VIEW HALLOO!
It rained, rained, rained, and the darkness and wind combined with the
uproar of the storm to make venturing abroad well nigh impossible. Yet,
an orderly, riding at hazard, managed to come up with a hundred of the
Continental foot, convoying the train, and, turning them in their
slopping tracks, start back with them through a road running shin-high
in mud and water.
Messengers, also, were dispatched to call out the district militia, and
they plodded all night with their lanterns, over field and path and
lonely country road.
As for Colonel Sheldon, booted, sashed, and helmeted, he sat apathetic
and inert in the hall, obstinately refusing to mount his men.
"For," says he, "it will only soak their powder and their skins, and
nobody but a fool would ride hither in such a storm. And Tarleton is no
fool, nor am I, either; and that's flat!" It was not as flat as his own
forehead.
"Do you mean that I am a fool to march my men back here from
Lewisboro?" demanded Colonel Thomas sharply, making to rise from his
seat by the empty fireplace.
Duels had sprung from less provocation than had been given by Colonel
Sheldon. Mr. Hunt very mildly interposed; and a painful scene was
narrowly averted because of Colonel Thomas's cold contempt for Sheldon,
which I think Captain Fancher shared.
Major Lockwood, coming in at the moment, flung aside his dripping
riding cloak.
"Sir," said he to Sheldon, "the rumour that the Legion is abroad has
reached your men, and they are saddling in my barns."
"What damned nonsense!" exclaimed Sheldon, in a pet; and, rising,
strode heavily to the door, but met there his Major, one Benjamin
Tallmadge, coming in, all over mud.
This fiery young dragoon's plume, helmet, and cloak were dripping, and
he impatiently dashed the water from feathers and folds.
"Sir!" began Colonel Sheldon loudly, "I have as yet given no order to
saddle!"
And, "By God, sir," says Tallmadge, "the orders must have come from
somebody, for they're doing it!"
"Sir--sir!" stammered Sheldon, "What d'ye mean by that?"
"Ah!" says Tallmadge coolly, "I mean what I say. Orders must have been
given by somebody."
No doubt; for the orders came from himself, the clever trooper that he
was--and so he left Sheldon a-fuming and Major Lockwood and Mr. Hunt
most earnestly persuading him to sanction this common and simple
precaution.
Why he conducted so stupidly I never knew. It required all the gentle
composure of Mr. Hunt and all the vigorous logic of Major Lockwood to
prevent him from ordering his men to off-saddle and retire to the straw
above the mangers.
Major Tallmadge and a cornet passed through the hall with their
regimental standard, but Sheldon pettishly bade them to place it in the
parlour and await further orders--for no reason whatever, apparently,
save to exhibit a petty tyranny.
And all the while a very forest of candles remained lighted throughout
the house; only the little children were asleep; the family servants
and slaves remained awake, not daring to go to bed or even to close
their eyes to all these rumours and uncertainties.
Colonel Thomas, his iron-grey head sunk on his breast, paced the hall,
awaiting the arrival of the two escort companies of his command, yet
scarcely hoping for such good fortune, I think, for his keen eyes
encountered mine from time to time, and he made me gestures expressive
of angry resignation.
As for Sheldon, he pouted and sulked on a sofa, and drank mulled wine,
peevishly assuring everybody who cared to listen that no attack was to
be apprehended in such a storm, and that Colonel Tarleton and his men
now lay snug abed in New York town, a-grinning in their dreams.
A few drenched and woe-begone militia men, the pans of their muskets
wrapped in rags, reported, and were taken in charge by Captain Fancher
as a cattle guard for Major Lockwood's herd.
None of Major Lockwood's messengers were yet returned. Our rifleman had
saddled our own horses, and had brought them up under one of a row of
sheds which had recently been erected near the house. A pair of smoky
lanterns hung under the dripping rafters; and by their light I
perceived the fine horses of Major Lockwood, and of Colonels Sheldon
and Thomas also, standing near ours, bridled and saddled and held by
slaves.
Mrs. Lockwood sat near the parlour door, quietly sewing, but from time
to time I saw her raise her eyes and watch her husband. Doubtless she
was thinking of those forty golden guineas which were to be paid for
the delivery of his head--perhaps she was thinking of Bloody
Cunningham, and the Provost, and the noose that dangled in a painted
pagoda betwixt the almshouse and the jail in that accursed British city
south of us.
