THE ARTILLERY BALL
When I descended from my chamber to the south drawing-room I found
there a respectable company of gentlemen assembled, awaiting the ladies
who had not yet appeared. First I greeted Sir Henry Clinton, who had at
that moment entered, followed by his staff and by two glittering
officers of his Seventh Light Dragoons. He appeared pale and worn, his
eyes somewhat inflamed from overstudy by candle-light, but he spoke to
me pleasantly, as did Oliver De Lancey, the Adjutant-General, who had
succeeded poor young Andre--an agreeable and accomplished gentleman,
and very smart in his brilliant uniform of scarlet loaded with stiff
gold.
O'Neil, in his gay dress of the Seventeenth Dragoons, and Harkness,
wearing similar regimentals, were overflushed and frolicksome, no doubt
having already begun their celebration for the victory of the Flatbush
birds, which they had backed so fortunately at the Coq d'Or. Sir Peter,
too, was in mischievous good spirits, examining my very splendid
costume as though he had not chosen it for me at his own tailor's.
"Gad, Carus!" he exclaimed, "has his Majesty appointed a viceroy in
North America--or is it the return of that Solomon whose subjects rule
the Dock Ward still?"
O'Neil and Harkness, too, were merry, making pretense that my glitter
set them blinking; but the grave, gray visage of Sir Henry, and his
restless pacing of the polished floor, gave us all pause; and
presently, as by common accord, voices around him dropped to lower
tones, and we spoke together under breath, watching askance the
commander-in-chief, who now stood, head on his jeweled breast, hands
clasped loosely behind his back.
"Sir Peter," he said, looking up with a forced laugh, "I have
irritating news. The rebel dragoons are foraging within six miles of
our lines at Kingsbridge."
For a month we here in New York had become habituated to alarms. We had
been warned to expect the French fleet; we had known that his
Excellency was at Dobbs Ferry, with quarters at Valentine's; we had
seen, day by day, the northern lines strengthened, new guns mounted on
the forts and batteries, new regiments arrive, constant alarms for the
militia, and the city companies under arms, marching up Murray Hill,
only, like that celebrated army of a certain King of France, to march
down again with great racket of drums and overfierce officers noisily
shouting commands. But even I had not understood how near to us the
siege had drawn, closing in steadily, inch by inch, from the green
Westchester hills.
A little thrill shot through me as I noted the newer, deeper lines
etched in Sir Henry's pallid face, and the grave silence of De Lancey,
as he stood by the window, arms folded, eying his superior under
knitted brows.
"Why not march out, bands playing?" suggested Sir Peter gaily.
"By God, we may do that yet to the tune they choose for us!" blurted
out Sir Henry.
"I meant an assault," said Sir Peter, the smile fading from his
handsome face.
"I know what you meant," returned Sir Henry wearily. "But that is what
they wish. I haven't the men, gentlemen."
There was a silence. He stood there, swaying slowly to and fro on his
polished heels, buried in reflection; but I, who stood a little to one
side, could see his fingers clasped loosely behind his back, nervously
working and picking at one another.
"What do they expect?" he said suddenly, lifting his head but looking
at no one--"what do they expect of me in England? I have not twelve
thousand effectives, and of these not nine thousand fit for duty. _They_
have eleven thousand, counting the French, not a dozen miles north of
us. Suppose I attack? Suppose I beat them? They have but a mile to fall
back, and they are stronger posted than before. I can not pass the
Harlem with any chance of remaining, unless I leave here in New York a
garrison of at least six thousand regulars. This gives me but three
thousand regulars for a sortie." He moved his head slowly, his eyes
traveled from one to another with that heavy, dazed expression which saw
nothing.
"Thirty thousand men could not now force Fordham Heights--and but a
single bridge left across the Harlem. To boat it means to be beaten in
detail. I tell you, gentlemen, that the only chance I might have in an
attempt upon any part of Washington's army must be if he advances. In
formal council, Generals Kniphausen, Birch, and Robertson sustain me;
and, believing I am right, I am prepared to suffer injustice and
calumny in silence from my detractors here in New York and at home."
His heavy eyes hardened; a flash lighted them, and he turned to Sir
Peter, adding:
"I have listened to a very strange proposition from the gentleman you
presented to me, Sir Peter. His ideas of civilized warfare and mine do
not run in like channels."
"So I should imagine," replied Sir Peter dryly. "But he is my guest,
and at his pressing solicitation I went with him to wait upon you."
Sir Henry smiled, for Sir Peter had spoken very distinctly, though
without heat.
"My dear friend," said the general gently, "are you to blame for the
violent views of this gentleman who so--ah--_distinguished_ himself at
Cherry Valley?"
A sour grimace stamped the visage of every officer present; the name of
Cherry Valley was not pleasant to New York ears.
