As we galloped into Broadalbin Bush a house on our right loomed up black
and silent, and I saw shutters and doors swinging wide open, and the
stars shining through. There was something sinister in this stark and
tenantless homestead, whose void casements stared, like empty
eye-sockets.
"They have gone to the Middle Fort--all of them except the Stoners,"
said Mount, pushing his horse up beside mine. "Look, sir! See what this
red terror has already done to make a wilderness of County Try on--and
not a blow struck yet!"
We passed another house, doorless, deserted; and as I rode abreast of
it, to my horror I saw two shining eyes staring out at me from the
empty window.
"A wolf--already!" muttered Mount, tugging at his bridle as his horse
sheered off, snorting; and I saw something run across the front steps
and drop into the shadows.
The roar of the Kennyetto sounded nearer. Woods gave place to
stump-fields in which the young corn sprouted, silvered by the stars.
Across a stony pasture we saw a rushlight burning in a doorway; and,
swinging our horses out across a strip of burned stubble, we came
presently to Stoner's house and heard the noise of the stream rushing
through the woods below.
I saw Sir George Covert immediately; he was sitting on a log under the
window, dressed in his uniform, a dark military cloak mantling his
shoulders and knees. When he recognized me he rose and came to my side.
"Well, Ormond," he said, quietly, "it's a comfort to see you. Leave your
horses with Elerson. Who is that with you--oh, Jack Mount? These are the
riflemen, Elerson and Murphy--Morgan's men, you know."
The two riflemen saluted me with easy ceremony and sauntered over to
where Mount was standing at our horses' heads.
"Hello, Catamount Jack," said Elerson, humorously. "Where 'd ye steal
the squaw-buckskins? Look at the macaroni, Tim--all yellow and
purple fringe!"
Mount surveyed the riflemen in their suits of brown holland and belted
rifle-frocks.
"Dave Elerson, you look like a Quakeress in a Dutch jerkin," he
observed.
"'Tis the nate turrn to yere leg he grudges ye," said Murphy to Elerson.
"Wisha, Dave, ye've the legs av a beau!"
"Bow-legs, Dave," commented Mount. "It's not your fault, lad. I've seen
'em run from the Iroquois as fast as Tim's--"
The bantering reply of the big Irishman was lost to me as Sir George led
me out of earshot, one arm linked in mine.
I told him briefly of my mission, of my new rank in the army. He
congratulated me warmly, and asked, in his pleasant way, for news of the
manor, yet did not name Dorothy, which surprised me to the verge of
resentment. Twice I spoke of her, and he replied courteously, yet seemed
nothing eager to learn of her beyond what I volunteered.
And at last I said: "Sir George, may I not claim a kinsman's privilege
to wish you joy in your great happiness?"
"What happiness?" he asked, blankly; then, in slight confusion, added:
"You speak of my betrothal to your cousin Dorothy. I am stupid beyond
pardon, Ormond; I thank you for your kind wishes.... I suppose Sir Lupus
told you," he added, vaguely.
"My cousin Dorothy told me," I said.
"Ah! Yes--yes, indeed. But it is all in the future yet, Ormond." He
moved on, switching the long weeds with a stick he had found. "All in
the future," he murmured, absently--"in fact, quite remote, Ormond....
By-the-way, you know why you were to meet me?"
"No, I don't," I replied, coldly.
"Then I'll tell you. The General is trying to head off Walter Butler and
arrest him. Murphy and Elerson have just heard that Walter Butler's
mother and sister, and a young lady, Magdalen Brant--you met her at
Varicks'--are staying quietly at the house of a Tory named Beacraft. We
must strive to catch him there; and, failing that, we must watch
Magdalen Brant, that she has no communication with the Iroquois." He
hesitated, head bent. "You see, the General believes that this young
girl can sway the False-Faces to peace or war. She was once their
pet--as a child.... It seems hard to believe that this lovely and
cultivated young girl could revert to such savage customs.... And yet
Murphy and Elerson credit it, and say that she will surely appear at the
False-Faces' rites.... It is horrible, Ormond; she is a sweet child--by
Heaven, she would turn a European court with her wit and beauty!"
"I concede her beauty," I said, uneasy at his warm praise, "but as to
her wit, I confess I scarcely exchanged a dozen words with her that
night, and so am no judge."
"Ah!" he said, with an absent-minded stare.
"I naturally devoted myself to my cousin Dorothy," I added, irritated,
without knowing why.
"Quite so--quite so," he mused. "As I was saying, it seems cruel to
suspect Magdalen Brant, but the General believes she can sway the
Oneidas and Tuscaroras.... It is a ghastly idea. And if she does attempt
this thing, it will be through the infernal machinations and devilish
persuasions of the Butlers--mark that, Ormond!"
He turned short in his tracks and made a fierce gesture with his stick.
