“It is not much the world can give
With all its subtle art;
And gold and rank are not the things
To satisfy the heart.”
The day following the occurrences noted in the preceding chapter was an
eventful one to the Haviland family, developing circumstances calculated
to hasten the crisis to which the conflicting feelings and conduct of
the father and daughter had been for some time silently tending, and to
give a new turn to their respective destinies.
It was late in the afternoon. No event had thus far during the day
occurred to mar the usual tranquillity of the family; and Haviland,
yet uninformed of the untoward affair which befell his party the last
evening at Manchester, and little dreaming of the bold and decisive
measures adopted by the Council of Safety, was seated at a table in his
usual sitting-room, examining, with a satisfied and triumphant air, a
map of New York, on which he was tracing out the intended route of the
British army in its hitherto victorious way from the St. Lawrence to
Albany. At length he began to muse aloud, partly to himself, apparently,
and partly to his daughter, who, with a pensive brow, was seated at an
open window in the same room, quietly engaged with her needle-work.
“As soon as General Burgoyne can clear the road of the trees and other
obstructions, with which the rebels, in their impotent spite, have
filled it, so that he can move on to the Hudson, how that grand army
will sweep away the feeble and undisciplined bands that may venture to
oppose its victorious march! And when a junction of the British armies
is formed at Albany, what can this infatuated people think of doing
then? With the north completely cut off from the south, as will then be
the case, what can these two sections, which together can hardly raise a
respectable force, do, when thus divided and prevented from all concert
and cooperation? Ay, what will they do then? Come, Sabrey,” he added,
turning with an exulting air to his daughter, “perhaps you, who appear
to have so high an opinion of rebel prowess--perhaps you can answer the
question?”
“I may be better prepared to answer the question, perhaps when I see the
junction you anticipate really effected. Burgoyne has not reached Albany
yet,” replied the other, with playful significance.
“Be sure not; but what is to prevent him? What force can the rebels
oppose that he will not scatter like chaff before the wind? None! I tell
you, girl, their doom is sealed!”
“It might be, if they would consent to let you fight their battles for
them, father. But the battle which they are preparing to give Burgoyne
they will choose to fight themselves, I imagine. A few Bunker Hill
lessons, on his way, might materially alter the general's prospects.”
“Bunker Hill? Pooh! Why, we routed them even there behind their
breastworks. Besides, we never had so fine an army as this in the field
before. I only wish I was as sure of some good commission in Burgoyne's
army, as I am that he will march triumphantly through to Albany, and
thus bring this unnatural war to a close.”
“Would you think of going into that army, father, should you receive
such an appointment?” asked the daughter, in a tone of surprise and
expostulation.
“Why, I should be proud to be there, Sabrey, in an army that contains so
much of the first talents and chivalry of England.”
At this stage of the conversation, a man rode up to the door, and,
dismounting and entering the house, handed to Mr. Haviland, after
inquiring his name, a gorgeously-sealed packet.
Haviland, after examining the seal a moment, bowed low to the stranger,
and inquiringly observed,--
“From General Burgoyne, I believe?”
The messenger, nodding in the affirmative, and saying he was directed to
wait for an answer, the former broke open the missive, and found in it,
by singular coincidence, an answer to the prayer he had a few moments
before indirectly uttered a commission, or appointment in the commissary
department of the British army. After perusing the paper a second time,
he turned, and, with a consequential air, handed it to his daughter,
whose countenance instantly fell AS she glanced over the suspected
contents.
“You cannot seriously think of accepting this appointment father,” she
said, with a look of concern; “you cannot think of leaving your quiet
and comfortable home, and engaging, at your age, in the fatigues and
dangers of the camp?”
“Why not, Sabrey?” replied the other, reprovingly. “From my knowledge of
the country, I can be of great use in procuring the supplies which the
army will need, as the general doubtless foresaw; and I consider it my
duty to the king to lend my feeble aid when called. The post is not, it
is true, a very high one; but it is honorable and lucrative, and I shall
accept it.”
'If this is Miss Sabrey Haviland, I have a letter for her also,' here
interposed the messenger, rising and presenting the letter in question.