At that moment Walter Butler entered, halted on the threshold, glancing
haughtily around him, advanced amid absolute silence, made his bow to
Sir Peter, turned and rendered a perfect salute to Sir Henry, then, as
Sir Peter quietly named him to every man present, greeted each with
ceremony and a graceful reserve that could not but stamp him as a
gentleman of quality and breeding.
To me, above all, was his attitude faultless; and I, relinquishing to a
tyrant conscience all hopes of profiting by my blunder in angering him,
and giving up all hopes of a duel and consequently of freedom from my
hateful business in New York, swallowed pride and repulsion at a single
gulp, and crossed the room to where he stood alone, quite at his ease
amid the conversation which excluded him.
"Mr. Butler," I said, "I spoke hastily and thoughtlessly an hour since.
I come to say so."
He bowed instantly, regarding me with curious eyes.
"I know not how to make further amends," I began, but he waved his hand
with peculiar grace, a melancholy smile on his pale visage.
"I only trust, Mr. Renault, that you may one day understand me better.
No amends are necessary. I assure you that I shall endeavor to so
conduct that in future neither you nor any man may misapprehend my
motives." He glanced coolly across at Sir Henry, then very pleasantly
spoke of the coming rout at the Fort, expressing pleasure in gaiety and
dancing.
"I love music, too," he said thoughtfully, "but have heard little for a
year save the bellow of conch-horns from the rebel riflemen of Morgan's
corps."
Mr. De Lancey had come up, moved by the inbred courtesy which
distinguished not Sir Henry, who ostentatiously held Sir Peter in
forced consultation, his shoulder turned to Walter Butler. And, of the
twain, Mr. Butler cut the better figure, and spite of his true
character, I was secretly gratified to see how our Tryon County gentry
suffered nothing in comparison of savoir faire with the best that
England sent us. Courtesy to an enemy--that is a creed no gentleman can
renounce save with his title. I speak not of disputes in hot blood, but
of a chance meeting upon neutral ground; and Sir Henry was no credit to
his title and his country in his treatment there of Walter Butler.
One by one all spoke to Mr. Butler; laughter among us broke out as wine
was served and compliments exchanged.
"The hardest lesson man is born to is that lesson which teaches him to
await the dressing of his lady," said De Lancey.
"Aye, and await it, too, without impatience!" said Captain Harkness.
"And in perfect good-humor," echoed De Lancey gravely. O'Neil sat down
at the piano and played "The World Turned Upside-Down," all drifting
into the singing, voice after voice; and the beauty of Walter Butler's
voice struck all, so that presently, one by one, we fell silent, and he
alone carried the quaint old melody to its end.
"I have a guitar hereabouts," blurted out Sir Peter, motioning a
servant.
The instrument was brought, and Walter Butler received it without false
modesty or wearying protestation, and, touching it dreamily, he sang:
"Ninon! Ninon! Que fais-tu de la vie?
L'heure s'enfuit, le jour succede au jour,
Rose, ce soir--demain fletrie
Comment vis-tu, toi qui n'as pas d'amour?
* * *
Ouvrez-vous, jeunes fleurs
Si la mort vous enleve,
La vie est un sommeil, l'amour en est le reve!"
Sad and sweet the song faded, lingering like perfume, as the deep
concord of the strings died out. All were moved. We pressed him to sing
more, and he sang what we desired in perfect taste and with a
simplicity that fascinated all.
I, too, stood motionless under the spell, yet struggling to think of
what I had heard of the nearness of his Excellency to New York, and how
I might get word to him at once concerning the Oneidas' danger and the
proposed attempt upon the frontier granaries. The ladies had as yet
given no sign of readiness; all present, even Sir Henry, stood within a
circle around Walter Butler. So I stepped quietly into the hallway and
hastened up the stairs to my chamber, which I locked first, then seized
paper and quill and fell to scribbling:
"TO HIS EXCELLENCY, GEN'L WASHINGTON:
"_Sir_--I regret to report that, through thoughtlessness and
inadvertence, I have made a personal enemy of Captain Walter Butler
of the Rangers, who is now here on a mission to enlist the aid of
Sir Henry Clinton in a new attempt on the frontier. His purpose in
this enterprise is to ruin our granaries, punish the Oneidas
friendly to us, and, if aided from below, seize Albany, or at least
Johnstown, Caughnawaga, and Schenectady. Sir John Johnson, Major
Ross, and Captain Butler are preparing to gather at Niagara Fort.
They expect to place a strong, swift force in the field--Rangers,
Greens, Hessians, Regulars, and partizans, not counting Brant's
Iroquois of the Seneca, Cayuga, and Mohawk nations.
"The trysting-place is named as Thendara. Only an Iroquois, adopted
or native, can understand how Thendara is to be found. It is a town
that has no existence--a fabled town that has existed and will
exist again, but does not now exist. It is a mystic term used in
council, and understood only by those clan ensigns present at the
Rite of Condolence. At a federal council of the Five Nations, at a
certain instant in the ceremonies, that spot which for a week shall
be chosen to represent the legendary and lost town of Thendara, is
designated to the clan attestants.