It broke short, and he flung the splintered ends into the darkness.
"Why," he said, warmly, "there is not a gentler, sweeter disposition in
the world than Magdalen Brant's, if no one comes a-tampering to wake the
Iroquois blood in her. These accursed Butlers seem inspired by hell
itself--and Guy Johnson!--What kind of a man is that, to take this young
girl from Albany, where she had forgotten what a council-fire meant, and
bring her here to these savages--sacrifice her!--undo all those years of
culture and education!--rouse in her the dormant traditions and passions
which she had imbibed with her first milk, and which she forgot when she
was weaned! That is the truth, I tell you! I know, sir! It was my uncle
who took her from Guy Park and sent her to my aunt Livingston. She had
the best of schooling; she was reared in luxury; she had every advantage
that could be gained in Albany; my aunt took her to London that she
might acquire those graces of deportment which we but roughly
imitate.... Is it not sickening to see Guy Johnson and Sir John exercise
their power of relationship and persuade her from a good home back to
this?... Think of it, Ormond!"
"I do think of it," said I. "It is wrong--it is cruel and shameful!"
"It is worse," said Sir George, bitterly. "Scarce a year has she been
at Guy Park, yet to-day she is in full sympathy with Guy and Sir John
and her dusky kinsman, Brant. Outwardly she is a charming, modest maid,
and I do not for an instant mean you to think she is not chaste! The
Irish nation is no more famed for its chastity than the Mohawk, but I
know that she listens when the forest calls--listens with savant ears,
Ormond, and her dozen drops of dusky blood set her pulses flying to the
free call of the Wolf clan!"
"Do you know her well?" I asked.
"I? No. I saw her at my aunt Livingston's. It was the other night that I
talked long with her--for the first time in my life."
He stood silent, knee-deep in the dewy weeds, hand worrying his
sword-hilt, long cloak flung back.
"You have no idea how much of a woman she is," he said, vaguely.
"In that case," I replied, "you might influence her."
He raised his thoughtful face to the stars, studying the Twin Pointers.
"May I try?" he asked.
"Try? Yes, try, in Heaven's name, Sir George! If she must speak to the
Oneidas, persuade her to throw her influence for peace, if you can. At
all events, I shall know whether or not she goes to the fire, for I am
charged by the General to find the False-Faces and report to him every
word said.... Do you speak Tuscarora, Sir George?"
"No; only Mohawk," he said. "How are you going to find the False-Faces'
meeting-place?"
"If Magdalen Brant goes, I go," said I. "And while I'm watching her,
Jack Mount is to range, and track any savage who passes the Iroquois
trail.... What do you mean to do with Murphy and Elerson?"
"Elerson rides back to the manor with our horses; we've no further use
for them here. Murphy follows me.... And I think we should be on our
way," he added, impatiently.
We walked back to the house, where old man Stoner and his two big boys
stood with our riflemen, drinking flip.
"Elerson," I said, "ride my mare and lead the other horses back to
Varicks'. Murphy, you will pilot us to Beacraft's. Jack, go forward
with Murphy."
Old Stoner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bit into a twist
of tobacco, spat derisively, and said: "This pup Beacraft swares he'll
lift my haar 'fore he gits through with me! Threatened men live long.
Kindly tell him me an' my sons is to hum. Sir George."
The big, lank boys laughed, and winked at me as I passed.
"Good trail an' many skelps to ye!" said old Stoner. "If ye see Francy
McCraw, jest tell him thar's a rope an' a apple-tree waitin' fur him
down to Fundy's Bush!"
"Tell Danny Redstock an' Billy Bones that the Stoner boys is smellin'
almighty close on their trail!" called out the elder youth.
Elerson, in his saddle, gathered the bridles that Mount handed him and
rode off into the darkness, leading Mount's horse and Sir George's at a
trot. We filed off due west, Murphy and Mount striding in the lead, the
noise of the river below us on our left. A few rods and we swung south,
then west into a wretched stump-road, which Sir George said was the
Mayfield road and part of the Sacandaga trail.
The roar of the Kennyetto accompanied us, then for a while was lost in
the swaying murmur of the pines. Twice we passed trodden carrying-places
before the rushing of the river sounded once more far below us in a
gorge; and we descended into a hollow to a ford from which an Indian
trail ran back to the north. This was the Balston trail, which joined
the Fish-House road; and Sir George said it was the trail I should have
followed had it not been necessary for me to meet him at Fonda's Bush to
relieve him of his horse.
Now, journeying rapidly west, our faces set towards the Mayfield hills,
we passed two or three small, cold brooks, on stepping-stones, where the
dark sky, set with stars, danced in the ripples. Once, on a cleared
hill, we saw against the sky the dim bulk of a lonely barn; then nothing
more fashioned by human hands until, hours later, we found Murphy and
Mount standing beside some rough pasture bars in the forest. How they
had found them in the darkness of the woods--for we had long since left
the stump-road--I do not know; but the bars were there, and a brush
fence; and Murphy whispered that, beyond, a cow-path led to
Beacraft's house.
