THE BLACK HORSE.
Thanks to the dimness, to his uniform, and to his swift entrance,
Peyton had not been recognized by Major Colden until he had given his
name. That name had on the major the effect of an apparition, and he
stepped back into the dark corner of the hall, drawing his cloak yet
closer about him. This alarm and movement were not noticed by the
others, as Peyton was the object of every gaze but his own, which was
fixed on Elizabeth.
"What do you want?" her voice rang out, while she frowned from her
place on the staircase, in cold resentment. Her aunt, meanwhile, made
the newcomer a tremulous curtsey.
"I want to see the person in charge of this house, and I want a
horse," replied Peyton, with more promptitude than gentleness, yet
with strict civility. Elizabeth's manner would have nettled even a
colder man.
Elizabeth did not keep him waiting for an answer.
"I am at present mistress of this house, and I am neither selling
horses nor giving them!"
Peyton stared up at her in wonderment.
The candle-flame struggled against the wind, turning this way and
that, and made the vague shadows of the people and of the slender
balusters dance on floor and wall. From without came the sound of
Peyton's horses pawing, and of his men speaking to one another in low
tones.
"Your pardon, madam," said Peyton, "but a horse I must have. The
service I am on permits no delay--"
"I doubt not!" broke in Elizabeth. "The Hessians are probably chasing
you."
"On the contrary, I am chasing the Hessians. At Boar Hill, yonder, my
horse gave out. 'Tis important my troops lose no time. Passing here,
we saw horses being led into your stable. I ordered one of my men to
take the best of your beasts, and put my saddle on it,--and he is now
doing so."
"How dare you, sir!" and Elizabeth came quickly to the foot of the
stairs, a picture of regal, flaming wrath.
"Why, madam," said Peyton, "'tis for the service of the army. I
require the horse, and I have come here to pay for it--"
"It is not for sale--"
"That makes no difference. You know the custom of war."
"The custom of robbery!" cried Elizabeth.
Captain Peyton reddened.
"Robbery is not the custom of Harry Lee's dragoons, madam," said he,
"whatever be the practice of the wretched 'Skinners' or of De Lancey's
Tory Cowboys. I shall pay you as you choose,--with a receipt to
present at the quartermaster's office, or with Continental bills."
"Continental rubbish!"
And, indeed, Elizabeth was not far from the truth in the appellation
so contemptuously hurled.
"You prefer that, do you?" said Peyton, unruffled; whereupon he took
from within his waistcoat a long, thick pocketbook, and from that a
number of bills; which must have been for high amounts, for he rapidly
counted out only a score or two of them, repocketing the rest, and at
that time, thereabouts, "a rat in shape of a horse," as Washington
himself had complained a month before, was "not to be bought for less
than L200."[4] Peyton handed her the bills he had counted out.
"There's a fair price, then," said he; "allowing for depreciation. The
current rate is five to one,--I allow six."
Elizabeth looked disdainfully at the proffered bills, and made no move
to take them.
"Pah!" she cried. "I wouldn't touch your wretched Continental trash. I
wouldn't let one of my black women put her hair up in it. Money, do
you call it? I wouldn't give a shilling of the King for a houseful of
it."
"I beg your pardon," said Peyton, cheerfully. "Since July in '76 there
has been no king in America. I leave the bills, madam." He laid them
on the newel post, beside the candlestick. "'Tis all I can do, and
more than many a man would do, seeing that Colonel Philipse, the owner
of this place, is no friend to the American cause, and may fairly be
levied on as an enemy--"
"Colonel Philipse is my father!"
"Then I'm glad I've been punctilious in the matter," said Peyton, but
without any increase of deference. "Egad, I think I've been as
scrupulous as the commander-in-chief himself!"
"The commander-in-chief!" echoed Elizabeth. "Sir Henry Clinton pays in
gold."
"I meant _our_ commander-in-chief," with a suavity most irritating.
"Mr. Washington!" said Elizabeth, scornfully, with a slight emphasis
on the "Mr."