Sabrey broke open the proffered letter, which proved to be from her
friend Miss McRea, and ran thus:--
“You remember your promise, Sabrey, to visit me the first opportunity.
That opportunity now occurs. Captain Jones and other friends have
presented your father's name at head-quarters for promotion; and he has
now, I am informed, received an appointment. If he accepts, as I am sure
he will, I hope you will accompany him, and remain with me. I have just
received one of those letters so precious to me: he says the army will
probably move on to Fort Edward next week, the obstructions in the road
being mostly removed; so that, by the time you arrive, I shall probably
be enabled to introduce you to the beautiful and accomplished ladies
of whom he has so much to say,--such as the Countess of Reidesel,
Lady Harriet Ackland, and others, who accompany their husbands in the
campaign. But you will perhaps say that he is interested in praising
these ladies for the love and heroism which prompt them to brave such
fatigues and dangers for the sake of their lords, since he is warmly
urging me to consent to an immediate union, that I may follow their
example. He says, in his last letter,--and I think truly,--that I cannot
long remain where I am, in a section which he evidently anticipates,
will soon become a frightful scene of strife and bloodshed; and that I
must therefore go away with my friends, and leave him, perhaps forever,
or put myself under his protection in the army. And he seems hurt that
I hesitate in a choice of the alternatives. On the other hand, my
connections and friends here think it would be little short of madness
in me to yield to my lover's proposal. The people about here are greatly
alarmed at the expected approach of the British army, which is known to
be accompanied by a large body of Indians, Many are already removing and
nearly all preparing to go The crisis hastens, and yet I am undecided.
Prudence points one way, love the other. What shall I do? O Sabrey what
shall I do? Should you come on with your father, I think I should feel
a confidence in going with you to the British encampment. Come then,
my friend, come quickly, for I feel as if I could not go on without
friends, and especially a female friend, to accompany me; while, at the
same time, I feel as if some irresistible destiny would compel me to
the attempt. And yet why would I hesitate to take any step which
_he_ advises? Why refuse to share with him any dangers which _he_ may
encounter? And why should my anticipations of the future, which have
never, till recently, during my happy intimacy with Mr. Joes, been
so bright and blissful, be clouded now? I know not; I know not why
it should be so; but lately my bosom has become disturbed by strange
misgivings, and my mind perplexed by dark and undefined apprehensions.
I must not, however, indulge them; and your presence, I know, would
entirely dissipate them. I repeat, therefore, come, and that quickly.
Adieu.
“Yours, truly,
JANE McREA.”
The messenger in waiting, having been invited into another room to
partake of some refreshment, and the father and daughter being thus left
again by themselves, the latter now handed the other for his perusal the
affectionate but too truly boding letter of her fated friend.
“And what answer do you intend to return to this kind and pressing
invitation of your friend, Sabrey?” asked Haviland, after attentively
reading the epistle.
“That I do not think it advisable to accept it, at this time, father,”
answered the girl.
“Why not advisable?” asked the other, in a censorious tone. “I see
nothing to object to in the step, going, as you will, under the
protection of a father; while it will introduce you to a circle which
few American girls can ever reach.”
“I feel quite willing to forego the honor of such an introduction,”
coolly returned the daughter. “And were it otherwise, the very letter
that brings me the invitations unfolds enough to deter me from the
undertaking.”
“You wholly mistake your friend's meaning,” responded the former. “Her
apprehensions are merely the natural effect of maiden timidity. I think,
as her lover seems to do, that the safest place for her is with the
British army. So I think it will be for you; for I know not what
punishment will be inflicted on these settlements for their rebellious
and treasonable conduct And it is my wish to separate myself and family
from them, before the day of reckoning arrives. I shall, therefore,
expect you to attend me.”