Now, wary of ambuscade, we moved on, rifles primed and cocked,
traversing a wet path bowered by willow and alder, until we reached a
cornfield, fenced with split rails. The path skirted this, continuing
under a line of huge trees, then ascended a stony little hill, on which
a shadowy house stood.
"Beacraft's," whispered Murphy.
Sir George suggested that we surround the house and watch it till dawn;
so Mount circled the little hill and took station in the north, Sir
George moved eastward, Murphy crept to the west, and I sat down under
the last tree in the lane, cocked rifle on my knees, pan sheltered under
my round cap of doeskin.
Sunrise was to be our signal to move forward. The hours dragged; the
stars grew no paler; no sign of life appeared in the ghostly house save
when the west wind brought to me a faint scent of smoke, invisible as
yet above the single chimney.
But after a long while I knew that dawn was on the way towards the
western hills, for a bird twittered restlessly in the tree above me, and
I began to feel, rather than hear, a multitude of feathered stirrings
all about me in the darkness.
Would dawn never come? The stars seemed brighter than ever--no, one on
the eastern horizon twinkled paler; the blue-black sky had faded;
another star paled; others lost their diamond lustre; a silvery pallor
spread throughout the east, while the increasing chorus of the birds
grew in my ears.
Then a cock-crow rang out, close by, and the bird o' dawn's clear
fanfare roused the feathered world to a rushing outpour of song.
All the east was yellow now; a rose-light quivered behind the forest
like the shimmer of a hidden fire; then a blinding shaft of light fell
across the world.
Springing to my feet, I shouldered my rifle and started across the
pasture, ankle deep in glittering dew; and as I advanced Sir George
appeared, breasting the hill from the east; Murphy's big bulk loomed in
the west; and, as we met before the door of the house, Jack Mount
sauntered around the corner, chewing a grass-stem, his long, brown rifle
cradled in his arm.
"Rap on the door, Mount," I said. Mount gave a round double rap, chewed
his grass-stem, considered, then rapped again, humming to himself in an
under-tone:
"Is the old fox in?
Is the old fox out?
Is the old fox gone to Glo-ry?
Oh, he's just come in,
But he's just gone out,
And I hope you like my sto-ry!
Tink-a-diddle-diddle-diddle,
Tink-a-diddle-diddle-dum--"
"Rap louder," I said.
Mount obeyed, chewed reflectively, and scratched his ear.
"Is the Tory in?
Is the Tory out?
Is the Tory gone to Glo-ry?
Oh, he's just come in.
But he's just gone out--"
"Knock louder," I repeated.
Murphy said he could drive the door in with his gun-butt; I shook my
head.
"Somebody's coming," observed Mount--
"Tink-a-diddle-diddle--"
The door opened and a lean, dark-faced man appeared, dressed in his
smalls and shirt. He favored us with a sour look, which deepened to a
scowl when he recognized Mount, who saluted him cheerfully.
"Hello, Beacraft, old cock! How's the mad world usin' you these palmy,
balmy days?"
"Pretty well," said Beacraft, sullenly.
"That's right, that's right," cried Mount. "My friends and I thought
we'd just drop around. Ain't you glad, Beacraft, old buck?"
"Not very," said Beacraft.
"Not very!" echoed Mount, in apparent dismay and sorrow. "Ain't you
enj'yin' good health, Beacraft?"
"I'm well, but I'm busy," said the man, slowly.
"So are we, so are we," cried Mount, with a brisk laugh. "Come in,
friends; you must know my old acquaintance Beacraft better; a King's
man, gentlemen, so we can all feel at home now!"
For a moment Beacraft looked as though he meant to shut the door in our
faces, but Mount's huge bulk was in the way, and we all followed his
lead, entering a large, unplastered room, part kitchen, part bedroom.
"A King's man," repeated Mount, cordially, rubbing his hands at the
smouldering fire and looking around in apparent satisfaction. "A King's
man; what the nasty rebels call a 'Tory,' gentlemen. My! Ain't this nice
to be all together so friendly and cosey with my old friend Beacraft?
Who's visitin' ye, Beacraft? Anybody sleepin' up-stairs, old friend?"
Beacraft looked around at us, and his eyes rested on Sir George.
"Who be you?" he asked.
"This is my friend, Mr. Covert," said Mount, fairly sweating cordiality
from every pore--"my dear old friend, Mr. Covert--"
"Oh," said Beacraft, "I thought he was Sir George Covert.... And yonder
stands your dear old friend Timothy Murphy, I suppose?"
"Exactly," smiled Mount, rubbing his palms in appreciation.