"Now, sir, as our allies the Oneidas dare not answer to a belt
summons for federal council, there is no one who can discover for
you the location of the trysting-spot, Thendara. I, however, am an
Oneida councilor, having conformed to the law of descent by
adoption; and having been raised up to ensign by the Wolf-Clan of
the Oneida Nation, beg leave to place my poor services at your
Excellency's disposal. There may be a chance that I return alive;
and you, sir, are to judge whether any attempt of mine to answer
the Iroquois belt, which surely I shall receive, is worth your
honorable consideration. In the meanwhile I am sending copies of
this letter to Colonel Willett and to Gen'l Schuyler."
I hastily signed, seized more writing-paper, and fell to copying
furiously. And at length it was accomplished, and I wrapped up the
letters in a box of snuff, tied and sealed the packet, and called
Dennis.
"Take this snuff back to Ennis, in Hanover Square," I said peevishly,
"and inform him that Mr. Renault desires a better quality."
My servant took the box and hastened away. I stood an instant,
listening. Walter Butler was still singing. I cast my eyes about,
picked up a half-written sheet I had discarded for fault of blots,
crumpled it, and reached for a candle to burn it. But at that instant I
heard the voices of the ladies on the landing below, so quickly opening
my wainscot niche I thrust the dangerous paper within, closed the
panel, and hastened away down-stairs to avoid comment for my absence.
In the merry company now assembled below I could scarcely have been
missed, I think, for the Italian chaises had but just that moment
appeared to bear us away to the Fort, and the gentlemen were clustered
about Lady Coleville, who, encircled by a laughing bevy of pretty
women, was designating chaise-partners, reading from a list she held in
her jeweled hands. Those already allotted to one another had moved
apart, standing two and two, and as I entered the room I saw Walter
Butler give his arm to Rosamund Barry at Lady Coleville's command, a
fixed smile hiding his disappointment, which turned to a white grimace
as Lady Coleville ended with: "Carus, I entrust to your escort the Hon.
Elsin Grey, and if you dare to run off with her there are some twenty
court-swords ready here to ask the reason why. Sir Henry, will you take
me as your penance?"
"Now, gentlemen," cried Sir Peter gaily, "the chaises are here; and
please to remember that there is no Kissing-Bridge between Wall Street
and the Battery."
Elsin Grey turned to me, laying her soft white hand on mine.
"Did you hear Mr. Butler sing?" she whispered. "Is it not divine enough
to steal one's heart away?"
"He sings well," I said, gazing in wonder at her ball-gown--pale
turquoise silk, with a stomacher of solid brilliants and petticoat of
blue and silver. "Elsin, I think I never saw so beautiful a maid in all
my life, nor a beautiful gown so nobly borne."
"Do you really think so?" she asked, delighted at my bluntness. "And
you, too, Carus--why, you are like a radiant one from the sky! I have
ever thought you handsome, but not as flawless as you now reveal
yourself. Lord! we should cut a swathe to-night, you and I, sir,
blinding all eyes in our proper glitter. I could dance all night, and
all day too! I never felt so light, so gay, so eager, so reckless. I'm
quivering with delight, Carus, from throat to knee; and, for the rest,
my head is humming with the devil's tattoo and my feet keeping time."
She raised the hem of her petticoat a hand's breadth, and tapped the
floor with one little foot--a trifle only. "That ballet figure that we
did at Sir Henry's--do you remember?--and the heat of the ballroom, and
the French red running from the women's cheeks? To-night is perfect,
cool and fragrant. I shall dance until I die, and go up to heaven in
one high, maddened whirl--zip!--like a burning soul!"
We were descending the stoop now. Our chaise stood ready. I placed her
and followed, and away we rolled down Broadway.
"Am I to have two dances?" I asked.
"Two? Why, you blessed man, you may have twenty!"
She turned to me, eyes sparkling, fan half spread, a picture of
exquisite youth and beauty. Her jewels flashed in the chaise-lamps, her
neck and shoulders glowed clear and softly fair.
"Is that French red on lip and cheek?" I asked, to tease her.
"If there were a certain sort of bridge betwixt Wall Street and the
Fort you might find out without asking," she said, looking me daringly
in the eyes. "Lacking that same bridge, you have another bridge and
another problem, Mr. Renault."
"For lack of a Kissing-Bridge I must solve the _pons asinorum_, I see,"
said I, imprisoning her hands. There was a delicate hint of a struggle,
a little cry, and I had kissed her. Breathless she looked at me; the
smile grew fixed on her red lips.
"Your experience in such trifles is a blessing to the untaught," she
said. "You have not crumpled a ribbon. Truly, Carus, only long and
intense devotion to the art could turn you out a perfect master."