"His Excellency, General Washington." Peyton spoke as one would in
gently correcting a child who was impolite. Then he added, "I think
the horse is now ready; so I bid you good evening!"
And he strode towards the door.
Elizabeth was now fully awake to the certainty that one of the horses
would indeed be taken. At Peyton's movement she ran to the door,
reaching it before he did, and looked out. What she saw, transformed
her into a very fury.
"Oh, this outrage!" she cried, facing about and addressing those in
the hall. "It is my Cato they are leading out! My Cato! Under my very
eyes! I forbid it! He shall not go! Where are Cuff and the servants?
Why don't they prevent? And you, Jack?"
She turned to Colden for the first time since Peyton's arrival.
"My troop would make short work of any who interfered, madam," said
Peyton, warningly, still looking at Elizabeth only.
"Oh, that I should have to endure this!" she said. "Oh, if I had but a
company of soldiers at my back, you dog of a rebel!"
And she paced the hall in a great passion. Passing the newel post, she
noticed the Continental bills. She took these up, violently tore them
across, and threw the pieces about the hall, as one tosses corn about
a chicken-yard.
Major Colden had been having a most uncomfortable five minutes. As a
Tory officer, he was in close peril of being made prisoner by this
Continental captain and the latter's troop outside, and this peril was
none the less since he had so adversely criticised Peyton in the talk
which had led to the duel in Bayard's woods. He had not put himself
on friendly terms with Peyton after that affair. There was still no
reason for any other feeling towards him, on Peyton's part, than
resentment. Now Jack Colden had no relish for imprisonment at the
hands of the despised rebels. Moreover, he had no wish that Elizabeth
should learn of his former defeat by Peyton. He had kept the meeting
in Bayard's woods a secret, thanks to Peyton's having quitted New York
immediately after it, and to the relation of dependence in which the
two only witnesses stood to him. Thus it was that he had remained well
out of view during Elizabeth's sharp interview with Peyton, being
unwilling alike to be known as a Tory officer, and to be recognized by
Peyton. His civilian's cloak hid his uniform and weapons; the dimness
of the candle-light screened his face.
But matters had reached a point where he could not, without appearing
a coward, refrain longer from taking a hand. He stepped forward from
the dark remoteness.
"Sir," said he to Peyton, politely, "I know the custom of war. But
since a horse must be taken, you will find one of mine in the stable.
Will you not take it instead of this lady's?"
Peyton had been scrutinizing Colden's features.
"Mr. Colden, if I remember," he said, when the major had finished.
"You remember right," said Colden, with a bow, concealing behind a not
too well assumed quietude what inward tremors the situation caused
him.
"And you are doubtless now an officer in some Tory corps?" said
Peyton, quickly.
"No, sir, I am neutral," replied Colden, rather huskily, with an
instant's glance of warning at Elizabeth.
"Gad!" said Peyton, with a smile, still closely surveying the major.
"From your sentiments the time I met you in New York in '75, I should
have thought you'd take up arms for the King."
"That was before the Declaration of Independence," said Colden, in a
tone scarcely more than audible. "I have modified my opinions."
"They were strong enough then," Peyton went on. "You remember how you
upheld them with a rapier in Bayard's woods?"
"I remember," said Colden, faintly, first reddening, then taking on a
pale and sickly look, as if a prey to hidden chagrin and rage.
It seemed as if his tormentor intended to torture him interminably.
Peyton, who knew that one of his men would come for him as soon as the
horse should be saddled and bridled, remained facing the unhappy
major, wearing that frank half-smile which, from the triumphant to the
crestfallen, seems so insolent and is so maddening.
"I've often thought," said Peyton, "I deserved small credit for
getting the better of you that day. I had taken lessons from London
fencing-masters." (Consider that the woman whom Colden loved was
looking on, and that this was all news to her, and imagine how he
raged beneath the outer calmness he had, for safety's sake, to wear.)