The man gave me an evil look.
"I don't know you," he said, "but I could guess your business." And to
Mount: "What do you want?"
"We want to know," said I, "whether Captain Walter Butler is lodging
here?"
"He was," said Beacraft, grimly; "he left yesterday."
"And I hope you like my sto-ry!"
hummed Mount, strolling about the room, peeping into closets and
cupboards, poking under the bed with his rifle, and finally coming to a
halt at the foot of the stairs with his head on one side, like a
jay-bird immersed in thought.
Murphy, who had quietly entered the cellar, returned empty-handed, and,
at a signal from me, stepped outside and seated himself on a
chopping-block in the yard, from whence he commanded a view of the house
and vicinity.
"Now, Mr. Beacraft," I said, "whoever lodges above must come down; and
it would be pleasanter for everybody if you carried the invitation."
"Do you propose to violate the privacy of my house?" he asked.
"I certainly do."
"Where is your warrant of authority?" he inquired, fixing his
penetrating eyes on mine.
"I have my authority from the General commanding this department. My
instructions are verbal--my warrant is military necessity. I fear that
this explanation must satisfy you."
"It does not," he said, doggedly.
"That is unfortunate," I observed. "I will give you one more chance to
answer my question. What person or persons are on the floor above?"
"Captain Butler was there; he departed yesterday with his mother and
sister," replied Beacraft, maliciously.
"Is that all?"
"Miss Brant is there," he muttered.
I glanced at Sir George, who had risen to pace the floor, throwing back
his military cloak. At sight of his uniform Beacraft's small eyes seemed
to dart fire.
"What were you doing when we knocked?" I inquired.
"Cooking," he replied, tersely.
"Then cook breakfast for us all--and Miss Brant," I said. "Mount, help
Mr. Beacraft with the corn-bread and boil those eggs. Sir George, I want
Murphy to stay outside, so if you would spread the cloth--"
"Of course," he said, nervously; and I started up the flimsy wooden
stairway, which shook as I mounted. Beacraft's malignant eyes followed
me for a moment, then he thrust his hands into his pockets and glowered
at Mount, who, whistling cheerfully, squatted before the fireplace,
blowing the embers with a pair of home-made bellows.
On the floor above, four doors faced the narrow passage-way. I knocked
at one. A gentle, sleepy voice answered:
"Very well."
Then, in turn, I entered each of the remaining rooms and searched. In
the first room there was nothing but a bed and a bit of mirror framed in
pine; in the second, another bed and a clothes-press which contained an
empty cider-jug and a tattered almanac; in the third room a mattress lay
on the floor, and beside it two ink-horns, several quills, and a sheet
of blue paper, such as comes wrapped around a sugar-loaf. The sheet of
paper was pinned to the floor with pine splinters, as though a
draughtsman had prepared it for drawing some plan, but there were no
lines on it, and I was about to leave it when a peculiar odor in the
close air of the room brought me back to re-examine it on both sides.
There was no mark on the blue surface. I picked up an ink-horn, sniffed
it, and spilled a drop of the fluid on my finger. The fluid left no
stain, but the odor I had noticed certainly came from it. I folded the
paper and placed it in my beaded pouch, then descended the stairs, to
find Mount stirring the corn-bread and Sir George laying a cloth over
the kitchen table, while Beacraft sat moodily by the window, watching
everybody askance. The fire needed mending and I used the bellows. And,
as I knelt there on the hearth, I saw a milky white stain slowly spread
over the finger which I had dipped into the ink-horn. I walked to the
door and stood in the cool morning air. Slowly the white stain
disappeared.
"Mount," I said, sharply, "you and Murphy and Beacraft will eat your
breakfast at once--and be quick about it." And I motioned Murphy into
the house and sat down on an old plough to wait.
Through the open door I could see the two big riflemen plying spoon and
knife, while Beacraft picked furtively at his johnny-cake, eyes
travelling restlessly from Mount to Murphy, from Sir George to the
wooden stairway.
My riflemen ate like hounds after a chase, tipping their porridge-dishes
to scrape them clean, then bolted eggs and smoking corn-bread in a
trice, and rose, taking Beacraft with them to the doorway.
"Fill your pipes, lads," I said. "Sit out in the sun yonder. Mr.
Beacraft may have some excellent stories to tell you."
"I must do my work," said Beacraft, angrily, but Mount and Murphy each
took an arm and led the unwilling man across the strip of potato-hills
to a grassy knoll under a big oak, from whence a view of the house and
clearing could be obtained. When I entered the house again, Sir George
was busy removing soiled plates and arranging covers for three; and I
sat down close to the fire, drawing the square of blue paper from my
pouch and spreading it to the blaze. When it was piping hot I laid it
upon my knees and examined the design. What I had before me was a
well-drawn map of the Kingsland district, made in white outline, showing
trails and distances between farms. And, out of fifty farms marked,
forty-three bore the word "Rebel," and were ornamented by little
red hatchets.
