin shall not cross blade with a soiled blade! He dare not--if
only for my own poor honor's sake!"
Then Colonel Claus rose, thumping violently on the table, and, "Here's a
pretty rumpus!" he bawled, "with all right and all wrong, and nobody to
snuff out the spreading flame, but every one a-flinging tallow in a fire
we all may rue! My God! Are we not all kinsmen here, gathered to decent
council how best to save our bacon in this pot a-boiling over? If Mr.
Ormond and Captain Butler must tickle sword-points one day, that is no
cause for dolorous looks or hot words--no! Rather is it a family trick,
a good, old-fashioned game that all boys play, and no harm, either. Have
I not played it, too? Has any gentleman present not pinked or been
pinked on that debatable land we call the field of honor? Come, kinsmen,
we have all had too much wine--or too little."
"Too little!" protested Captain Campbell, with a forced laugh; and Betty
Austin loosed her tongue for the first time to cry out that her mouth
was parched wi' swallowing so many words all piping-hot. Whereat one or
two laughed, and Colonel John Butler said:
Neither Mr. Ormond nor Sir George Covert are rebels. They differ from us
in this matter touching on the Iroquois. If they think we soil our hands
with war-paint, let them keep their own wristbands clean, but fight for
their King as sturdily as shall we this time next month."
"That is a very pleasant view to take," observed Sir George, with a
smile.
"A sensible view," suggested Campbell.
"Amiable," said Sir George, blandly.
"Oh, let us fill to the family!" broke in McDonald, impatiently. "It's
dry work cursing your friends! Fill up, Campbell, and I'll forget
Glencoe ... while I'm drinking."
"Mr. Ormond," said Walter Butler, in a low voice, "I cannot credit ill
of a man of your name. You are young and hot-blooded, and you perhaps
lack as yet a capacity for reflection. I shall look for you among us
when the time comes. No Ormond can desert his King."
"Let it rest so, Captain Butler," I said, soberly. "I will say this:
when I rose I had not meant to say all that I said. But I believe it to
be the truth, though I chose the wrong moment to express it. If I change
this belief I will say so."
And so the outburst of passion sank to ashes; and if the fire was not
wholly extinguished, it at least lay covered, like the heart of a
Seminole council-fire after the sachems have risen and departed with
covered heads.
Drinking began again. The ladies gathered in a group, whispering and
laughing their relief at the turn affairs were taking--all save Dorothy,
who sat serenely beside me, picking the kernels from walnut-shells and
sipping a glass of port.
Sir John Johnson found a coal in the embers on the hearth, and, leaning
half over the table, began to draw on the table-cloth a rude map of
Tryon County.
"All know," he said, "that the province of New York is the key to the
rebel strength. While they hold West Point and Albany and Stanwix, they
hold Tryon County by the throat. Let them occupy Philadelphia. Who
cares? We can take it when we choose. Let them hold their dirty Boston;
let the rebel Washington sneak around the Jerseys. Who cares? There'll
be the finer hunting for us later. Gentlemen, as you know, the invasion
of New York is at hand--has already begun. And that's no secret from the
rebels, either; they may turn and twist and double here in New York
province, but they can't escape the trap, though they saw it long ago."
He raised his head and glanced at me.
"Here is a triangle," he said; "that triangle is New York province. Here
is Albany, the objective of our three armies, the gate of Tryon County,
the plague-spot we are to cleanse, and the military centre. Now mark!
Burgoyne moves through the lakes, south, reducing Ticonderoga and
Edward, routing the rats out of Saratoga, and approaches Albany--so.
Clinton moves north along the Hudson to meet him--so--forcing the
Highlands at Peekskill, taking West Point or leaving it for later
punishment. Nothing can stop him; he meets Burgoyne here, at Albany."
Again he looked at me. "You see, sir, that from two angles of the
triangle converging armies depart towards a common objective."
"I see," I said.
"Now," he resumed, "the third force, under Colonel Barry St. Leger--to
which my regiment and the regiment of Colonel Butler have the honor to
be attached--embarks from Canada, sails up the St. Lawrence, disembarks
at Oswego, on Lake Erie, marches straight on Stanwix, reduces it, and
joins the armies of Clinton and Burgoyne at Albany."
He stood up, casting his bit of wood-coal on the cloth before him.
"That, sir," he said to me, "is the plan of campaign, which the rebels
know and cannot prevent. That means the invasion of New York, the
scouring out of every plague-spot, the capture and destruction of every
rebel between Albany and the Jerseys."
He turned with a cold smile to Colonel Butler. "I think my estates will
not remain long in rebel hands," he said.
"Do you not understand, Mr. Ormond?" cried Captain Campbell, twitching
me by the sleeve, an impertinence I passed, considering him overflushed
with wine. "Do you not comprehend how hopeless is this rebellion now?"
"How hopeless?" drawled Sir George, looking over my shoulder, and, as
though by accident, drawing Campbell's presumptuous hand through his
own arm.
"How hopeless?" echoed Campbell. "Why, here are three armies of his
Majesty's troops concentrating on the heart of Tryon County. What can
the rebels do?"
"The patroons are with us, or have withdrawn from the contest," said Sir
John; "the great folk, military men, and we of the landed gentry are for
the King. What remains to defy his authority?"
"Of what kidney are these Tryon County men?" I asked, quietly. Sir John
Johnson misunderstood me.
"Mr. Ormond," said Sir John, "Tryon County is habited by four races.
First, the Scotch-Irish, many of them rebels, I admit, but many also
loyal. Balance these against my Highlanders, and cross quits. Second,
the Palatines--those men whose ancestors came hither to escape the
armies of Louis XIV. when they devastated the Palatinate. And again I
admit these to be rebels. Third, those of Dutch blood, descended from
brave ancestors, like our worthy patroon here. And once more I will
admit that many of these also are tainted with rebel heresies. Fourth,
the English, three-quarters of whom are Tories. And now I ask you, can
these separate handfuls of mixed descent unite? And, if that were
possible, can they stand for one day, one hour, against the trained
troops of England?"
"God knows," I said.