"'Twas no hard thing to disarm you, and I'm not sorry you're neutral
now. For if you wore British or Tory uniform, 'twould be my duty to
put you again at disadvantage, by taking you prisoner."
The face of one of Peyton's men now appeared in the doorway. Peyton
nodded to him, then continued to address the major.
"As for your request, my traps are now on the other horse, and there
is not time to change. I must ride at once."
He stepped quickly to the door, and on the threshold turned to bow.
Then cried Elizabeth:
"May you ride to your destruction, for your impudence, you bandit!"
"Thank you, madam! I shall ride where I must! Farewell! My horse is
waiting."
And in an instant he was gone, having closed the door after him with a
bang.
"_His_ horse! The highwayman!" quoth Elizabeth.
"Give the gentleman his due," said Miss Sally, in a way both mollified
and mollifying. "He paid for it with those." She indicated the strewn
fragments of the Continental bills on the floor.
"Forward! Get up!"
It was the voice of Captain Peyton outside. The horses were heard
riding away from the lawn.
Elizabeth opened the door and looked out. Her aunt accompanied her.
Old Valentine gazed with a sagely deploring expression at the torn-up
bills on the floor. Colden stood where he had been, lest by some
chance the enemy might return and discover his relief from straint.
"Oh," cried Elizabeth, at the door, as the light horsemen filed out
the gate and up the branch road towards the highway, "to see the
miserable rebel mounted on my Cato!"
"He looks well on him," said her aunt.
It was a brief flow of light from the fresh-risen moon, between
wind-driven clouds, that enabled Miss Sally to make this observation.
"Looks well! The tatterdemalion!" And Elizabeth came from the door, as
if loathing further sight of him.
But Miss Sally continued to look after the riders, as their dark forms
were borne rapidly towards the post-road. "Nay, I think he is quite
handsome."
"Pah! You think every man is handsome!" said the niece, curtly.
Miss Sally turned from the door, quite shocked.
"Why, Elizabeth, you know I'm the least susceptible of women!"
Old Mr. Valentine nodded sadly, as much as to say, "I know that, all
too well!"
As the racing clouds now rushed over the moon, and the horsemen's
figures, having become more and more blurred, were lost in the
blackness, Miss Sally closed and bolted the door. The horses were
faintly heard coming to a halt, at about the junction of the branch
road with the highway, then moving on again rapidly, not further
towards the south, as might have been expected, but back northward,
and finally towards the east. Meanwhile Elizabeth stood in the hall,
her rage none the less that its object was no longer present to have
it wreaked on him. Such hate, such passionate craving for revenge, had
never theretofore been awakened in her. And when she realized the
unlikelihood of any opportunity for satisfaction, she was exasperated
to the limit of self-control.
"If you had only had some troops here!" she said to Colden.
"I know it! May the rascal perish for finding me at such a disadvantage!
'Twas my choice between denying my colors and becoming his prisoner."
This brought back to Elizabeth's mind the talk between Colden and
Peyton, which her feelings had for the time driven from her thoughts.
But now a natural curiosity asserted itself.
"So you knew the fellow before?"
"I met him in '75," said Colden, blurting awkwardly into the
explanation that he knew had to be made, though little was his stomach
for it. "He was passing through New York from Boston to his home in
Virginia, after he had deserted from the King's army--"
"Deserted?" Elizabeth opened wide her eyes.
Colden briefly outlined, as far as was desirable, what he knew of
Peyton's story.
It was Miss Sally who then said:
"And he disarmed you in a duel?"
"He had practised under London fencing-masters, as he but now
admitted," replied Colden, grumpily. "He made no secret of his
desertion; and in a coffee-house discussion I said it was a dastardly
act. So we--fought. Since then I've met officers of the regiment he
left. Such a thing was never known before,--the desertion of an
officer of the Sixty-third,--and General Grant, its colonel, has the
word of Sir Henry Clinton that this fellow shall hang if they ever
catch him."