Also, to every house was affixed the number, sex, and age of its
inhabitants, even down to the three-months babe in the cradle, the
number of cattle, the amount of grain in the barns.
Further, the Kingsland district of the county was divided into three
sections, the first marked "McCraw's Operations," the second "Butler and
Indians," the third "St. Leger's Indians and Royal Greens." The paper
was signed by Uriah Beacraft.
After a few moments I folded this carefully prepared plan for deliberate
and wholesale murder and placed it in my wallet.
Sir George looked up at me with a question in his eyes. I nodded,
saying: "We have enough to arrest Beacraft. If you cannot persuade
Magdalen Brant, we must arrest her, too. You had best use all your art,
Sir George."
"I will do what I can," he said, gravely.
A moment later a light step sounded on the stairs; we both sprang to our
feet and removed our hats. Magdalen Brant appeared, fresh and sweet as a
rose-peony on a dewy morning.
"Sir George!" she exclaimed, in flushed dismay--"and you, too, Mr.
Ormond!"
Sir George bowed, laughingly, saying that our journey had brought us so
near her that we could not neglect to pay our respects.
"Where is Mr. Beacraft?" she said, bewildered, and at the same moment
caught sight of him through the open doorway, seated under the oak-tree,
apparently in delightful confab with Murphy and Mount.
"I do not quite understand," she said, gazing steadily at Sir George.
"We are King's people here. And you--"
She looked at his blue-and-buff uniform, shaking her head, then glanced
at me in my fringed buckskins.
"I trust this war cannot erase the pleasant memories of other days, Miss
Brant," said Sir George, easily. "May we not have one more hour together
before the storm breaks?"
"What storm, Sir George?" she asked, coloring up.
"The British invasion," I said. "We have chosen our colors; your kinsmen
have chosen theirs. It is a political, not a personal difference, Miss
Brant, and we may honorably clasp hands until our hands are needed for
our hilts."
Sir George, graceful and debonair, conducted her to her place at the
rough table; I served the hasty-pudding, making a jest of the situation.
And presently we were eating there in the sunshine of the open doorway,
chatting over the dinner at Varicks', each outvying the others to make
the best of an unhappy and delicate situation.
Sir George spoke of the days in Albany spent with his aunt, and she
responded in sensitive reserve, which presently softened under his
gentle courtesy, leaving her beautiful, dark eyes a trifle dim and her
scarlet mouth quivering,
"It is like another life," she said. "It was too lovely to last. Ah,
those dear people in Albany, and their great kindness to me! And now I
shall never see them again."
"Why not?" asked Sir George. "My aunt Livingston would welcome you."
"I cannot abandon my own kin, Sir George," she said, raising her
distressed eyes to his.
"There are moments when it is best to sever such ties," I observed.
"Perhaps," she said, quickly; "but this is not the moment, Mr. Ormond.
My kinsmen are exiled fugitives, deprived of their own lands by those
who have risen in rebellion against our King. How can I, whom they loved
in their prosperity, leave them in their adversity?"
"You speak of Guy Johnson and Sir John?" I asked.
"Yes; and of those brave people whose blood flows in my veins," she
said, quietly. "Where is the Mohawk nation now, Sir George? This is
their country, secured to them by solemn oath and covenant, inviolate
for all time. Their belts lie with the King of England; his belts lie
still with my people, the Mohawks. Where are they?"
"Fled to Oswego with Sir John," I said.
"And homeless!" she added, in a low, tense voice--"homeless, without
clothing, without food, save what Guy Johnson gives them; their women
and children utterly helpless, the graves of their fathers abandoned,
their fireplace at Onondaga cold, and the brands scattered for the first
time in a thousand years I This have you Boston people done--done
already, without striking a blow."
She turned her head proudly and looked straight at Sir George.
"Is it not the truth?" she asked.
"Only in part," he said, gently. Then, with infinite pains and delicacy,
he told her of our government's desire that the Iroquois should not
engage in the struggle; that if they had consented to neutrality they
might have remained in possession of their lands and all their ancient
rights, guaranteed by our Congress.
He pointed out the fatal consequences of Guy Johnson's councils, the
effect of Butler's lying promises, the dreadful results of such a
struggle between Indians, maddened by the loss of their own homes, and
settlers desperately clinging to theirs.
"It is not the Mohawks I blame," he said, "it is those to whom
opportunity has given wider education and knowledge--the Tories, who are
attempting to use the Six Nations for their own selfish and terrible
ends!... If in your veins run a few drops of Mohawk blood, my child,
English blood runs there, too. Be true to your bright Mohawk blood; be
true to the generous English blood. It were cowardly to deny
either--shameful to betray the one for the other."