Mrs. Hunt had far less to fear for her quiet lord and master, who
combatted the lower party only with his brains. So she found more
leisure to listen to Boyd's whispered fooleries, and to caution him
with lifted finger, glancing at him sideways; and I saw her bite her
lips at times to hide the smile, and tap her slender foot, and bend
closer over her tabouret while her needle flew the faster.
As for me, my Sagamore had not arrived; and I finally cast a cloak
about me and went out to the horse-sheds, where our rifleman lolled,
chewing a lump of spruce and holding our three horses.
"Well, Jack," said I, "this is rare weather for Colonel Tarleton's fox
hunting."
"They say he hunts an ass, sir, too," said Jack Mount under his breath.
"And I think it must be so, for there be five score of Colonel
Sheldon's dragoons in yonder barns, drawing at jack-straws or conning
their thumbs--and not a vidette out--not so much as a militia picket,
save for the minute men which Colonel Thomas and Major Lockwood have
sent out afoot."
There was a certain freedom in our corps, but it never warranted such
impudent presumption as this; and I sharply rebuked the huge fellow for
his implied disrespect toward Colonel Sheldon.
"Very well, sir. I will bite off this unmilitary tongue o' mine and
feed it to your horse. Then, sir, if you but ask him, he will tell you
very plainly that none of his four-footed comrades in the barn have
carried a single vidette on their backs even as far as Poundridge
village, let alone Mile-Square."
I could scarcely avoid smiling.
"Do you then, for one, believe that Colonel Tarleton will venture
abroad on such a night?"
"I believe as you do," said the rifleman coolly, "--being some three
years or more a soldier of my country."
"Oh! And what do I believe, Jack?"
"Being an officer who commands as good a soldier as I am, you, sir,
believe as I do."
I was obliged to laugh.
"Well, Jack--so you agree with me that the Legion Cavalry is out?"
"It is as sure that nested snake's eggs never hatched out rattlers as
it is certain that this wild night will hatch out Tarleton!"
"And why is it so certain in your mind, Jack Mount?"
"Lord, Mr. Loskiel," he said with a lazy laugh, "you know how Mr. Boyd
would conduct were he this same Major Tarleton! You know what Major
Parr would do--and what you and I and every officer and every man of
Morgan's corps would do on such a night to men of Sheldon's kidney!"
"You mean the unexpected."
"Yes, sir. And this red fox on horseback, Tarleton, has ever done the
same, and will continue till we stop his loping with a bit o' lead."
I nodded and looked out into the rain-swept darkness. And I knew that
our videttes should long since have been set far out on every road
twixt here and Bedford village.
Captain Fancher passed with a lantern, and I ventured to accost him and
mention very modestly my present misgivings concerning our present
situation.
"Sir," said the Captain, dryly, "I am more concerned in this matter
than are you; and I have taken it upon myself to protest to Major
Tallmadge, who is at this moment gone once more to Colonel Sheldon with
very serious representations."
"Lieutenant Boyd and I have volunteered as a scout of three," I said,
"but Colonel Sheldon has declined our services with scant politeness."
Fancher stood far a moment, his rain-smeared lantern hanging motionless
at his side.
"Tarleton may not ride tonight," he said, and moved off a step or two;
then, turning: "But, damn him, I think he will," said he. And walked
away, swinging his light as furiously as a panther thrashes his tail.
By the pointers of my watch it now approached three o'clock in the
morning, and the storm was nothing abating. I had entirely despaired of
the Sagamore's coming, and was beginning to consider the sorry pickle
which this alarm must leave us in if Tarleton's Legion came upon us
now; and that with our widely scattered handfuls we could only pull
foot and await another day to find our Sagamore; when, of a sudden
there came a-creeping through the darkness, out o' the very maw of the
storm, a slender shape, wrapped to the eyes in a ragged scarlet cape. I
knew her; but I do not know how I knew her.
"It is you!" I exclaimed, hastening forward to draw her under shelter.
She came obediently with me, slipping in between the lanterns and among
the horses, moving silently at my elbow to the farther shed, which was
empty.
"You use me very kindly," I said, "to venture abroad tonight on my
behalf."