"Then I hope my horse will carry him into their hands!" said
Elizabeth, heartily. "My poor Cato! I shall never see him again!"
"We may get him back some day," said Colden, for want of aught better
to say.
"If you can do that, John Colden, and have this rebel hanged who dared
treat me so--" Elizabeth paused, and her look dwelt on the major's
face.
"Well?"
"Then I think I shall almost be really in love with you!"
But Colden sighed. "A rare promise from one's betrothed!"
"Heavens, Jack!" said Elizabeth, now diverted from the thought of her
horse. "Don't I do the best I can to love you? I'm sure I come as near
loving you as loving anybody. What more can I do than that, and
promising my hand? Don't look dismal, major, I pray,--and now make
haste back to New York."
"How can I go and leave you exposed to the chance of another visit
from some troop of rebels?" pleaded Colden, in a kind of peevish
despair, taking up his hat from the settle.
"Oh, that fellow showed no disposition to injure _me_!" she answered,
reassuringly. "Trust me to take care of myself."
"But promise that if there's any sign of danger, you will fly to New
York."
"That will depend on the circumstances. I may be safer in this house
than on the road."
"Then, at least, you will have guns fired, and also send a man to one
of our outposts for help?" There was no pretence in the young man's
solicitude. Such a bride as Elizabeth Philipse was not to be found
every day. The thought of losing her was poignant misery to him.
"To which one?" she asked. "The Hessian camp by Tippett's Brook, or
the Highlanders', at Valentine's Hill?"
"No," said Colden, meditating. "Those may be withdrawn if the weather
is bad. Send to the barrier at King's Bridge,--but if your man meets
one of our patrols or pickets on the way, so much the better. Good-by!
I shall see your father to-night, and then rejoin my regiment on
Staten Island."
He took her hand, bent over it, and kissed it.
"Be careful you don't fall in with those rebel dragoons," said
Elizabeth, lightly, as his lips dwelt on her fingers.
"No danger of that," put in old Valentine, from the settle, for the
moment ceasing to chew an imaginary cud. "They took the road to Mile
Square." The octogenarian's hearing was better than his sight.
"I shall notify our officers below that this rebel force is out," said
Colden, "and our dragoons may cut it off somewhere. Farewell, then! I
shall return for you in a week."
"In a week," repeated Elizabeth, indifferently.
He kissed her hand again, bowed to Miss Sally, and hastened from the
hall, closing the door behind him. Once outside, he made his way to
the stables, where he knew that Cuff, not having returned to
Elizabeth, must still be.
"It's little reward you give that gentleman's devotion, Elizabeth,"
said Miss Sally, when he had gone.
"Why, am I not going to give him myself? Come, aunty, don't preach on
that old topic. My parents wish me to be married to Jack Colden, and I
have consented, being an obedient child,--in some things."
"More obedient to your own whims than to anything else," was Miss
Sally's comment.
The sound of Colden's horse departing brought to the amiable aunt the
thought of a previous departure.
"That fine young rebel captain!" said she. "If our troops take him
they'll hang him! Gracious! As if there were so many handsome young
men that any could be spared! Why can't they hang the old and ugly
ones instead?"
Mr. Valentine suspended his chewing long enough to bestow on Miss
Sally a look of vague suspicion.
The door, which had not been locked or bolted after Colden's going,
was suddenly flung open to admit Cuff. The negro boy had been thrown
by the dragoons' visit into an almost comatose condition of fright,
from which the orders of Colden had but now sufficiently restored him
to enable his venturing out of the stable. He now stood trembling in
fear of Elizabeth's reproof, stammering out a wild protestation of his
inability to save the horse by force, and of his inefficacious
attempts to save him by prayer.
Elizabeth cut him short with the remark, intended rather for her own
satisfaction than for aught else, that one thing was to be hoped,--the
chance of war might pay back the impertinent rebel who had stolen the
horse. She then gave orders that the hall and the east parlor be
lighted up.