"My compliments to you, Elsin; I take no credit that your gown is
smooth and the lace unruffled."
"Thank you; but if you mean that I, too, am practised in the art, you
are wrong."
The fixed smile trembled a little, but her eyes were wide and bright.
"Would you laugh, Carus, if I said it: what you did to me--is the
first--the very first in all my life?"
"Oh, no," I said gravely, "I should not laugh if you commanded
otherwise."
She looked at me in silence, the light from the chaise-lamps playing
over her flushed face. Presently she turned and surveyed the darkness
where, row on row, ruins of burned houses stood, the stars shining down
through roofless walls.
Into my head came ringing the song that Walter Butler sang:
"Ninon! Ninon! thy sweet life flies!
Wasted in hours day follows day.
The rose to-night to-morrow dies:
Wilt thou disdain to love alway?
How canst thou live unconscious of Love's fire,
Immune to passion, guiltless of desire?"
Now all around us lamplight glimmered as we entered Bowling Green,
where coach and chaise and sedan-chair were jumbled in a confusion
increased by the crack of whips, the trample of impatient horses, and
the cries of grooms and chairmen. In the lamp's increasing glare I made
out a double line of soldiers, through which those invited to the Fort
were passing; and as our chaise stopped and I aided Elsin to descend,
the fresh sea-wind from the Battery struck us full, blowing her lace
scarf across my face.
Through lines of servants and soldiers we passed, her hand nestling
closely to my arm, past the new series of outworks and barricades,
where bronze field-pieces stood shining in the moonlight, then over a
dry moat by a flimsy bridge, and entered the sally-port, thronged with
officers, all laughing and chatting, alert to watch the guests
arriving, and a little bold, too, with their stares and their
quizzing-glasses. There is, at times, something almost German in the
British lack of delicacy, which is, so far, rare with us here, though I
doubt not the French will taint a few among us. But insolence in stare
and smirk is not among our listed sins, though, doubtless, otherwise
the list is full as long as that of any nation, and longer, too, for
all I know.
Conducting Elsin Grey, I grew impatient at the staring, and made way
for her without ceremony, which caused a mutter here and there.
In the great loft-room of the Barracks, held by the naval companies,
the ball was to be given. I relinquished my pretty charge to Lady
Coleville at the door of the retiring-room, and strolled off to join
Sir Peter and the others, gathering in knots throughout the cloak-room,
where two sailors, cutlasses bared, stood guard.
"Well, Carus," he said, smilingly approaching me, "did you heed those
chaste instructions I gave concerning the phantom Kissing-Bridge?"
"I did not run away with her," I said, looking about me. "Where is
Walter Butler?"
"He returned to the house in a chaise for something forgotten--or so he
said. I did not understand him clearly, and he was in great haste."
"He went back to _our_ house?" I asked uneasily.
"Yes--a matter of a moment, so he said. He returns to move the opening
dance with Rosamund."
Curiously apprehensive, I stood there listening to the chatter around
me. Sir Peter drummed with his fingers on his sword-hilt, and nodded
joyously to every passer-by.
"You have found Walter Butler more agreeable, I trust, than our friend
Sir Henry found him," he said, turning his amused eyes on me.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Perhaps? Damme, Carus, that is none too cordial! What is it in the man
that keeps men aloof? Eh? He's a gentleman, a graceful, dark, romantic
fellow, in his forest-green regimentals and his black hair worn
unpowdered. And did you ever hear such a voice?"
"No, I never did," I replied sulkily.
"Delicious," said Sir Peter--"a voice prettily cultivated, and sweet
enough to lull suspicion in a saint." He laughed: "Rosamund made great
eyes at him, the vixen, but I fancy he's too cold to catch fire from a
coquette. Did you learn if he is married?"
"Not from him, sir."
"From whom?"
I was silent.
"From whom?" he asked curiously.
"Why, I had it from one or two acquaintances, who say they knew his
wife when she fled with other refugees from Guy Park," I answered.
Sir Peter shrugged his handsome shoulders, dusted his nose with a whisk
of his lace handkerchief, and looked impatiently for a sign of his wife
and the party of ladies attending her.
"Carus," he said under his breath, "you should enter the lists, you
rogue."
"What lists?" I answered carelessly.
"Lord! he asks me what lists!" mimicked Sir Peter. "Why don't you court
her? The match is suitable and desirable. You ninny, do you suppose it
was by accident that Elsin Grey became our guest? Why, lad, we're set
on it--and, damme! but I'm as crafty a matchmaker as my wife, planning
the pretty game together in the secret of our chambers after you and
Elsin are long abed, and--Lord! I came close to saying 'snoring'--for
which you should have called me out, sir, if you are champion of Elsin
Grey."
"But, Sir Peter," I said smiling, "I do not love the lady."