As the daughter was about to reply a domestic came in and announced the
arrival of Colonel Peters; and the latter, the next moment, with a dark
and sullen brow, unceremoniously entered the apartment. He did not,
however, deign immediately to unfold the cause of his evident ill-humor,
but contented himself with listening to the news, which the elated
Haviland was prompt to impart in relation to his own promotion, the
invitation received by his daughter to accompany him to the army or
its vicinity, and his thus far rejected advice to her to accede to the
proposal. The cold countenance of Peters brightened with selfish
delight at the recital; for in the old gentleman's appointment, his
determination to accept it, and his intention of taking his daughter
with him, if she could be so persuaded, the former saw the triumph of
his machinations to involve the family inextricably in the royal cause.
But that triumph would not be complete, unless the daughter, whose
predilections for Woodburn and the American cause were more than
suspected, could be kept within the scope of loyal influence. He
therefore secretly resolved that, if her father left the settlement to
join the army, she should not be left behind, but should be induced
or compelled to accompany him. He consequently was not slow to add his
advice and entreaties to those of the father. This he did for a while
with some show of respect and kindness; but finding her still immovable,
he at length became irritated, and assumed a tone of dictation so
inconsistent with the natural delicacy of a lover, that she declined any
further conversation with him on the subject.
“Where will you go, perverse and blinded girl?” now interposed the
father, reproachfully. “You would not stay here alone and unprotected,
would you?”
“I should not hesitate to do so on account of any molestation which
_American_ troops would offer me,” replied Sabrey, with a significant
emphasis on the word American. “And should others approach, I would go
to my connections on the other side of the mountains.”
“Miss Haviland may have her private reasons for wishing to remain in
this section of the country,” said Peters, with an ill-suppressed sneer,
turning to the father.
“Will you please explain your meaning, sir?” demanded the girl with
spirit.
“I mean,” replied Peters, “that she who would hold clandestine meetings
with one whom her father has seen fit to eject from his house, might see
the advantage of remaining where her interviews could be enjoyed without
molestation.”
“Sabrey Haviland, is that true?” asked the old gentleman with a
gathering frown.
“She will hardly deny, I think,” said Peters, “that the fellow was here
soon after I left last night. At all events, he was seen to leave the
premises in pursuit of me. By whom he was informed of the direction I
took, I know not; but I know he overtook me, beset me like a ruffian,
and shot my horse by a ball intended for the rider.”
“Is all that true, I repeat?” again fiercely demanded Haviland of his
daughter, in a burst of rage.
But without deigning one word of reply either to the insulting
insinuations of Peters, or the angry and ill-timed demand of her father,
Sabrey, with cheeks glowing with offended delicacy and just indignation,
rose from her seat, and was about to leave the apartment, when her step
was arrested by the altered voice of her father, who, quickly becoming
sensible of the harshness of his conduct from its visible effects, now
spoke to her in a softened and more expostulatory tone.
“Surely, Sabrey, you are not going to deny my right, as a parent, to
question you, or at least ask you for an explanation respecting charges
which have the appearance of involving your character?”
“I might not,” said she, coolly, but respectfully; “and indeed, I should
not, at another time, have refused to answer your question so far as I
could, however harshly it was put to me; but I must still decline to do
so in this presence!” she added, glancing towards the abashed Peters,
with an air of scorn to which her usually serene and benignant
countenance never before, perhaps, gave expression.
“Perhaps, Miss Haviland,” said Peters, stung by the remark and manner
of the other, and now rallying for the revenge to which such minds are
prone to resort--“perhaps Miss Haviland, on a little more reflection,
may be willing to acknowledge that I, also, am not wholly without a
right to ask for an explanation in an affair which she seems to admit
requires one.”
“I am not aware, sir,” promptly responded the maiden, so much aroused by
the cool arrogance of the other, as to forget her determination to hold
no more conversation with him--“I am not aware, sir, of having admitted
any necessity of an explanation And had I done so, I should be very far
from acknowledging your right to require it of me.”
“It is possible,” rejoined the former in the same strain--“it is
possible Miss Haviland may be willing to qualify her last remark a
little, when she is reminded of the existence of a certain marriage
contract, to which she voluntarily became a party.”