"For the proper reception," she added to her aunt, "of the next
handsome rebel captain who may condescend to honor us with a visit.
Mr. Valentine, wait in the parlor till supper is ready. I'll have a
fire made there. Come, aunt Sally, we'll discuss over a cup of tea the
charms of your pretty rebel captain and his agreeable way of relieving
ladies of their favorite horses. I'll warrant he'll look handsomer
than ever, on the gallows, when our soldiers catch him."
And she went blithely up the stairs, which at the first landing turned
rightward to a second landing, and thence rightward again to the upper
hall. The darkness was interrupted by a narrow stream of light from a
slightly open doorway in the north side of this upper hall. This was
the doorway to her own room, and when she crossed the threshold she
saw a bright blaze in the fireplace, lights in a candelabrum, cups and
saucers on a table, and Molly bringing in a steaming teapot from the
next room, which, being northward, was nearer the kitchen stairs. This
next room, too, was lighted up. Solid wooden shutters, inside the
windows of both chambers, kept the light from being seen without, and
the wind from being felt within.
As Elizabeth was looking around her room, smiling affectionately on
its many well-remembered and long-neglected objects, there was a
sudden distant detonation. Molly looked up inquiringly, but Elizabeth
directed her to place the tea things, find fresh candles, if any were
left in the house, and help Cuff put them on the chandelier in the
lower hall, and then get supper. As Molly left the room, Miss Sally
entered it.
"Elizabeth! Oh, child! There's firing beyond Locust Hill. It's on the
Mile Square road, Mr. Valentine says,--cavalry pistols and rangers'
muskets."
"Mr. Valentine has a fine ear."
"He says the rebel light horse must have met the Hessians! There 'tis
again!"
"Sit down, aunt, and have a dish of tea. Ah-h! This is comfortable!
Delicious! Let them kill one another as they please, beyond Locust
Hill; let the wind race up the Hudson and the Albany road as it
likes,--we're snugly housed!"
Williams, who had, from the upper hall, safely overheard Captain
Peyton's intrusion, and had not seen occasion for his own interference,
now came in from the next room, which he had been making ready for Miss
Sally, and received Elizabeth's orders concerning the east parlor.
Meanwhile, what of Harry Peyton and his troop?
Riding up the little tree-lined road towards the highway, they saw
dark forms of other riders standing at the point of junction. These
were the men whom Peyton had directed to patrol the road. They now
told him that, by the account of a belated farmer whom they had
halted, the Hessians had turned from the highway into the Mile Square
road. Peyton immediately led his men to that road. Thus, as old
Valentine said, that part of the highway between the manor-house and
King's Bridge remained clear of these rebel dragoons, and Major Colden
stood in no danger of meeting them on his return to New York. The
major, nevertheless, did not spare his horse as he pursued his lonely
way through the windy darkness. When he arrived at King's Bridge he
was glad to give his horse another rest, and to accept an invitation
to a bottle and a game in the tavern where the British commanding
officer was quartered.
The Hessians had not gone far on the Mile Square road, when their
leader called a halt and consulted with his subordinate officer. They
were now near Mile Square, where the Tory captain, James De Lancey,
kept a recruiting station all the year round, and Valentine's Hill,
where there was a regiment of Highlanders. Their own security was
thus assured, but they might do more than come off in safety,--they
might strike a parting blow at their pursuers. A plan was quickly
formed. A messenger was despatched to Mile Square to request a small
reinforcement. The troop then turned back towards the highway, having
planned for either one of two possibilities. The first was that the
rebel dragoons, not thinking the Hessians had turned into the Mile
Square road, would ride on down the highway. In that case, the
Hessians would follow them, having become in their turn the
pursuers, and would fall upon their rear. The noise of firearms would
alarm the Hessian camp by Tippett's Brook, below, and the rebels
would thus be caught between two forces. The second possibility was
that the Americans would follow into the Mile Square road. When the
sound of their horses soon told that this was the reality, the
Hessians promptly prepared to meet it.