She gazed at him, fascinated; his voice swayed her, his handsome, grave
face held her. Whether it was reason or emotion, mind or heart, I know
not, but her whole sensitive being seemed to respond to his voice; and
as he played upon this lovely human instrument, varying his deep theme,
she responded in every nerve, every breath. Reason, hope, sorrow,
tenderness, passion--all these I read in her deep, velvet eyes, and in
the mute language of her lips, and in the timing pulse-beat under the
lace on her breast.
I rose and walked to the door. She did not heed my going, nor did Sir
George.
Under the oak-tree I found Murphy and Mount, smoking their pipes and
watching Beacraft, who lay with his rough head pillowed on his arms,
feigning slumber.
"Why did you mark so many houses with the red hatchet?" I asked,
pleasantly.
He did not move a muscle, but over his face a deep color spread to the
neck and hair.
"Murphy," I said, "take that prisoner to General Schuyler!"
Beacraft sprang up, glaring at me out of bloodshot eyes.
"Shoot him if he breaks away," I added.
From his convulsed and distorted lips a torrent of profanity burst as
Murphy laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and faced him eastward. I drew
the blue paper from my wallet, whispered to Murphy, and handed it to
him. He shoved it inside the breast of his hunting-shirt, cocked his
rifle, and tapped Beacraft on the arm.
So they marched away across the sunlit pasture, where blackbirds walked
among the cattle, and the dew sparkled in tinted drops of fire.
In all my horror of the man I pitied him, for I knew he was going to his
death, there through the fresh, sweet morning, under the blue heavens.
Once I saw him look up, as though to take a last long look at a free
sky, and my heart ached heavily. Yet he had plotted death in its most
dreadful shapes for others who loved life as well as he--death to
neighbors, death to strangers--whole families, whom he had perhaps never
even seen--to mothers, to fathers, old, young, babes in the cradle,
babes at the breast; and he had set down the total of one hundred and
twenty-nine scalps at twenty dollars each, over his own signature.
Schuyler had said to me that it was not the black-eyed Indians the
people of Tryon County dreaded, but the blue-eyed savages. And I had
scarcely understood at that time how the ferocity of demons could lie
dormant in white breasts.
Standing there with Mount under the oak, I saw Sir George and Magdalen
Brant leave the house and stroll down the path towards the stream. Sir
George was still speaking in his quiet, earnest manner; her eyes were
fixed on him so that she scarce heeded her steps, and twice long sprays
of sweetbrier caught her gown, and Sir George freed her. But her eyes
never wandered from him; and I myself thought he never looked so
handsome and courtly as he did now, in his officer's uniform and
black cockade.
Where their pathway entered the alders, below the lane, they vanished
from our sight; and, leaving Mount to watch I went back to the house, to
search it thoroughly from cellar to the dark garret beneath the eaves.
At two o'clock in the afternoon Sir George and Magdalen Brant had not
returned. I called Mount into the house, and we cooked some eggs and
johnny-cake to stay our stomachs. An hour later I sent Mount out to make
a circle of a mile, strike the Iroquois trail and hang to it till dark,
following any traveller, white or red, who might be likely to lead him
towards the secret trysting-place of the False-Faces.
Left alone at the house, I continued to rummage, finding nothing of
importance, however; and towards dusk I came out to see if I might
discover Sir George and Magdalen Brant. They were not in sight. I waited
for a while, strolling about the deserted garden, where a few poppies
turned their crimson disks towards the setting sun, and a peony lay dead
and smelling rank, with the ants crawling all over it. In the mellow
light the stillness was absolute, save when a distant white-throat's
silvery call, long drawn out, floated from the forest's darkening edge.
The melancholy of the deserted home oppressed me, as though I had
wronged it; the sad little house seemed to be watching me out of its
humble windows, like a patient dog awaiting another blow. Beacraft's
worn coat and threadbare vest, limp and musty as the garments of a dead
man, hung on a peg behind the door. I searched the pockets with
repugnance and found a few papers, which smelled like the covers of
ancient books, memoranda of miserable little transactions--threepence
paid for soling shoes, twopence here, a penny there; nothing more. I
threw the papers on the grass, dipped up a bucket of well-water, and
rinsed my fingers. And always the tenantless house watched me furtively
from its humble windows.
The sun's brassy edge glittered above the blue chain of hills as I
walked across the pasture towards the path that led winding among the
alders to the brook below. I followed it in the deepening evening light
and sat down on a log, watching the water swirling through the flat
stepping-stones where trout were swarming, leaping for the tiny winged
creatures that drifted across the dusky water. And as I sat there I
became aware of sounds like voices; and at first, seeing no one, I
thought the noises came from the low bubbling monotone of the stream.
Then I heard a voice murmuring: "I will do what you ask me--I will do
everything you desire."