“I need no prompting to make me mindful of that evidence of my youthful
indiscretion, sir,” responded Miss Haviland; “nor should I be likely to
forget the particular provisions of an instrument, the thought of
which has cost me, as my entreaties to be released from it should have
apprised you, so many painful regrets. But, while mindful of all this,
I have yet to be informed of the provision which, till the contract is
consummated, gives you any control over my actions, or right to require
me to account for or explain them.”
“If the instrument, which I have somewhere about me, I believe,” replied
the other, with his usual cold indifference, as he took the document
from his pocket, and began, with a businesslike air, to glance over the
contents--“if the instrument does not express, or rather if it is not
admitted to presuppose and give me, any of the rights I have named
till it is consummated, then it is time that I should insist on its
consummation, which, as few others would have done, I have so long
forborne to urge.”
“I perfectly agree with Colonel Peters,” interposed Mr. Haviland,
catching at the last suggestion in his growing alarm for the success
of his favorite scheme, which the unexpected state of feeling here
displayed taught him might be endangered, if not speedily consummated.
“I perfectly agree with him, that this business has already been
sufficiently delayed; and I think, as the family is now about to break
up, that the final ceremony had better be performed before we go, or,
at the farthest, when we reach the army, where, as Sabrey would perhaps
prefer, it might take place at the same time as that of her friend, who
is similarly situated.”
“You forget,” said the maiden, now freshly aroused at this combined
attempt to make her forego her last remaining privilege in the abhorrent
negotiation--“you both forget that the very instrument, by which you
claim to dispose of my hand, expressly leaves to me, and to me only,
the right and privilege of deciding upon the time for that ceremony,
by which you would now, it seems, so summarily consummate your unmanly
scheme. And thank Heaven!” she continued, turning to the nonplused
suitor with an air of decision and fearlessness which the excitement
of insulted feeling could only have given her--“thank Heaven, I had the
forethought to insist on a privilege now so precious to me; for let me
assure you, sir, that distant will be the day when _I_ shall fix on a
time for consummating a contract, wrung from girlish inexperience, to
gratify selfish ambition or mistaken views in the first place, and now
claimed to hold me like a sold article of merchandise, for the use and
control of one whose feelings, principles, and whole character are every
way uncongenial with my own.”
“What!--how!” exclaimed the irritated and evidently astonished Haviland,
who, in his obtuseness, even now, could not perceive what objection his
daughter could have to a match esteemed by him so advantageous. “What
can this mean? Why, the girl must be demented! You to decide on the
time! Why, reasonable time is all that was meant by that, if it is not
so expressed!”
“That is all; nothing more,” eagerly chimed in Peters.
“If a part of the instrument is to be construed differently from what
is expressed, and as you choose, why not other parts, and as I choose?”
calmly asked the unmoved girl. “If so, then its power to bind me shall
cease with this hour.”
“What folly!” again exclaimed the old gentleman, balked and chafing
worse than before. “Why, don't the infatuated girl know that, to say
nothing about losing prospects which no other young lady in the country
would reject--that by marrying any other man, she will forfeit her
birthright in my estate, and make herself, as she will deserve to be, a
beggar?”
“I have no thought of marrying any other man while in my present
embarrassing position,” quickly retorted the former, with an offended
air. “But should I wish to do so, I should hardly be deterred from it by
either of the considerations you have just named, I think. And, indeed,
if the mercenary and ambitious motives, which you would have actuate
me, were alone to be my guide in such a step, I could see but little
temptation for the sacrifice in the honors and wealth which are so much
to depend on a triumph that, for all your boasts, I believe will never
be accomplished; while the failure, if the same justice is meted out to
you which you seem to be meditating for others, will leave you with a
branded name, and no estate here to give or withhold.”
“Silence! audacious girl,” exclaimed the baffled loyalist, unable longer
to endure the calm but scorching rebuke involved in the reply of his
daughter. “I will listen to no more of your railings. This comes of
being allowed to mingle with an ignorant, rebellious populace. But
that evil shall, at least, be remedied. You will attend me to the army,
where, I trust, your eyes may soon be opened to your folly.”