The force divided into two parts. The foremost blocked the road, near
a turning, so as to remain unseen by the approaching rebels until
almost the moment of collision. The second force stayed some rods
behind the first, forming in two lines, one along each side of the
road. As to each force, some were armed with sabres and cavalry
pistols, but most, being mounted yagers of Van Wrumb's battalion, with
rifles.
As for the little detachment of Lee's Light Horse that was now
galloping along the Mile Square road, under Harry Peyton's command,
the arms were mainly broadswords and pistols, but some of the men had
rifles or light muskets.
The troop went forward at a gallop against the wind, there being
just sufficient light for keen eyes to make out the road ahead.
Harry Peyton was inwardly deploring the loss of time at Philipse
Manor-house, and fearing that the prey would reach its covert, when
suddenly the moon appeared in a cloud-rift, the troops passed a turn
in the road, and there stood a line of Hessians barring the way.
Ere Peyton could give an order, came one loud, flaming, whistling
discharge from that living barrier. Harry's horse--Elizabeth
Philipse's Cato--reared, as did others of his troop. Some of the men
came to a quick stop, others were borne forward by the impetus of
their former speed, but soon reined in for orders. No man fell, though
one groaned, and two cursed.
Harry got his horse under control, drew his broadsword with his right
hand, his pistol with his left,--which held also the rein,--and
ordered his men to charge, to fire at the moment of contact, then to
cut, slash, and club. So the little troop, the well and the wounded
alike, dashed forward.
But the line of Hessians, as soon as they had fired, turned and fled,
passing between the two lines of the second force, and stopping at
some further distance to reform and reload. The second force, being
thus cleared by the first, wheeled quickly into the road, and formed a
second barrier against Peyton's oncoming troop.
Peyton's men, intoxicated by the powder-smell that filled their
nostrils as they passed through the smoke of the Hessians' first
volley, bore down on this second barrier with furious force. They were
the best riders in the world, and many a one of them held his
broadsword aloft in one hand, his pistol raised in the other, the rein
loose on his horse's neck; while those with long-barrelled weapons
aimed them on the gallop.
The Hessians and Peyton's foremost men fired at the same moment. The
Hessians had not time to turn and flee, for the Americans, unchecked
by this second greeting of fire, came on at headlong speed. "At 'em,
boys!" yelled Peyton, discharging his pistol at a tall yager, who fell
sidewise from his horse with a fierce German oath. The light horse
men dashed between the Hessians' steeds, and there was hewing and
hacking.
A Hessian officer struck with a sabre at Peyton's left arm, but only
knocked the pistol from his hand. Peyton then found himself threatened
on the right by a trooper, and slashed at him with broadsword. The
blow went home, but the sword's end became entangled somehow with the
breast bones of the victim. A yager, thinking to deprive Peyton of the
sword, brought down a musket-butt heavily on it. But Peyton's grip was
firm, and the sword snapped in two, the hilt in his hand, the point in
its human sheath. At that instant Peyton felt a keen smart in his left
leg. It came from a second sabre blow aimed by the Hessian officer,
who might have followed it with a third, but that he was now attacked
elsewhere. Peyton had no sooner clapped his hand to his wounded leg
than he was stunned by a blow from the rifle-butt of the yager who had
previously struck the sword. Harry fell forward on the horse's neck,
which he grasped madly with both arms, still holding the broken sword
in his right hand; and lapsed from a full sense of the tumult, the
plunging and shrieking horses, the yelling and cursing men, the whirr
and clash of swords, and the thuds of rifle-blows, into blind, red,
aching, smarting half-consciousness.
When he was again aware of things, he was still clasping the horse's
neck, and was being borne alone he knew not whither. His head ached,
and his left leg was at every movement a seat of the sharpest pain. He
was dizzy, faint, bleeding,--and too weak to raise himself from his
position. He could not hear any noise of fighting, but that might have
been drowned by the singing in his ears. He tried to sit up and look
around, but the effort so increased his pain and so drew on his
nigh-fled strength, that he fell forward on the horse's neck,
exhausted and half-insensible. The horse, which had merely turned and
run from the conflict at the moment of Peyton's loss of sense,
galloped on.
