"Bad, bad as hell!" he muttered, fingering his sword-hilt and staring
off into the darkness. "What's the situation above us? Gansevoort's
holding out, isn't he? I sent him a note to-night. Of course he's
holding out; isn't he?"
I made a short report of the situation as I knew it; the General looked
straight into my eyes as though he were not listening.
"Yes, yes," he said, impatiently. "I know how to deal with St. Leger and
Sir John--I wrote Gansevoort that I understood how to deal with them. He
has only to sit tight; I'll manage the rest."
His dark, lean, eager visage caught the lantern light as he turned to
scan the moonlit sky. "Ten minutes," he muttered; "we should strike
German Flatts by sundown to-morrow if our supplies come up." And, aloud,
with an abrupt and vigorous gesture, "McCraw's band are scalping the
settlers, they say?"
I told him what I had seen. He nodded, then his virile face changed and
he gave me a sulky look.
"Captain Ormond," he said, "folk say that I brood over the wrongs done
me by Congress. It's a lie; I don't care a damn about Congress--but let
it pass. What I wish to say is this: On the second of August the best
general in these United States except George Washington was deprived of
his command and superseded by a--a--thing named Gates.... I speak of
General Philip Schuyler, my friend, and now my fellow-victim."
Shocked and angry at the news of such injustice to the man whose
splendid energy had already paralyzed the British invasion of New York,
I stiffened up, rigid and speechless.
"Ho!" cried Arnold, with a disagreeable laugh. "It mads you, does it?
Well, sir, think of me who have lived to see five men promoted over my
head--and I left in the anterooms of Congress to eat my heart out! But
let that pass, too. By the eternal God, I'll show them what stuff is in
me! Let it pass, Ormond, let it pass."
He began to pace the ground, gnawing his thick lower lip, and if ever
the infernal fire darted from human eyes, I saw its baleful
flicker then.
With a heave of his chest and a scowl, he controlled his voice, stopping
in his nervous walk to face me again.
"Ormond, you've gone up higher--the commission is here." He pulled a
packet of papers from his breast-pocket and thrust them at me. "Schuyler
did it. He thinks well of you, sir. On the first of August he learned
that he was to be superseded. He told Clinton that you deserved a
commission for what you did at that Iroquois council-fire. Here it is;
you're to raise a regiment of rangers for local defence of the Mohawk
district.... I congratulate you, Colonel Ormond."
He offered his bony, nervous hand; I clasped it, dazed and speechless.
"Remember me," he said, eagerly. "Let me count on your voice at the next
council of war. You will not regret it, Colonel. Even if you go
higher--even if you rise over my luckless head, you will not regret the
friendship of Benedict Arnold. For, by Heaven, sir, I have it in me to
lead men; and they shall not keep me down, and they shall not fetter
me--no, not even this beribboned lap-dog Gates!... Stand my friend,
Ormond. I need every friend I have. And I promise you the world shall
hear of me one day!"
I shall never forget his worn and shadowy face, the long nose, the
strong, selfish chin, the devouring flame burning his soul out
through his eyes.
"Luck be with you!" he said, abruptly, extending his hand. Once more
that bony, fervid clasp, and he was gone.
A moment later the ground vibrated; a dark, massed column of troops
appeared in the moonlight, marching swiftly without drum-tap or spoken
command; the dim forms of mounted officers rode past like shadows
against the stars; vague shapes of wagons creaked after, rolling on
muffled wheels; more troops followed quickly; then the shadowy pageant
ended; and there was nothing before me but the moon in the sky above a
world of ghostly wilderness.
One camp lantern had been left for my use; by its nickering light I
untied the documents left me by Arnold; and, sorting the papers, chose
first my orders, reading the formal notice of my transfer from Morgan's
Rifles to the militia; then the order detailing me to the Mohawk
district, with headquarters at Varick Manor; and, finally, my commission
on parchment, signed by Governor Clinton and by Philip Schuyler,
Major-General Commanding the Department of the North.
It was, perhaps, the last official act as chief of department of this
generous man.
The next letter was in his own handwriting. I broke the heavy seal and
read:
"ALBANY,
"August 10, 1777.
"Colonel George Ormond"
"MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,--As you have perhaps heard rumors that
General Gates has superseded me in command of the army now
operating against General Burgoyne, I desire to confirm these
rumors for your benefit.
"My orders I now take from General Gates, without the
slightest rancor, I assure you, or the least unworthy
sentiment of envy or chagrin. Congress, in its wisdom, has
ordered it; and I count him unspeakably base who shall serve
his country the less ardently because of a petty and personal
disappointment in ambitions unfulfilled.
"I remain loyal in heart and deed to my country and to
General Gates, who may command my poor talents in any manner
he sees fitting.