“You may perhaps compel me to go, sir,” responded the still unawed
maiden; “but if you do so, let me warn you against all hope of thereby
rendering my feelings less repugnant to the scheme we have been
discussing, or of changing my views of the cause in which you are about
to embark; for I will now openly declare, what I have often before left
you to infer, that I have no sympathies for those who come to oppress
and enslave my country; nor will I ever aid or sanction their ignoble
purposes--not even to the withholding any intelligence I may gain of
their movements, which may avert disaster or peril from our struggling
people.”
“Hurrah for the tory's daughter!” now burst on the ears of the
astonished group, from a band of armed men standing immediately beneath
the open but thickly vine-clad windows without, whither, it seemed, they
had approached unperceived, and thus become unintentional listeners
to the last part of the foregoing dialogue, which they were still
hesitating to break in upon, when their admiration of the heroic
girl's declarations led to the irrepressible burst of applause just
mentioned--“Hurrah for the tory's daughter! She shall be remembered for
that!”
The party within instantly rose to their feet at so strange and
unexpected a salutation. Peters, aware, from the experience of the last
night, that his capture was sought, was the first, as might be expected,
to take the alarm. With a hasty step towards the window, and an equally
hasty glance through the screening foliage at the new-comers, he
hurriedly retreated through a door leading to the rear of the house.
Haviland, scarcely less alarmed, though having no conception of the main
object of the visit, advanced, with evident perturbation, to the front
door, when he was met at the threshold by the secretary of the Council
of Safety, who, bowing politely, proceeded to apologize for the noisy
outbreak of his attendants, which, contrary to his wishes, he said, had
been made to announce his arrival.
“Attendants, sir?” exclaimed Haviland, casting a flurried glance at the
file of soldiers in the yard--“attendants--armed men led up here to my
door? Who are they? What is then business, and yours, sir? This affair
needs explanation, sir.”
“Well, sir, if so, I am here to give it,” composedly replied Allen.
“But, as you appear somewhat agitated, let us walk in and talk over the
matter calmly.”
Mechanically complying with the suggestion, Haviland turned and led the
way into the room, where his daughter still stood, mutely awaiting the
development; when the secretary, after bowing with marked respect to
Miss Haviland, with whom, it appeared, he was slightly acquainted,
resumed,--
“The Council of Safety, sir, having determined on defending the state
to the last extremity, in the present crisis, have perceived, with deep
regret, that there are those in our midst who hesitate not either to
take up arms against their countrymen, or, what is no better, secretly
to aid the enemy, and harbor and conceal in their houses hostile
emissaries, trying to seduce our people. And not perceiving the policy
or justice of longer permitting their cause thus to be endangered, the
council have decided on a measure for promptly remedying the evil--a
measure which they had less hesitation in adopting, as they believed,
from the repeated threats of the loyalists, they would only be
anticipating their opponents by inflicting penalties, that, in case of
the conquest of this country, will be visited on themselves. They have
passed a solemn decree, sir, to confiscate, for the public use, all the
estates of both of the classes of loyalists I have named, among one of
which, at least, they have abundant proof, I regret to say, to warrant
them in classing Esquire Haviland. And they direct me to permit him
to take one of the horses, lately his own, and depart, with the least
possible delay, for the British camp, where, they think, he more
properly belongs.”
The arrogant loyalist, who had hitherto looked upon the Council of
Safety with utter contempt for either their powers or their efficiency,
was now perfectly thunderstruck at the announcement of so bold and
unexpected a measure; and, for some moments, his mouth seemed wholly
sealed against any remonstrance to a step which, not for public good,
but for his own aggrandizement, he was conscious of intending to
recommend to the British government in relation to the estates of the
leading rebels, and especially those of the treasonable body by whom, as
had just been so truthfully told him, his selfish designs had now been
anticipated. Soon rallying, however, he wrathfully muttered,--
“They dare not do it; their audacity will not carry them to that length.
But if they do,” he continued, with louder and more menacing tones--“if
they do attempt to carry out their plundering purposes, I will bring
down upon them, within eight and forty hours, a British force that
will give them enough to do to take care of themselves and their own
property, without meddling with that of others.”