Clouds had darkened the moon in time to prevent their captain's
unintentional defection from being seen by his troops. They had,
therefore, fought on against such antagonists as, in the darkness,
they could keep located. The moon reappeared, and showed many of the
Hessians making for the wooded hill near by, and some fleeing to the
force that had re-formed further on the road. Some of the Americans
charged this force, which thereupon fired a volley and fled, having
the more time therefor inasmuch as the charging dragoons did not this
time possess their former speed and impetus. The dragoons, in disorder
and without a leader, came to a halt. Becoming aware of Peyton's
absence, they sought in vain the scene of recent conflict. It was
soon inferred that he had been wounded, and, therefore of no further
use in the combat, had retreated to a safe resting-place. It was
decided useless to follow the enemy further towards the near British
posts, whence the Hessians might be reinforced,--as they would have
been, had they held the ground longer. So, having had much the better
of the fight, the surviving dragoons galloped back towards the
post-road, expecting to come upon their captain, wounded, by the
wayside, at any moment. He might, indeed, to make sure of safe refuge,
ride as far towards the American lines as the wound he must have
received would allow him to do.
Such were the doings, on the windy night, beyond Locust Hill, while
Elizabeth Philipse and her aunt sat drinking tea by candle-light
before a sputtering wood fire. Elizabeth having set the example, the
others in the house went about their business, despite the firing so
plainly heard. Black Sam had, after Elizabeth's arrival, returned from
the orchard, whither he had gone late in the day, lest he might
attract the attention of some dodging whale-boat or skulking Whig to
the few remaining apples. He had been let in at a rear door by
Williams, who had repressed him during the visit of the American
dragoons,--for Sam was a sturdy, bold fellow, of different kidney from
the dapper, citified Cuff. At Williams's order he had made a roaring
fire in the east parlor, to the great comfort of old Mr. Valentine,
and was now putting the dining-room into a similar state of warmth and
light. Williams was setting out provisions for Molly presently to
cook; and the maid herself was, with Cuff's assistance, replenishing
the hall chandelier with fresh candles.
The sound of firing had put Elizabeth's black boy into a tremulous and
white-eyed state. When Molly, who stood on the settle while he handed
the candles up to her, assured him that the firing was t'other side of
Locust Hill, that the bullets would not penetrate the mahogany door,
and that anyhow only one bullet in a hundred ever hit any one, Cuff
affrightedly observed 'twas just that one bullet he was afraid of; and
when, at the third discharge, Molly dropped a candle on his woolly
head, he fell prostrate, howling that he was shot. Molly convinced him
after awhile that he was alive, but he averred he had actually had a
glimpse of the harps and the golden streets, though the prospect of
soon possessing them had rather appalled him, as indeed it does many
good people who are so sure of heaven and so fond of it. He had been
reassured but a short time, when he had new cause for terror. Again a
horse was heard galloping up to the house. It stopped before the door
and gave a loud whinny.
[Illustration: "LEANED FORWARD ON THE HORSE'S NECK."]
Molly exchanged with Cuff a look of mingled wonder, delight, and
doubt; then ran and opened the front door.
"Yes!" she cried. "It is! It's Miss Elizabeth's horse! It's Cato!"
Cuff ran to the threshold in great joy, but suddenly stopped short.
"Dey's a soldier on hees back," he whispered.
So Molly had noticed,--but a soldier who made no demonstration, a
soldier who leaned forward on the horse's neck and clutched its mane,
holding at the same time in one hand a broken sword, and who tried to
sit up, but only emitted a groan of pain.
"He's wounded, that's it," said Molly. "Go and help the poor soldier
in, Cuff. Don't you see he's injured? He can't hurt you."