"I am abroad," she said, "on behalf of my country."
Only her eyes I could see over the edge of the scarlet cloak, and they
regarded me very coldly.
"I meant it so," I said hastily, "What of the Sagamore? Will he come?"
"He will come as I promised you."
"Here?" I said, delighted. "This very night?"
"Yes, here, this night."
"How good--how generous you have been!" I exclaimed with a warmth and
sincerity that invaded every fibre of me. "And have you come through
this wild storm all the long way afoot?"
"Yes," she said, calmly, "afoot. Since when, sir, have beggars ridden
to a tryst except in pretty fables?"
"Had I known it, I would have taken horse and gone for you and brought
you here riding pillion behind me."
"Had I desired you to come for me, Mr. Loskiel, I should not have
troubled you here."
She loosened the shabby scarlet cloak so that it dropped from below her
eyes and left the features exposed. Enough of lantern light from the
other shed fell on her face for me to see her smooth, cool cheeks all
dewy with the rain, as I had seen them once before in the gloom of the
coming storm.
She turned her head, glancing back at the other shed where men and
horses stood in grotesque shadow shapes under the windy lantern light;
then she looked cautiously around the shed where we stood.
"Come nearer," she motioned.
And once again, as before, my nearness to her seemed for a moment to
meddle with my heart and check it; then, as though to gain the beats
they lost, every little pulse began to hurry faster.
She said in a low voice:
"The Sagamore is now closeted with Major Lockwood. I left him at the
porch and came out here to warn you. Best go to him now, sir. And I
will bid you a--good night."
"Has he business also with Major Lockwood?"
"He has indeed. You will learn presently that the Sagamore came by
North Castle, and that the roads south of the church are full of
riders--hundreds of them--in jack-boots and helmets."
"Were their jackets red?"
"He could not tell. They were too closely cloaked,"
"Colonel Moylan's dragoons?" I said anxiously. "Do you think so?"
"The Sagamore did not think so, and dared not ask, but started
instantly cross-country with the information. I had been waiting to
intercept him and bring him here to you, as I promised you, but missed
him on the Bedford road, where he should have passed. Therefore, I
hastened hither to confess to you my failure, and chanced to overtake
him but a moment since, as he crossed the dooryard yonder."
Even in my growing anxiety, I was conscious of the faithfulness that
this poor girl had displayed--this ragged child who had stood in the
storm all night long on the Bedford road to intercept the Indian.
Faithful, indeed! For, having missed him, she had made her way here on
foot merely to tell me that she could not keep her word to me.
"Has the Sagamore spoken with Colonel Sheldon?" I asked gently.
"I do not know."
"Will you tarry here till I return?"
"Have you further use of me, Mr. Loskiel?"
Her direct simplicity checked me. After all, now that she had done her
errand, what further use had I for her? I did not even know why I had
asked her to tarry here until my return; and searched my mind seeking
the reason. For it must have been that I had some good reason in my
mind.
"Why, yes," I said, scarce knowing why, "I have further use for you.
Tarry for a moment and I shall return. And," I added mentally, "by that
time I shall have discovered the reason."
She said nothing; I hastened back to the house, where even from the
outside I could hear the loud voice of Sheldon vowing that if what this
Indian said were true, the cavalry he had discovered at North Castle
must be Moylan's and no other.
I entered and listened a moment to Major Lockwood, urging this
obstinate man to send out his patrols; then I walked over to the window
where Boyd stood in whispered consultation with an Indian.
The savage towered at least six feet in his soaking moccasins; he wore
neither lock nor plume, nor paint of any kind that I could see, carried
neither gun nor blanket, nor even a hatchet. There was only a heavy
knife at the beaded girdle, which belted his hunting shirt and breeches
of muddy tow-cloth.
As I approached them, the Mohican turned his head and shot a searching
glance at me. Boyd said:
"This is the great Sagamore, Mayaro, Mr. Loskiel; and I have attempted
to persuade him to come north with us tomorrow. Perhaps your eloquence
will succeed where my plain speech has failed." And to the tall
Sagamore he said: "My brother, this is Ensign Loskiel, of Colonel
Morgan's command--my comrade and good friend. What this man's lips tell
you has first been taught them by his heart. Squirrels chatter, brooks
babble, and the tongues of the Iroquois are split. But this is a man,
Sagamore, such as are few among men. For he lies not even to women."