Fearful of eavesdropping, I rose, peering ahead to make myself known,
but saw nothing in the deepening dusk. On the point of calling, the
words died on my lips as the same voice sounded again, close to me:
"I pray you let me have my way. I will obey you. How can you doubt it?
But I must obey in my own way."
And Sir George's deep, pleasant voice answered: "There is danger to you
in this. I could not endure that, Magdalen."
They were on a path parallel to the trail in which I stood, separated
from me by a deep fringe of willow. I could not see them, though now
they were slowly passing abreast of me.
"What do you care for a maid you so easily persuade?" she asked, with a
little laugh that rang pitifully false in the dusk.
"It is her own merciful heart that persuades her," he said, under his
breath.
"I think my heart is merciful," she said--"more merciful than even I
knew. The restless blood in me set me afire when I saw the wrong done to
these patient people of the Long House.... And when they appealed to me
I came here to justify them, and bid them stand for their own
hearths.... And now you come, teaching me the truth concerning right and
wrong, and how God views justice and injustice; and how this tempest,
once loosened, can never be chained until innocent and guilty are alike
ingulfed.... I am very young to know all these things without
counsel.... I needed aid--and wisdom to teach me--your wisdom. Now, in
my turn, I shall teach; but you must let me teach in my way. There is
only one way that the Long House can be taught.... You do not believe
it, but in this I am wiser than you--I know."
"Will you not tell me what you mean to do, Magdalen?"
"No, Sir George."
"When will you tell me?"
"Never. But you will know what I have done. You will see that I hold
three nations back. What else can you ask? I shall obey you. What more
is there?"
Her voice lingered in the air like an echo of flowing water, then died
away as they moved on, until nothing sounded in the forest stillness
save the low ripple of the stream. An hour later I picked my way back to
the house and saw Sir George standing in the starlight, and Mount beside
him, pointing towards the east.
"I've found the False-Faces' trysting-place," said Mount, eagerly, as I
came up. "I circled and struck the main Iroquois trail half a mile
yonder in the bottom land--a smooth, hard trail, worn a foot deep, sir.
And first comes an Onondaga war-party, stripped and painted something
sickening, and I dogged 'em till they turned off into the bush to shoot
a doe full of arrows--though all had guns!--and left 'em eating. Then
comes three painted devils, all hung about with witch-drums and rattles,
and I tied to them. And, would you believe it, sir, they kept me on a
fox-trot straight east, then south along a deer-path, till they struck
the Kennyetto at that sulphur spring under the big cliff--you know, Sir
George, where Klock's old line cuts into the Mohawk country?"
"I know," said Sir George.
Mount took off his cap and scratched his ear.
"The forest is full of little heaps of flat stones. I could see my
painted friends with the drums and rattles stop as they ran by, and each
pull a flat stone from the river and add it to the nearest heap. Then
they disappeared in the ravine--and I guess that settles it,
Captain Ormond."
Sir George looked at me, nodding.
"That settles it, Ormond," he said.
I bade Mount cook us something to eat. Sir George looked after him as he
entered the house, then began a restless pacing to and fro, arms loosely
clasped behind him.
"About Magdalen Brant," he said, abruptly. "She will not speak to the
three nations for Butler's party. The child had no idea of this wretched
conspiracy to turn the savages loose in the valley. She thought our
people meant to drive the Iroquois from their own lands--a black
disgrace to us if we ever do!... They implored her to speak to them in
council. Did you know they believe her to be inspired? Well, they do.
When she was a child they got that notion, and Guy Johnson and Walter
Butler have been lying to her and telling her what to say to the Oneidas
and Onondagas."
He turned impatiently, pacing the yard, scowling, and gnawing his lip.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"She has gone to bed. She would eat nothing. We must take her back with
us to Albany and summon the sachems of the three nations, with belts."
"Yes," I said, slowly. "But before we leave I must see the False-Faces."
"Did Schuyler make that a point?"
"Yes, Sir George."
"They say the False-Faces' rites are terrific," he muttered. "Thank
God, that child will not be lured into those hideous orgies by
Walter Butler!"
We walked towards the house where Mount had prepared our food. I sat
down on the door-step to eat my porridge and think of what lay before me
and how best to accomplish it. And at first I was minded to send Sir
George back with Magdalen Brant and take only Mount with me. But whether
it was a craven dread of despatching to Dorothy the man she was pledged
to wed, or whether a desire for his knowledge and experience prompted me
to invite his attendance at the False-Faces' rites, I do not know
clearly, even now. He came out of the house presently, and I asked him
if he would go with me.
"One of us should stay here with Magdalen Brant," he said, gravely.
"Is she not safe here?" I asked.
"You cannot leave a child like that absolutely alone," he answered.
"Then take her to Varicks'," I said, sullenly. "If she remains here some
of Butler's men will be after her to attend the council."