"A boorish speech!" he snapped. "Take shame, Carus, you Tryon County
bumpkin!"
"I mean," said I, reddening, "and should have said, that the lady does
not love me."
"That's better." He laughed, and added, "Pay your court, sir. You are
fashioned for it."
"But I do not care to," I said.
"O Lord!" muttered Sir Peter, looking at the great beams above us, "my
match-making is come to naught, after all, and my wife will be furious
with you--furious, I say. And here she comes, too," he said,
brightening, as he ever did, at sight of his lovely wife, who had
remained his sweetheart, too; and this I am free to say, that, spite of
the looseness of the times and of society, never, as long as I knew
him, did Sir Peter forget in thought or deed those vows he took when
wedded. Sportsman he was, and rake and gambler, as were we all; and I
have seen him often overflushed with wine, but never heard from his
lips a blasphemy or foul jest, never a word unworthy of clean lips and
the clean heart he carried with him to his grave.
As Lady Coleville emerged from the ladies' cloakroom, attended by her
pretty bevy, Sir Peter, followed by his guests, awaited her in the
great corridor, where she took his arm, looking up into his handsome
face with that indefinable smile I knew so well--a smile of delicate
pride, partly tender, partly humorous, tinctured with faintest
coquetry.
"Sweetheart," he said, "that villain, Carus, will have none of our
match-making, and I hope Rosamund twists him into a triple
lover's-knot, to teach him lessons he might learn more innocently."
Lady Coleville flushed up and looked around at me. "Why, Carus," she
said softly, "I thought you a man of sense and discretion."
"But I--but she does not favor me, madam," I protested in a low voice.
"It is your fault, then, and your misfortune," she said. "Do you not
know that she leaves us to-morrow? Sir Henry has placed a packet at our
service. Can you not be persuaded--for my sake? It is our fond wish,
Carus. How can a man be insensible to such wholesome loveliness as
hers?"
"But--but she is a child--she has no heart! She is but a child yet--all
caprice, innocence, and artless babble--and she loves not me,
madam----"
"_You_ love not _her_! Shame, sir! Open those brown blind eyes of yours,
that look so wise and are so shallow if such sweetness as hers troubles
not their depths! Oh, Carus, Carus, you make me too unhappy!"
"Idiot!" added Sir Peter, pinching my arm. "Bring her to us, now, for
we enter. She is yonder, you slow-wit! nose to nose with O'Neil.
Hasten!"
But Elsin's patch-box had been mislaid, and while we searched for it I
saw the marines march up, form in double rank, and heard the clear
voice of their sergeant announcing:
"Sir Peter and Lady Coleville!
"Captain Tully O'Neil and the Misses O'Neil!
"Adjutant-General De Lancey and Miss Beekman!
"Sir Henry Clinton!
"Captains Harkness, Rutherford, Hallowell, and McIvor!
"Major-General----"
"Elsin," I said, "you should have been announced with Sir Peter and
Lady Coleville!"
She had found her patch-box and her fan at length, and we marched in,
the sergeant's loud announcement ringing through the quickly filling
room:
"Mr. Carus Renault and the Honorable Elsin Grey!"
"What _will_ folk say to hear our banns shouted aloud in the teeth of
all New York?" she whispered mischievously. "Mercy on me! if you turn as
red as a Bushwick pippin they will declare we are affianced!"
"I shall confirm it if you consent!" I said, furious to burn at a jest
from her under a thousand eyes.
"Ask me again," she murmured; "we make our reverences here."
She took her silk and silver petticoat between thumb and forefinger of
each hand and slowly sank, making the lowest, stateliest curtsy that I
ever bowed beside; and I heard a low, running murmur sweep the bright,
jeweled ranks around us as we recovered and passed on, ceding our place
to others next behind.
The artillerymen had made the great loft gay with bunting. Jacks and
signal-flags hung from the high beams overhead, clothing the bare
timbers with thickets of gayest foliage; banners and bright scarfs,
caught up with trophies, hung festooned along the unpainted walls. They
had made a balcony with stairs where the band was perched, the music of
the artillery augmented by strings--a harp, half a dozen fiddles,
cellos, bassoons, and hautboys, and there were flutes, too, and
trumpets lent by the cavalry, and sufficient drums to make that fine,
deep, thunderous undertone, which I love to hear, and which heats my
cheeks with pleasure.
Beyond the spar-loft the sail-loft had been set aside and fashioned
most elegantly for refreshment. An immense table crossed it, behind
which servants stood, and behind the servants the wall had been lined
with shelves covered with cakes, oranges, apples, early peaches, melons
and nectarines, and late strawberries, also wines of every sort,
pastry, jellies, whip-syllabub, rocky and floating island, blanc-mange,
brandied preserves--and Heaven knows what! But Elsin Grey whispered me
that Pryor the confectioner had orders for coriander and cinnamon
comfits by the bushel, and orange, lemon, chocolate, and burned almonds
by the peck.