"I say this to you because I am an older man, and I know
something of younger men, and I have liked you from the
first. I say it particularly because, now that you also owe
duty and instant obedience to General Gates, I do not wish
your obedience retarded, or your sense of duty confused by
any mistaken ideas of friendship to me or loyalty to
my person.
"In these times the individual is nothing, the cause
everything. Cliques, cabals, political conspiracies are
foolish, dangerous--nay, wickedly criminal. For, sir, as long
as the world endures, a house divided against itself
must fall.
"Which leads me with greatest pleasure to mention your wise
and successful diplomacy in the matter of the Long House.
That house you have most cleverly divided against itself; and
it must fall--it is tottering now, shaken to its foundations
of centuries. Also, I have the pleasure to refer to your
capture of the man Beacraft and his papers, disclosing a
diabolical plan of murder. The man has been condemned by a
court on the evidence as it stood, and he is now awaiting
execution.
"I have before me Colonel Visscher's partial report of the
battle of Oriskany. Your name is not mentioned in this
report, but, knowing you as I believe I do, I am satisfied
that you did your full duty in that terrible affair;
although, in your report to me by Oneida runner, you record
the action as though you yourself were a mere spectator.
"I note with pleasure your mention of the gallantry of your
riflemen, Mount, Murphy, and Elerson, and have reported it to
their company captain, Mr. Long, who will, in turn, bring it
to the attention of Colonel Morgan.
"I also note that you have not availed yourself of the
war-services of the Oneidas, for which I beg to thank you
personally.
"I recall with genuine pleasure my visit to your uncle, Sir
Lupus Varick, where I had the fortune to make your
acquaintance and, I trust, your friendship.
"Mrs. Schuyler joins me in kindest remembrance to you, and to
Sir Lupus, whose courtesy and hospitality I have to-day had
the honor to acknowledge by letter. Through your good office
we take advantage of this opportunity to send our love to
Miss Dorothy, who has won our hearts.
"I am, sir, your most obedient,
PHILIP SCHUYLER,
Major-General.
"P.S.--I had almost forgotten to congratulate you on your
merited advancement in military rank, for which you may thank
our wise and good Governor Clinton.
"I shall not pretend to offer you unasked advice upon this
happy occasion, though it is an old man's temptation to do
so, perhaps even his prerogative. However, there are younger
colonels than you, sir, in our service--ay, and brigadiers,
too. So be humble, and lay not this honor with too much
unction to your heart. Your friend,
"PH. SCHUYLER."
I sat for a while staring at this good man's letter, then opened the
next missive.
"HEADQUARTERS, DEPARTMENT OF THE NORTH, STILLWATER, August
12, 1777.
"Colonel George Ormond, on Scout:
"SIR,--By order of Major-General Gates, commanding this
department, you will, upon reception of this order, instantly
repair to Varick Manor and report your arrival by express or
a native runner to be trusted, preferably an Oneida. At nine
o'clock, the day following your arrival at Varicks', you will
leave on your journey to Stillwater, where you will report to
General Gates for further orders.
"Your small experience in military matters of organization
renders it most necessary that you should be aided in the
formation of your regiment of rangers by a detail from
Colonel Morgan's Rifles, as well as by the advice of
General Gates.
"You will, therefore, retain the riflemen composing your
scout, but attempt nothing towards enlisting your companies
until you receive your instructions personally and in full
from headquarters.
"I am, sir,
"Your very obedient servant,
"WILKINSON,
Adjutant-General.
"For Major-General Gates, commanding."
"Why, in Heaven's name, should I lose time by journeying to
headquarters?" I said, aloud, looking up from my letter. Ah! There was
the difference between Schuyler, who picked his man, told him what he
desired, and left him to fulfil it, and Gates, who chose a man, flung
his inexperience into his face, and bade him twirl his thumbs and sit
idle until headquarters could teach him how to do what he had been
chosen to do, presumably upon his ability to do it!
A helpless sensation of paralysis came over me--a restless, confused
impression of my possible untrustworthiness, and of unfriendliness to me
in high quarters, even of a thinly veiled hostility to me.
What a letter! That was not the way to get work out of a
subordinate--this patronizing of possible energy and enthusiasm, this
cold dampening of ardor, as though ardor in itself were a reproach and
zeal required reproof.
Wondering why they had chosen me if they thought me a blundering and,
perhaps, mischievous zealot, I picked up a parcel, undirected, and broke
the string.
Out of it fell two letters. The writing was my cousin Dorothy's; and,
trembling all over in spite of myself, I broke the seal of the first. It
was undated:
"DEAREST,--Your letter from Oriskany is before me. I am here
in your room, the door locked, alone with your letter,
overwhelmed with love and tenderness and fear for you.
"They tell me that you have been made colonel of a regiment,
and the honor thrills yet saddens me--all those colonels
killed at Oriskany! Is it a post of special danger, dear?