And though his countenance was very grave, I saw his eyes laughing at
me.
The Indian made no movement until I held out my hand. Then his sinewy
fingers touched mine, warily at first, like the exploring antennae of a
nervous butterfly. And presently his steady gaze began to disturb me.
"Does my brother the Sagamore believe he has seen me somewhere
heretofore?" I asked, smilingly. "Perhaps it may have been so--at
Johnson Hall--or at Guy Park, perhaps, where came many chiefs and
sachems and Sagamores in the great days of the great Sir William--the
days that are no more, O Sagamore!"
And: "My brother's given name?" inquired the savage bluntly.
"Euan--Euan Loskiel, once of the family of Guy Johnson, but now, for
these three long battle years, officer in Colonel Morgan's regiment," I
said. "Has the wise Sagamore ever seen me before this moment?"
The savage's eyes wavered, then sought the floor.
"Mayaro has forgotten," he replied very quietly, using the Delaware
phrase--a tongue of which I scarcely understood a word. But I knew he
had seen me somewhere, and preferred not to admit it. Indian caution,
thought I, and I said:
"Is my brother Siwanois or Mohican?"
A cunning expression came into his features:
"If a Siwanois marries a Mohican woman, of what nation are the
children, my new brother, Loskiel?"
"Mohican," I said in surprise,--"or so it is among the Iroquois," and
the next moment could have bitten off my tongue for vexation that I
should have so clumsily reminded a Sagamore of a subject nation of his
servitude, by assuming that the Lenni-Lenape had conformed even to the
racial customs of their conquerors.
The hot flush now staining my face did not escape him, and what he
thought of my stupid answer to him or of my embarrassment, I did not
know. His calm countenance had not altered--not even had his eyes
changed, which features are quickest to alter when Indians betray
emotion.
I said in a mortified voice:
"The Siwanois Sagamore will believe that his new brother, Loskiel,
meant no offense." And I saw that the compliment had told.
"Mayaro has heard," he said, without the slightest emphasis of
resentment. Then, proudly and delicately yielding me reason, and
drawing his superb figure to its full and stately height: "When a
Mohican Sagamore listens, all Algonquins listen, and the Siwanois clan
grow silent in the still places. When a real man speaks, real men
listen with respect. Only the Canienga continue to chirp and chatter;
only the Long House is full of squirrel sounds and the noise of jays."
His lip curled contemptuously. "Let the echoes of the Long House answer
the Kanonsis. Mayaro's ears are open."
Boyd, with a triumphant glance at me, said eagerly:
"Is not this hour the hour for the great Siwanois clan of the
Lenni-Lenape to bid defiance to the Iroquois? Is it not time that the
Mohawks listen to the reading of those ancient belts, and count their
dishonoured dead with brookside pebbles from the headwaters of the
Sacandaga to the Delaware Capes?"
"Can squirrels count?" retorted Mayaro disdainfully. "Does my white
brother understand what the blue-jays say one to another in the
yellowing October woods? Not in the Kanonsis, nor yet in the
Kanonsionni may the Mohicans read to the Mohawks the ancient wampum
records. The Lenni-Lenape are Algonquin, not Huron-Iroquois. Let those
degraded Delawares who still sit in the Long House count their white
belts while, from both doors of the Confederacy, Seneca and Mohawk
belt-bearers hurl their red wampum to the four corners of the world."
"The Mohicans, while they wait, may read of glory and great deeds," I
said, "but the belts in their hands are not white. How can this be, my
brother?"
The Sagamore's eyes flashed:
"The belts we remember are red!" he said. "We Mohicans have never
understood Iroquois wampum. Let the Lenape of the Kansonsionni bear
Iroquois belts!"
"In the Long House," said I, "the light is dim. Perhaps the Canienga's
ambassadors can no longer perceive the red belts in the archives of the
Lenape."
It had so far been a careful and cautious exchange of subtlest metaphor
between this proud and sensitive Mohican and me; I striving to win him
to our cause by recalling the ancient greatness and the proud freedom
of his tribe, yet most carefully avoiding undue pressure or any direct
appeal for an immediate answer to Boyd's request. But already I had so
thoroughly prepared the ground; and the Sagamore's responses had been
so encouraging, that the time seemed to have come to put the direct and
final question. And now, to avoid the traditional twenty-four hours'
delay which an Indian invariably believes is due his own dignity before
replying to a vitally important demand, I boldly cast precedent and
custom to the four winds, and once more seized on allegory to aid me in
this hour of instant need.