"Do look at Lady Coleville," whispered Elsin, gently touching my
sleeve; "is she not sweet as a bride with Sir Peter? And oh, that gown!
with the lilac ribbons and flounce of five rows of lace. Carus, she has
forty diamond buttons upon her petticoat, and her stomacher is all
amethysts!"
"I wonder where Walter Butler is?" I said restlessly.
"Do you wish to be rid of me?" she asked.
"God forbid! I only marvel that he is not here--he seemed so eager for
the frolic----"
My voice was drowned in the roll of martial music; we took the places
assigned us, and the slow march began, ending in the Governor's set,
which was danced by eight couples--a curious dance, newly fashionable,
and called "En Ballet." This we danced in a very interesting fashion,
sometimes two and two, sometimes three and two, or four couple and four
couple, and then all together, which vastly entertained the spectators.
In the final melee I had lost my lady to Mr. De Lancey, who now carried
her off, leaving me with a willowy maid, whose partner came to claim
her soon.
The ball now being opened, I moved a minuet with Lady Coleville, she
adjuring me at every step and turn to let no precious moment slip to
court Elsin; and I, bland but troubled, and astonished to learn how
deep an interest she took in my undoing--I with worry enough before me,
not inclusive of a courtship that I found superfluous and unimportant.
When she was rid of me, making no concealment of her disappointment and
impatience, I looked for Elsin, but found Rosamund Barry, and led her
out in one of those animated figures we had learned at home from the
Frenchman, Grasset--dances that suited her, the rose coquette!--gay
dances, where the petticoat reveals a pretty limb discreetly; where
fans play, opening and closing like the painted wings of butterflies
alarmed; where fingers touch, fall away, interlace and unlace; where a
light waist-clasp and a vis-a-vis leaves a moment for a whisper and its
answer, promise, assent, or low refusal as partners part, dropping away
in low, slow reverence, which ends the frivolous figure with regretful
decorum.
Askance I had seen Elsin and O'Neil, a graceful pair of figures in the
frolic, and now I sought her, leaving Rosamund to Sir Henry, but that
villain O'Neil had her to wine, and amid all that thirsty throng and
noise of laughter I missed her in the tumult, and then lost her for two
hours. I must admit those two hours sped with the gay partners that
fortune sent me--and one there was whose fingers were shyly eloquent, a
black-eyed beauty from Westchester, with a fresh savor of free winds
and grassy hillsides clinging to her, and a certain lovely awkwardness
which claims an arm to steady very often. Lord! I had her twice to ices
and to wine, and we laughed and laughed at nothing, and might have been
merrier, but her mother seized her with scant ceremony, and a strange
young gentleman breathed hard and glared at me as I recovered dignity,
which made me mad enough to follow him half across the hall ere I
reflected that my business here permitted me no quarrel of my own
seeking.
Robbed of my Westchester shepherdess, swallowing my disgust, I
sauntered forward, finding Elsin Grey with Lady Coleville, seated
together by the wall. What they had been whispering there together I
knew not, but I pushed through the attendant circle of beaus and
gallants who were waiting there their turns, and presented myself
before them.
"I am danced to rags and ribbons, Carus," said Elsin Grey--"and no
thanks to you for the pleasure, you who begged me for a dance or two;
and I offered twenty, silly that I was to so invite affront!"
She was smiling when she spoke, but Lady Coleville's white teeth were
in her fan's edge, and she looked at me with eyes made bright through
disappointment.
"You are conducting like a silly boy," she said, "with those hoydens
from Westchester, and every little baggage that dimples at your stare.
Lord! Carus, I thought you grown to manhood!"
"Is there a harm in dancing at a ball, madam?" I asked, laughing.
"Fie! You are deceitful, too. Elsin, be chary of your favors. Dance
with any man but him. He'll be wearing two watches to-morrow, and his
hair piled up like a floating island!"
She smiled, but her eyes were not overgay. And presently she turned on
Elsin with a grave shake of her head:
"You disappoint me, both of you," she said. "Elsin, I never dreamed
that _you_----"
Their fans flew up, their heads dipped, then Elsin rose and asked
indulgence, taking my arm, one hand lying in Lady Coleville's hand.
"Do you and Sir Peter talk over it together," she said, with a
lingering wistfulness in her voice. "I shall dance with Carus, whether
he will or no, and then we'll walk and talk. You may tell Sir Peter, if
you so desire."
"_All?_" asked Lady Coleville, retaining Elsin's hand.
"All, madam, for it concerns all."
Sir Henry Clinton came to wait on Lady Coleville, and so we left them,
slowly moving out through the brilliant sea of silks and laces, her arm
resting close in mine, her fair head bent in silent meditation.
Around us swelled the incessant tumult of the ball, music and the
blended harmony of many voices, rustle and whisper of skirt and silk,
and the swish! swish! of feet across the vast waxed floor.