"Oh, my brave, splendid lover! with your quiet, steady eyes
and your bright hair--you angel on earth who found me a child
and left me an adoring woman--can it be that in this world
there is such a thing as death for you? And could the world
last without you?
* * * * *
"Ah me! dreary me! the love that is in me! Who could believe
it? Who could doubt that it is divine and not inspired by
hell as I once feared; it is so beautiful, so hopelessly
beautiful, like that faint thrill of splendor that passes
shadowing a dream where, for an instant, we think to see a
tiny corner of heaven sparkling out through a million fathoms
of terrific night.... Did you ever dream that?
* * * * *
"We have been gay here. Young Mr. Van Rensselaer came from
Albany to heal the breach with father. We danced and had
games. He is a good young man, this patroon and patriot.
Listen, dear: he permitted all his tenants to join the army
of Gates, cancelled their rent-rolls during their service,
and promised to provide for their families. It will take a
fortune, but his deeds are better than his words.
"Only one thing, dear, that troubled me. I tell it to you, as
I tell you everything, knowing you to be kind and pitiful. It
is this: he asked father's permission to address me, not
knowing I was affianced. How sad is hopeless love!
"There was a battle at Bennington, where General Stark's men
whipped the Brunswick troops and took equipments for a
thousand cavalry, so that now you should see our Legion of
Horse, so gay in their buff-and-blue and their new helmets
and great, spurred jack-boots and bright sabres!
"Ruyven was stark mad to join them; and what do you think?
Sir Lupus consented, and General Schuyler lent his kind
offices, and to-day, if you please, my brother is strutting
about the yard in the uniform of a Cornet of Legion cavalry!
"To-night the squadron leaves to chase some of McDonald's
renegades out of Broadalbin. You remember Captain McDonald,
the Glencoe brawler?--it's the same one, and he's done
murder, they say, on the folk of Tribes Hill. I am thankful
that Ruyven is in Sir George Covert's squadron.
"And, dear, what do you think? Walter Butler was taken, three
days since, by some of Sir George Covert's riders, while
visiting his mother and sister at a farm-house near
Johnstown. He was taken within our lines, it seems, and in
civilian's clothes; and the next day he was tried by a
drum-court at Albany and condemned to death as a spy. Is it
not awful? He has not yet been sentenced. It touches us, too,
that an Ormond-Butler should die on the gallows. What horrors
men commit! What horrors! God pity his mother!
* * * * *
"I am writing at a breathless pace, quill flying, sand
scattered by the handful--for my feverish gossip seems to
help me to endure.
"Time, space, distance vanish while I write; and I am with
you ... until my letter ends.
"Then, quick! my budget of gossip! I said that we had been
gay, and that is true, for what with the Legion camping in
our quarters and General Arnold's men here for two days, and
Schuyler's and Gates's officers coming and going and always
remaining to dine, at least, we have danced and picnicked and
played music and been frightened when McDonald's men came too
near. And oh, the terrible pall that fell on our company when
news came of poor Janet McCrea's murder by Indians--you did
not know her, but I did, and loved her dearly in school--the
dear little thing! But Burgoyne's Indians murdered her, and a
fiend called The Wyandot Panther scalped her, they say--all
that beautiful, silky, long hair! But Burgoyne did not hang
him, Heaven only knows why, for they said Burgoyne was a
gentleman and an honorable soldier!
"Then our company forgot the tragedy, and we danced--think of
it, dear! How quickly things are forgotten! Then came the
terrible news from Oriskany! I was nearly dead with fright
until your letter arrived.... So, God help us I we danced and
laughed and chattered once more when Arnold's troops came.
"I did not quite share the admiration of the women for
General Arnold. He is not finely fibred; not a man who
appeals to me; though I am very sorry for the slight that the
Congress has put upon him; and it is easy to see that he is a
brave and dashing officer, even if a trifle coarse in the
grain and inclined to be a little showy. What I liked best
about him was his deep admiration and friendship for our dear
General Schuyler, which does him honor, and doubly so because
General Schuyler has few friends in politics, and Arnold was
perfectly fearless in showing his respect and friendship for
a man who could do him no favors.
* * * * *
"Dear, a strange and amusing thing has happened. A few score
of friendly Oneidas and lukewarm Onondagas came here to pay
their respects to Magdalen Brant, who, they heard, was living
at our house.
"Magdalen received them; she is a sweet girl and very good to
her wild kin; and so father permitted them to camp in the
empty house in the sugar-bush, and sent them food and tobacco
and enough rum to please them without starting them
war-dancing.
"Now listen. You have heard me tell of the Stonish
Giants--those legendary men of stone whom the Iroquois,
Hurons, Algonquins, and Lenape stood in such dread of two
hundred years ago, and whom our historians believe to have
been some lost company of Spaniards in armor, strayed
northward from Cortez's army.