I began by saluting him with the most insidious and stately compliment
I could possibly offer to a Sagamore of a conquered race--a race which
already was nearly extinct--investing this Mohican Sagamore with the
prerogatives of his very conquerors by the subtlety of my opening
phrase:
"O Sagamore! Roya-neh! Noble of the three free clans of a free Mohican
people! Our people have need of you. The path is dark to
Catharines-town. Terror haunts those frightful shades. Roya-nef! We
need you!
"Brother! Is there occasion for belts between us to confirm a brother's
words, when this leathern girth I wear around my body carries a red
wampum which all may see and read--my war axe and my knife?"
I raised my right arm slowly, and drew with my forefinger a great
circle in the air around us:
"Brother! Listen attentively! Since a Sagamore has read the belt I
yesterday delivered, the day-sun has circled us where we now stand. It
is another day, O Roya-neh! In yonder fireplace new ashes whiten, new
embers redden. We have slept (touching my eyelids and then laying my
right hand lightly over his); we have eaten (again touching his lips
and then my own); and now--now here--now, in this place and on this
day, I have returned to the Mohican fire--the Fire of Tamanund! Now I
am seated (touching both knees). Now my ears are open. Let the Sagamore
of the Mohicans answer my belt delivered! I have spoken, O Roya-neh!"
For a full five minutes of intense silence I knew that my bold appeal
was being balanced in the scales by one of a people to whom tradition
is a religion. One scale was weighted with the immemorial customs and
usages of a great and proud people; the other with a white man's subtle
and flattering recognition of these customs, conveyed in metaphor,
which all Indians adore, and appealing to imagination--an appeal to
which no Huron, no Iroquois, no Algonquin, is ever deaf.
In the breathless silence of suspense the irritable, high-pitched voice
of Colonel Sheldon came to my ears. It seemed that after all he had
sent out a few troopers and that one had just returned to report a
large body of horsemen which had passed the Bedford road at a gallop,
apparently headed for Ridgefield. But I scarcely noted what was being
discussed in the further end of the hall, so intent was I on the
Sagamore's reply--if, indeed, he meant to answer me at all. I could
even feel Boyd's body quivering with suppressed excitement as our
elbows chanced to come in contact; as for me, I scarce made out to
control myself at all, and any nether lip was nearly bitten through ere
the Mohican lifted his symmetrical head and looked me full and honestly
in the eyes.
"Brother," he said, in a curiously hushed voice, "on this day I come to
you here, at this fire, to acquaint you with my answer; answering my
brother's words of yesterday."
I could hear Boyd's deep breath of profound relief. "Thank God!" I
thought.
The Sagamore spoke again, very quietly:
"Brother, the road is dark to Catharines-town. There are no stars
there, no moon, no sun--only a bloody mist in the forest. For to that
dreadful empire of the Iroquois only blind trails lead. And from them
ghosts of the Long House arise and stand. Only a thick darkness is
there--an endless gloom to which the Mohican hatchets long, long ago
dispatched the severed souls they struck! In every trail they stand,
these ghosts of the Kanonsi, Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga--ghosts of the
Tuscarora. The Mohawk beasts who wear the guise of men are there.
Mayaro spits upon them! And upon their League! And upon their Atotarho
the Siwanois spit!"
Suddenly his arm shot out and he grasped the hilt of my knife, drew it
from my belt, and then slowly returned it. I drew his knife and
rendered it again.
"Brother," he said, "I have this day heard your voice coming to me out
of the Northland! I have read the message on the belt you bore and
wear; your voice has not lied to my ears; your message is clear as
running springs to my eyes. I can see through to their pleasant depths.
No snake lies hidden under them. So now--now, I say--if my brother's
sight is dimmed on the trail to Catharines-town, Mayaro will teach him
how to see under the night-sun as owls see, so that behind us, the
steps of many men shall not stumble, and the darkness of the Long House
shall become redder than dawn, lighted by the flames of a thousand
rifles!