Molly enforced her commands with such physical persuasions that Cuff,
ere he well knew what he was about, was helping Peyton from the horse.
The captain, revived by a supreme effort, leaned on the boy's shoulder
and came limping and lurching across the porch into the hall. Molly
then went to his assistance, and with this additional aid he reached
the settle, on which he dropped, weak, pale, and panting. He took a
sitting posture, gasped his thanks to Molly, and, noticing the blood
from his leg wound, called damnation on the Hessian officer's sword.
Presently he asked for a drink of water.
At Molly's bidding the negro boy hastened for water, and also to
inform his mistress of the arrival. Elizabeth, hearing the news, rose
with an exclamation; but, taking thought, sat down again, and, with a
pretence of composure, finished her cup of tea. Cuff returned with a
glass of water to the hall, where Molly was listening to Peyton's
objurgations on his condition. The captain took the glass eagerly, and
was about to drink, when a footstep was heard on the stairs. He turned
his head and saw Elizabeth.
"Here's my respects, madam," quoth he, and drank off the water.
Elizabeth came down-stairs and took a position where she could look
Peyton well over. He watched her with some wonderment. When she was
quite ready she spoke:
"So, it is, indeed, the man who stole my horse."
"Pardon. I think your horse has stolen _me_! It made me an intruder
here quite against my will, I assure you."
"You will doubtless not honor us by remaining?" There was more
seriousness of curiosity in this question than Elizabeth betrayed or
Peyton perceived.
"What can I do? I can neither ride nor walk."
"But your men will probably come for you?"
"I don't think any saw the horse bear me from the fight. The field was
in smoke and darkness. My troops must have pursued the enemy. They'll
think me killed or made prisoner. If they return this way, however, I
can have them stop and take me along."
"Then you expect that, in repayment of your treatment of me awhile
ago--" Elizabeth paused.
"Madam, you should allow for the exigencies of war! Yet, if you wish
to turn me out--"
Elizabeth interrupted him:
"So it is true that, if you fell into the hands of the British, they
would hang you?"
"Doubtless! But you shouldn't blame _me_ for what _they'd_ do. And how
did you know?"
"Help this gentleman into the east parlor," said Elizabeth, abruptly,
to Cuff.
"Ah!" cried Peyton, his face lighting up with quick gratitude. "Madam,
you then make me your guest?" He thrust forward his head, forgetful of
his condition.
"My guest?" rang out Elizabeth's voice in answer. "You insolent rebel,
I intend to hand you over to the British!"
There was a brief silence. Each gazed at the other.
"You will not--do that?" said Peyton, in a voice little above a
whisper.
"Wait and see!" And she stood regarding him with elation.
He stared at her in blank consternation.
Again, the sound of the trample of many horses.
"Ah!" cried Peyton, joyfully. "My men returning!"
He rose to go to the door, but his wounded leg gave way, and he
staggered to the staircase, and leaned against the balustrade.
Elizabeth's look of gratification faded. She ran to the door, fastened
it with bolt and key, and stood with her back against it.
The sound, first distant as if in the Mile Square road, was now
manifestly in the highway. Would it come southward, towards the house,
or go northward, decreasing?
"They are my men!" cried Peyton to Cuff. "Call them! They'll pass
without knowing I am here. Call them, I say! Quick! They'll be out of
hearing."
"Silence!" said Elizabeth to Cuff, in a low tone, and stood
listening.
Peyton made another attempt to move, but realized his inability. 'Twas
all he could do to support himself against the balustrade.
"My God, they've gone by!" he cried. "They'll return to our lines,
leaving me behind." And he shouted, "Carrington!"
The voice rang for a moment in the remoteness of the hall above. Then
complete silence within. All in the hall remained motionless,
listening. The sound of the horses came fainter and fainter.
"Carrington! Help! I'm in the manor-house,--a prisoner!"
A look of despair came over his face. On Elizabeth's the suspense gave
way to a smile of triumph.
The sound of the horses died away.