"Shall we dance?" I asked pleasantly.
She looked up, then out across the ocean of glitter and restless color.
"Now I am in two minds," she said--"to dance until there's no breath
left and but a wisp of rags to cover me, or to sip a syllabub with you
and rest, or go gaze at the heavens the while you court me----"
"That's three minds already," I said, laughing.
"Well, sir, which are you for?"
"And you, Elsin?"
"No, sir, you shall choose."
"Then, if it lies with me, I choose the stars and courtship," I said
politely.
"I wonder," she said, "why you choose it--with a maid so pliable. Is
not half the sport in the odds against you--the pretty combat for
supremacy, the resisting fingers, and the defense, face covered? Is not
the sport to overcome all these, nor halt short of the reluctant lips,
still fluttering in voiceless protest?"
"Where did you hear all that?" I asked, piqued yet laughing.
"Rosamund Barry read me my first lesson--and, after all, though warned,
I let you have your way with me there in the chaise. Oh, I am an apt
pupil, Carus, with Captain Butler in full control of my mind and you of
my body."
"Have you seen him yet?" I asked.
"No; he has not appeared to claim his dance. A gallant pair of
courtiers I have found in you and him----"
"Couple our names no more!" I said so hotly that she stopped, looking
at me in astonishment.
"Have you quarreled?" she asked.
I did not answer. We had descended the barrack-stairs and were entering
the parade. Dark figures in pairs moved vaguely in the light of the
battle-lanthorns set. We met O'Neil and Rosamund, who stood star-gazing
on the grass, and later Sir Henry, pacing the sod alone, who, when he
saw me, motioned me to stop, and drew a paper from his breast.
"Sir Peter and Lady Coleville's pass for Westchester, which he desired
and I forgot. Will you be good enough to hand it to him, Mr. Renault?
There is a council called to-night--it is close to two o'clock, and I
must go."
He took a courtly leave of us, then wandered away, head bent, pacing
the parade as though he kept account of each slow step.
"Yonder comes Knyphausen, too, and Birch," I said, as the German
General emerged from the casemates, followed by Birch and a raft of
officers, spurs clanking.
We stood watching the Hessians as they passed in the lamp's rays,
officers smooth-shaven and powdered, wearing blue and yellow, and their
long boots; soldiers with black queues in eelskin, tiny mustaches
turned up at the waxed ends, and long black, buttoned spatter-dashes
strapped at instep and thigh.
"Let us ascend to the parapets," she said, looking up at the huge, dark
silhouette above where the southeast bastion jutted seaward.
A sentry brought his piece to support as we went by him, ascending the
inclined artillery road, whence we presently came out upon the
ramparts, with the vast sweep of star-set firmament above, and below us
the city's twinkling lights on one side, and upon the other two great
rivers at their trysting with the midnight ocean.
There were no lights at sea, none on the Hudson, and on the East River
only the sad signal-spark smoldering above the _Jersey_.
Elsin had found a seat low on a gun-carriage, and, moving a little,
made place for me.
"Look at that darkness," she said--"that infinite void under which an
ocean wallows. It is like hell, I think. Do you understand how I fear
the ocean?"
"Do you fear it, child?"
"Aye," she said, musing; "it took father and mother and brother. You
knew that?"
"Lady Coleville says there is always hope that they may be alive--cast
on that far continent----"
"So the attorneys say--because there is a legal limit--and I am the
Honorable Elsin Grey. Ah, Carus, _I_ know that the sea has them fast.
No port shall that tall ship enter save the last of all--the Port of
Missing Ships. Heigho! Sir Frederick is kind--in his own fashion.... I
would I had a mother.... There is a loneliness that I feel ... at
times...."
A vague gesture, and she lifted her head, with a tremor of her
shoulders, as though shaking off care as a young girl drops a scarf of
lace to her waist.
Presently she turned quietly to me:
"I have told Lady Coleville," she said.
"Told her what, child?"
"Of my promise to Captain Butler. I have not yet told everything--even
to you."
Roused from my calm sympathy I swung around, alert, tingling with
interest and curiosity.
"I gave her leave to inform Sir Peter," she added. "They were too
unhappy about you and me, Carus. Now they will understand there is no
chance."
And when Sir Peter had asked me if Walter Butler was married, I had
admitted it. Here was the matter already at a head, or close to it.
Sudden uneasiness came upon me, as I began to understand how closely
the affront touched Sir Peter. What would he do?
"What is it called, and by what name, Carus, when a man whose touch one
can not suffer so dominates one's thoughts--as he does mine?"
"It is not love," I said gloomily.
"He swears it is. Do you believe there may lie something compelling in
his eyes that charm and sadden--almost terrify, holding one pitiful
yet reluctant?"