"Brother! A Sagamore never lies. I have drawn my brother's knife!
Brother, I have spoken!"
And so it was done in that house and in the dark of dawn. Boyd silently
gave him his hands, and so did I; then Boyd led him aside with a slight
motion of dismissal to me.
As I walked toward the front door, which was now striding open, I saw
Major Tallmadge go out ahead of me, run to the mounting-block, and
climb into his saddle. Colonel Sheldon followed him to the doorway, and
called after him:
"Take a dozen men with you, and meet Colonel Moylan! A dozen will be
sufficient, Major!"
Then he turned back into the house, saying to Major Lockwood and Mr.
Hunt he was positive that the large body of dragoons in rapid motion,
which had been seen and reported by one of our videttes a few minutes
since, could be no other than Moylan's expected regiment; and that he
would mount his own men presently and draw them up in front of the
Meeting House.
The rain had now nearly ceased; a cloudy, greyish horizon became
visible, and the dim light spreading from a watery sky made objects
dimly discernible out of doors.
I hastened back to the shed where I had left the strange maid swathed
in her scarlet cape; and found her there, slowly pacing the trampled
sod before it.
As I came up with her, she said:
"Why are the light dragoons riding on the Bedford road? Is aught amiss?"
"A very large body of horse has passed our videttes, making toward
Ridgefield. Colonel Sheldon thinks it must be Moylan's regiment."
"Do you?"
"It may be so."
"And if it be the leather-caps?"
"Then we must find ourselves in a sorry pickle."
As I spoke, the little bugle-horn of Sheldon's Horse blew boots and
saddles, and four score dragoons scrambled into their saddles down by
the barns, and came riding up the sloppy road, their horses slipping
badly and floundering through the puddles and across the stream, where,
led by a captain, the whole troop took the Meeting House road at a
stiff canter.
We watched them out of sight, then she said:
"I have awaited your pleasure, Mr. Loskiel. Pray, in what further
manner can I be of service to--my country?"
"I have come back to tell you," said I, "that you can be of no further
use. Our errand to the Sagamore has now ended, and most happily. You
have served your country better than you can ever understand. I have
come to say so, and to thank you with--with a heart--very full."
"Have I then done well?" she asked slowly.
"Indeed you have!" I replied, with such a warmth of feeling that it
surprised myself.
"Then why may I not understand this thing that I have done--for my
country?"
"I wish I might tell you."
"May you not?"
"No, I dare not."
She bit her lip, gazing at nothing over the ragged collar of her cape,
and stood so, musing. And after a while she seemed to come to herself,
wearily, and she cast a tragic upward glance at me. Then, dropping her
eyes, and with the slightest inclination of her head, not looking at me
at all, she started across the trampled grass.
"Wait----" I was by her side again in the same breath.
"Well, sir?" And she confronted me with cool mien and lifted brows.
Under them her grey eyes hinted of a disdain which I had seen in them
more than once.
"May I not suitably express my gratitude to you?" I said.
"You have already done so."
"I have tried to do so properly, but it is not easy for me to say how
grateful to you we men of the Northland are--how deeply we must ever
remain in your debt. Yet--I will attempt to express our thanks--if you
care to listen."
After a pause: "Then--if there is nothing more to say--"
"There is, I tell you. Will you not listen?"
"I have been thanked--suitably.... I will say adieu, sir."
"Would you--would you so far favour me as to make known to me your
name?" I said, stammering a little.
"Lois is my name," she said indifferently.
"No more than that?"
"No more than that."
How it was now going with me I did not clearly understand, but it
appeared to be my instinct not to let her slip away into the world
without something more friendly said--some truer gratitude
expressed--some warmth.
"Lois," I said very gravely, "what we Americans give to our country
demands no ignoble reward. Therefore, I offer none of any sort. Yet,
because you have been a good comrade to me--and because now we are
about to go our different ways into the world before us--I ask of you
two things. May I do so?"
After a moment, looking away from me across the meadow:
"Ask," she said.
"Then the first is--will you take my hand in adieu--and let us part as
good soldiers part?"
Still gazing absently across the meadow, she extended her hand. I
retained it for a moment, then released it. Her arm fell inert by her
side, but mine tingled to the shoulder.
"And one more thing," I said, while this strange and curious reluctance
to let her go was now steadily invading me.