“That is what we supposed you would be glad to do, in any case,” quietly
responded Allen. “It but swells the proof against you, and goes to
confirm the justice of the decree.”
“O, do not say any more, father,” interposed Miss Haviland, with much
feeling. “Do not, I beg of you, further and more inextricably involve
yourself. You know how gladly I would have saved you from this; how
often warned you of the consequences of persisting in your course.
Perhaps it is not too late to retract, even now. Who knows but the
council, who have done this but from a sense of duty to their country,
and with no ill will against you personally, may yet be induced, if
you will send in a pledge of neutrality, to reverse their sentence as
regards you, and still leave you in possession of your property and
a quiet home? I myself, feeble girl as I am, would go before them to
intercede for you; and perhaps this gentleman would assist me,” she
added, with an appealing glance to Allen.
“Most gladly,” replied the latter, touched at the magnanimity of the
girl, in her distress--“most gladly, and with great hope of success.”
“Do you hear that, father?” said the other, eagerly; “do you hear what
I feel--I know--may yet be done for you? Then do not reject my petition,
but retract, and give up your intention of joining these invaders of
your country.”
“No,” replied the old gentleman, after a moment of apparent
wavering--“no, never! Let the plunderers take possession of my estate
here for the short time they will be enabled to hold it, if they will.
To-morrow morning I start for the British camp.”
“It is as I feared,” observed Allen, turning to the daughter; “but your
efforts to rescue your father, Miss Haviland, and the noble stand
you have taken on this occasion and before, are, let me assure you,
appreciated by myself, and will not fail to be so by those of more
controlling influence. And although this property will, in a few days,
be sold by those duly appointed, and now here to guard and dispose of
it, yet the government, which has the power to confiscate, will have
the power to restore; and I have no fears that your own interests will
eventually be made to suffer by a measure which may now appear as harsh
to you as it appeared necessary to the upright and patriotic men who
felt themselves constrained to adopt it. In this you may trust, I think,
as regards the future. As for the present, I am only empowered to offer
you an asylum in some friendly family of the neighborhood, with ample
means of support, or, if you prefer, a safe conveyance, with a female
attendant, should you desire it, to any family in a more distant part of
the state.”
“My daughter will probably go with me, sir,” said Haviland, resentfully.
“No, father,” said the girl, firmly; “that army is no proper place for
a young lady and especially one of my views. I shall for the present,
go into the family of our neighbor Risdon; but in a few days, I will
gratefully accept of Mr. Allen's offer of a conveyance, and, as I
proposed to you a short time ago, go to my connections on the other side
of the mountains.”
“Your wishes will be attended to in this or any other respect as soon
as you shall please to signify them, Miss Haviland,” said the secretary,
as, bowing a respectful adieu, he now departed with part of his
armed attendants, for other and similar visits which remained to be
accomplished that night among the unsuspecting tories of that vicinity.
Within an hour or two after the departure of Allen, or as soon as the
growing darkness would enable a skulker to approach unseen, a man, who
was of the latter description evidently, might have been discovered
slowly and cautiously making a circuit round the house, but at so
respectable distance from it as to escape the observation of the guard
now stationed at three or four commanding points about the premises.
When he had reached a point nearly opposite to the back door, he
ventured up to the border of the intervening garden, and gave a low,
significant whistle. After a momentary silence, a slight rustling was
heard in a thick patch of corn occupying a portion of the garden, and
Peters, who, it will be recollected, passed out in this direction, and
who, perceiving his retreat cut off by men already posted in the fields,
had here lain concealed till now, cautiously emerged from his covert,
and came forward to the spot where the other stood awaiting his
approach.
“Well, Redding,” said Peters, in a low voice, as he came up “when I
asked you this morning to come here to Haviland's to-night to see me,
before I went to the army, I didn't exactly expect you would have to
call me out of a corn patch to receive my orders. But how came you to
know or suspect I was here? You have not ventured in there, I take it?”
he added, leading the way into the field, which the guard had now left.