"I do not know. I do not understand the logic of women's minds, nor how
they reason, nor why they love. I have seen delicacy mate with
coarseness, wit with stupidity, humanity with brutality, religion with
the skeptic, aye, goodness with evil. I, too, ask why? The answer ever
is the same--because of love!"
"Because of it, is reason; is it not?"
"So women say."
"And men?"
"Aye, they say the same; but with men it is another sentiment, I think,
though love is what we call it."
"Why do men love, Carus?"
"Why?" I laughed. "Men love--men love because they find it pleasant, I
suppose--for variety, for family reasons."
"For nothing else?"
"For a balm to that mad passion driving them."
"And--nothing nobler?"
"There is a noble love, part chivalry, part desire, inspired by mind
and body in sweetest unison."
"A mind that seeks its fellow?" she asked softly.
"No, a mind that seeks its complement, as the body seeks. This union, I
think, is really love. But I speak with no experience, Elsin. This only
I know, that you are too young, too innocent to comprehend, and that
the sentiment awakened in you by what you think is love, is not love.
Child, forgive me what I say, but it rings false as the vows of that
young man who importunes you."
"Is it worthy of you, Carus, to stab him so behind his back?"
I leaned forward, my head in my hands.
"Elsin, I have endured these four years, now, a thousand little stings
which I could not resent. Forgetting this, at moments I blurt out a
truth which, were matters otherwise with me, I might back with--what is
looked for when a man repeats what may affront his listener. It is, in
a way, unworthy, as you say, that I speak lightly to you of a man I can
not meet with honor to myself. Yet, Elsin, were my duty first to
you--first even to myself--this had been settled now--this matter
touching you and Walter Butler--and also my ancient score with him,
which is as yet unreckoned."
"What keeps you, then?" she said, and her voice rang a little.
I looked at her; she sat there, proud head erect, searching me with
scornful eyes.
"A small vow I made," said I carelessly.
"And when are you released, sir?"
"Soon, I hope."
"Then, Mr. Renault," she said disdainfully, "I pray you swallow your
dislike of Captain Butler until such time as you may explain your
enmity to him."
The lash stung. I sat dazed, then wearied, while the tingling passed.
Even the silence tired me, and when I could command my voice I said:
"Shall we descend, madam? There is a chill in the sea-air."
"I do not feel it," she answered, her voice not like her own.
"Do you desire to stay here?"
"No," she said, springing up. "This silence of the stars wearies me."
She passed before me across the parapet and down the inclined way, I at
her heels; and so into the dark parade, where I caught up with her.
"Have I angered you without hope of pardon?" I asked.
"You have spoiled it all for me----"
She bit her lip, suddenly silent. Sir Peter Coleville stood before us.
"Lady Coleville awaits you," he said very quietly, too quietly by far.
"Carus, take her to my wife. Our coach is waiting."
We stared at him in apprehension. His face was serene, but colorless
and hard as steel, as he turned and strode away; and we followed
without a word, drawing closer together as we moved through a covered
passage-way and out along Pearl Street, where Sir Peter's coach stood,
lamps shining, footman at the door.
Lady Coleville was inside. I placed Elsin Grey, and, at a motion from
Sir Peter, closed the door.
"Home," he said quietly. The footman leaped to the box, the whip
snapped, and away rolled the coach, leaving Sir Peter and myself
standing there in Pearl Street.
"Your servant Dennis sought me out," he said, "with word that Walter
Butler had been busy sounding the panels in your room."
Speech froze on my lips.
"Further," continued Sir Peter calmly, "Lady Coleville has shared with
me the confidence of Elsin Grey concerning her troth, clandestinely
plighted to this gentleman whom you have told me is a married man."
I could not utter a sound. Moment after moment passed in silence. The
half-hour struck, then three-quarters. At last from the watch-tower on
the Fort the hour sounded.
There was a rattle of wheels behind us; a coach clattered out of Beaver
Street, swung around the railing of the Bowling Green, and drew up
along the foot-path beside us; and Dr. Carmody leaped out, shaking
hands with us both.
"I found him at Fraunce's Tavern, Sir Peter, bag and baggage. He
appeared to be greatly taken aback when I delivered your cartel,
protesting that something was wrong, that there could be no quarrel
between you and him; but when I hinted at his villainy, he went white
as ashes and stood there swaying like a stunned man. Gad! that hint
about his wife took every ounce of blood from his face, Sir Peter."
"Has he a friend to care for him?" asked Sir Peter coldly.
"Jessop of the Sappers volunteered. I found him in the tap-room. They
should be on their way by this time, Sir Peter."
"That will do. Carus will act for me," said Sir Peter in a dull voice.
He entered the coach; I followed, and Dr. Carmody followed me and
closed the door. A heavy leather case lay beside me on the seat. I
rested my throbbing head on both hands, sitting swaying there in
silence as the coach dashed through Bowling Green again and sped
clattering on its way up-town.