"You wish me to go up-stairs and rouse her for a journey--now?"
"Yes; it is best to get her into a safe place," I muttered. "She may
change her ideas, too, betwixt now and dawn."
He re-entered the house. I heard his spurs jingling on the stairway,
then his voice, and a rapping at the door above.
Jack Mount appeared, rifle in hand, wiping his mouth with his fingers;
and together we paced the yard, waiting for Sir George and Magdalen
Brant to set out before we struck the Iroquois trail.
Suddenly Sir George's heavy tread sounded on the stairs; he came to the
door, looking about him, east and west. His features were pallid and
set and seamed with stern lines; he laid an unsteady hand on my arm and
drew me a pace aside.
"Magdalen Brant is gone," he said.
"Gone!" I repeated. "Where?"
"I don't know!" he said, hoarsely.
I stared at him in astonishment. Gone? Where? Into the tremendous
blackness of this wilderness that menaced us on all sides like a sea?
And they had thought to tame her like a land-blown gull among
the poultry!
"Those drops of Mohawk blood are not in her veins for nothing," I said,
bitterly. "Here is our first lesson."
He hung his head. She had lied to him with innocent, smooth face, as all
such fifth-castes lie. No jewelled snake could shed her skin as deftly
as this young maid had slipped from her shoulders the frail garment of
civilization.
The man beside me stood as though stunned. I was obliged to speak to him
thrice ere he roused to follow Jack Mount, who, at a sign from me, had
started across the dark hill-side to guide us to the trysting-place of
the False-Faces' clan.
"Mount," I whispered, as he lingered waiting for us at the
stepping-stones in the dark, "some one has passed this trail since I
stood here an hour ago." And, bending down, I pointed to a high, flat
stepping-stone, which glimmered wet in the pale light of the stars.
Sir George drew his tinder-box, struck steel to flint, and lighted a
short wax dip.
"Here!" whispered Mount.
On the edge of the sand the dip-light illuminated the small imprint of a
woman's shoe, pointing southeast.
Magdalen Brant had heard the voices in the Long House.
"The mischief is done," said Sir George, steadily. "I take the blame
and disgrace of this."
"No; I take it," said I, sternly. "Step back, Sir George. Blow out that
dip! Mount, can you find your way to that sulphur spring where the flat
stones are piled in little heaps?"
The big fellow laughed. As he strode forward into the depthless sea of
darkness a whippoorwill called.
"That's Elerson, sir," he said, and repeated the call twice.
The rifleman appeared from the darkness, touching his cap to me. "The
horses are safe, sir," he said. "The General desires you to send your
report through Sir George Covert and push forward with Mount
to Stanwix."
He drew a sealed paper from his pouch and handed it to me, saying that I
was to read it.
Sir George lighted his dip once more. I broke the seal and read my
orders under the feeble, flickering light:
"TEMPORARY HEADQUARTERS,
VARICK MANOR, June 1, 1777.
To Captain Ormond, on scout:
Sir,--The General commanding this department desires you to
employ all art and persuasion to induce the Oneidas,
Tuscaroras, and Onondagas to remain quiet. Failing this, you
are again reminded that the capture of Magdalen Brant is of
the utmost importance. If possible, make Walter Butler also
prisoner, and send him to Albany under charge of Timothy
Murphy; but, above all, secure the person of Magdalen Brant
and send her to Varick Manor under escort of Sir George
Covert. If, for any reason, you find these orders impossible
of execution, send your report of the False-Faces' council
through Sir George Covert, and push forward with the riflemen
Mount, Murphy, and Elerson until you are in touch with
Gansevoort's outposts at Stanwix. Warn Colonel Gansevoort
that Colonel Barry St. Leger has moved from Oswego, and order
out a strong scout towards Fort Niagara. Although Congress
authorizes the employment of friendly Oneidas as scouts,
General Schuyler trusts that you will not avail yourself of
this liberty. Noblesse oblige! The General directs you to
return only when you have carried out these orders to the
best of your ability. You will burn this paper before you set
out for Stanwix. I am, sir,
"Your most humble and obedient servant,
"JOHN HARROW, Major and A. D. C. to the Major-General
Commanding. (Signed) PHILIP SCHUYLER, Major-General
Commanding the Department of the North."
Hot with mortification at the wretched muddle I had already made of my
mission, I thrust the paper into my pouch and turned to Elerson.
"You know Magdalen Brant?" I asked, impatiently.
"Yes, sir."
"There is a chance," I said, "that she may return to that house on the
hill behind us. If she comes back you will see that she does not leave
the house until we return."
Sir George extinguished the dip once more. Mount turned and set off at a
swinging pace along the invisible path; after him strode Sir George; I
followed, brooding bitterly on my stupidity, and hopeless now of
securing the prisoner in whose fragile hands the fate of the
Northland lay.