“No,” replied the other; “I caught a glimpse of the fellows in the yard
as I came in sight, and, mistrusting what was to pay from what I had
just heard of their movements this forenoon in Manchester, and other
towns thereabouts I struck off across the pasture, where I luckily
encountered the old squire, who walked out there, after the leader of
the gang had left, and who told me of your concealment, and all.”
“Yes, he came to the back door, here, the first chance he could get, to
see if I had escaped, when, contriving to apprise him where I was, I had
got a moment's talk with him just before. But what have you heard about
their movements in other places to-day?”
“Why, I met Asa Rose going post-haste to warn our friends in this
direction to be on their guard. He says they have seized on the estates
of all the Rose family, and every other leading loyalist, as far as
they could hear, in all that section; and, in several instances, put the
owners themselves under guard. What do you say to all that, colonel?”
“Glad of it. Though an act of lawlessness and audacity which I did not
once dream of their attempting, and which, even now, they will not dare
to carry out, should they have time to do so before their brief career
is arrested, yet I am glad the rebel fools have done it; for,
between you and me, Redding, I have had my doubts whether the British
government, which is ever too merciful, would take their estates from
them, when we come to subdue them, as you know we have talked; but now
vengeance will be swift and certain. Their estates will all be seized
and given to the deserving.”
“Ay, that's it!” exclaimed the perfidious minion, with a chuckle of
satisfaction; “it will give us our revenge, and at the same time supply
us with the needful. I have a good many scores to settle with the people
about here; and I know of the farm of a certain rebel that I shall ask
for my share, as I think I justly may, seeing how active I've been this
summer.
“Yes, yes,” replied Peters, rather impatiently; “but there must be
no more wavering and turning with you. What you ask you must earn,
remember.”
“You see if I don't! only name what you would have me do, colonel!”
eagerly responded the other.
“Well, I will now,” said the former, coming to a halt. “Yes, as we are,
by this time, fairly out of reach and hearing of these foiled rebels,
who have so kindly yielded me a pass through this side of their watch,
thinking, doubtless, that I could not have been in the house when they
surrounded it, but should be there this evening--yes, I will give you my
orders now, which will embrace a fresh item or two above what I intended
before some of the occurrences of this afternoon. Well, in the first
place, you are to proceed to Castleton, and join the northern company
there collected and ready for operations at the Remington rendezvous,
You will then become the guide and assistant of the leader of that
force, which is to move on to some secret and safe place, to be selected
by you (as you know the localities, and the leader don't) in the woods
near the Twenty Mile Encampment, where, acting is the advanced corps
of our planned expedition to the Connecticut by that route, they will
remain concealed as much as possible, till further orders, watching all
movements of the rebels, and drawing in every trusty loyalist that
can be approached. And mark me, Redding, while there, or elsewhere,
remember, that accursed Woodburn is a doomed man, and is to be taken, if
found, and kept for my disposal. And I have another order, which must be
left still more to your especial management. Haviland's daughter, with
whom you know, I suppose, how I am situated, has got some dangerous
notions into her head, and, refusing to hear to her father, who wishes
her to go with him to the army, has determined to go to her relatives,
over the mountain, in a carriage the rebels have promised to provide
her. She will be along that road, probably, soon after you get to your
rendezvous. She must be stopped, and conducted, with good treatment,
mind you, back, through some secret route, to the British camp, where
her father, though he knows nothing of my plan, will be glad to receive
and keep her. And now I will be off to my horse, which I luckily left
at the house of a friend, on the cross road, about a mile to the west of
us.”
“Will you go far on your journey to-night?”
“About seven miles, to the house of another friend, where I am to be
joined by the squire in the morning, and, with him, proceed directly to
the army.”
“How soon are we to hear from you?”
“Within ten days, or sooner. I shall, with all possible despatch,
organize and prepare the force designed for the purpose; when I shall
sweep on through Arlington and Manchester, and, after teaching them a
few lessons in that quarter, proceed at once to join you. There! you
now know all; go, and remember that secrecy and vengeance are the
watchwords.”
“Ay, ay; I am your man for all that, colonel,” responded the
heartless tool, as the two now separated to depart on their different
destinations.