"Well, then, this is what occurred:
"They were all at me to put on that armor which hangs in the
hall--the same suit which belonged to the first Maid-at-Arms,
and which she is painted in, and which I wore that last
memorable night--you remember.
"So, to please them, I dressed in it--helmet and all--and
came down. Sir George Covert's horse stood at the stockade
gate, and somebody--I think it was General Arnold--dared me
to ride it in my armor.
"Well, ... I did. Then a mad desire for a gallop seized
me--had not mounted a horse since that last ride with
you--and I set spurs to the poor beast, who was already
dancing under the unaccustomed burden, and away we tore.
"My conscience! what a ride that was! and the clang of my
armor set the poor horse frantic till I could scarce
govern him.
"Then the absurd happened. I wheeled the horse into the
pasture, meaning to let him tire himself, for he was really
running away with me; when, all at once, I saw a hundred
terror-stricken savages rush out of the sugar-house, stand
staring a second, then take to their legs with most doleful
cries and hoots and piteous howls.
"'Oonah! The Stonish Giants have returned! Oonah! Oonah! The
Giants of Stone!'
"My vizor was down and locked. I called out to them in
Delaware, but at the sound of my voice they ran the
faster--five score frantic barbarians! And, dear, if they
have stopped running yet I do not know it, for they never
came back.
"But the most absurd part of it all is that the Onondagas,
who are none too friendly with us, though they pretend to be,
have told the Cayugas that the Stonish Giants have returned
to earth from Biskoona, which is hell. And I doubt not that
the dreadful news will spread all through the Six Nations,
with, perhaps, some astonishing results to us. For scouts
have already come in, reporting trouble between General
Burgoyne and his Wyandots, who declare they have had enough
of the war and did not enlist to fight the Stonish
Giants--which excuse is doubtless meaningless to him.
"And other scouts from the northwest say that St. Leger can
scarce hold the Senecas to the siege of Stanwix because of
their great loss at Oriskany, which they are inclined to
attribute to spells cast by their enemies, who enjoy the
protection of the Stonish Giants.
"Is it not all mad enough for a child's dream?
"Ay, life and love are dreams, dear, and a mad world spins
them out of nothing.... Forgive me ... I have been sewing on
my wedding-gown again. And it is nigh finished.
"Good-night. I love you. D."
Blindly I groped for the remaining letter and tore the seal.
"Sir George has just had news of you from an Oneida who says
you may be here at any moment! And I, O God I terrified at my
own mad happiness, fearing myself in that meeting, begged him
to wed me on the morrow. I was insane, I think, crazed with
fear, knowing that, were I not forever beyond you, I must
give myself to you and abide in hell for all eternity!
"And he was astonished, I think, but kind, as he always is;
and now the dreadful knowledge has come to me that for me
there is no refuge, no safety in marriage which I, poor fool,
fled to for sanctuary lest I do murder on my own soul!
"What shall I do? What can I do? I have given my word to wed
him on the morrow. If it be mortal sin to show ingratitude to
a father and deceive a lover, what would it be to deceive a
husband and disgrace a father?
"And I, silly innocent, never dreamed but that temptation
ceased within the holy bonds of wedlock--though sadness might
endure forever.
"And now I know! In the imminent and instant presence of my
marriage I know that I shall love you none the less, shall
tempt and be tempted none the less. And, in this resistless,
eternal love, I may fall, dragging you down with me to our
endless punishment.
"It was not the fear of punishment that kept me true to my
vows before; it was something within me, I don't know what.
"But, if I were wedded with him, it would be fear of
punishment alone that could save me--not terror of flames; I
could endure them with you, but the new knowledge that has
come to me that my punishment would be the one thing I could
not endure--eternity without you!
"Neither in heaven nor in hell may I have you. Is there no
way, my beloved? Is there no place for us?
* * * * *
"I have been to the porch to tell Sir George that I must
postpone the wedding. I did not tell him. He was standing
with Magdalen Brant, and she was crying. I did not know she
had received bad news. She said the news was bad. Perhaps Sir
George can help her.
"I will tell him later that the wedding must be postponed....
I don't know why, either. I cannot think. I can scarcely see
to write. Oh, help me once more, my darling! Do not come to
Varicks'! That is all I desire on earth! For we must never,
never, see each other again!"
* * * * *
Stunned, I reeled to my feet and stumbled out into the moonlight,
staring across the misty wilderness into the east, where, beyond the
forests, somewhere, she lay, perhaps a bride.
A deathly chill struck through and through me. To a free man, with one
shred of pity, honor, unselfish love, that appeal must be answered. And
he were the basest man in all the world who should ignore it and show
his face at Varick Manor--were he free to choose.
But I was not free; I was a military servant, pledged under solemn oath
and before God to obedience--instant, unquestioning, unfaltering
obedience.
And in my trembling hand I held my written orders to report at Varick
Manor.