"Yes?"
"Will you wear a comrade's token--in memory of an hour or two with him?"
"What!"
She spoke with a quick intake of breath and her grey eyes were on me
now, piercing me to the roots of speech and motive.
I wore a heavy ring beaten out of gold; Guy Johnson gave it. This I
took from my trembling finger, scarce knowing why I was doing it at
all, and stooping and lifting her little, wind-roughened hand, put it
on the first finger I encountered--blindly, now, and clumsily past all
belief, my hand was shaking so absurdly.
If my face were now as red as it was hot, hers, on the contrary, had
become very strange and still and white. For a moment I seemed to read
distrust, scorn, even hatred, in her level stare, and something of
fear, too, in every quickening breath that moved the scarlet mantle on
her breast. Then, in a flash, she had turned her back on me and was
standing there in the grey dawn, with both hands over her face,
straight and still as a young pine. But my ring was shining on her
finger.
Emotion of a nature to which I was an utter stranger was meddling with
my breath and pulses, now checking, now speeding both so that I stood
with mind disconcerted in a silly sort of daze.
At length I gathered sufficient composure to step to her side again.
"Once more, little comrade, good-bye," I said. "This ends it all."
Again she turned her shoulder to me, but I heard her low reply:
"Good-bye--Mr. Loskiel."
And so it ended.
A moment later I found myself walking aimlessly across the grass in no
particular direction. Three times I turned in my tracks to watch her.
Then she disappeared beyond the brookside willows.
I remember now that I had turned and was walking slowly back to where
our horses stood, moving listlessly through the freshly mowed meadow
between drenched haystacks--the first I had seen that year--and God
alone knows where were my thoughts a-gypsying, when, very far away, I
heard a gun-shot.
At first I could perceive nothing, then on the distant Bedford road I
saw one of our dragoons running his horse and bending low in his saddle.
Another dragoon appeared, riding a diable--and a dozen more behind
these; and on their heels a-galloping, a great body of red-jacketed
horsemen--hundreds of them--the foremost shooting from their saddles,
the great mass of them swinging their heavy cutlasses and spurring
furiously after our flying men.
I had seen far more than was necessary, and I ran for my horse. Other
officers came running, too--Sheldon, Thomas, Lockwood, and my
Lieutenant Boyd.
As we clutched bridle and stirrup and popped upward into out saddles,
it seemed that the red-coats must cut us off, but we spurred out of the
meadow into the Meeting House road, and Boyd cried furiously in my ear:
"See what this damned Sheldon has done for us now! God! What disgrace
is ours!"
I saw Colonel Sheldon presently, pale as death, and heard him exclaim:
"Oh, Christ! I shall be broke for this! I shall be broke!"
I made out to say to Boyd:
"The enemy are coming in hundreds, sir, and we have scarce four score
men mounted by the Meeting House."
"They'll never stand, either," he panted. "But if they do we'll see
this matter to an end."
"Our orders?" I asked.
"Damn our orders," said he. "We'll see this matter to an end."
We rode hard, but already some of Tallmadge's terror-stricken patrol
were overhauling us, and the clangor of the British cavalry broke
louder and louder on our ears as we came in sight of the Meeting House.
Sheldon's four score troopers heard the uproar of the coming storm,
wavered, broke, and whirled their horses about into a most disorderly
flight along the Stamford road. Everybody ran--there was no other
choice for officers and men--and close on our heels came pelting the
17th British Dragoons, the Hussars, and Mounted Yagers of the Legion;
and behind these galloped their mounted infantry.
A mad anxiety to get away from this terrible and overwhelming force
thundering on our heels under full charge possessed us all, I think,
and this paramount necessity held shame and fury in abeyance. There was
nothing on earth for us to do but to ride and try to keep our horses
from falling headlong on the rocky, slippery road; for it was now a
very hell of trampling horsemen, riding frantically knee against knee,
buffeted, driven, crowded, crushed, slipping; and trooper after trooper
went down with a crash under the terrible hoofs, horse and rider
battered instantly into eternity.
For full three-quarters of a mile they ran us full speed, and we drove
on headlong; then at the junction of the New Canaan road our horsemen
separated, and I found myself riding in the rear beside Boyd and Jack
Mount once more. Turning to look back, I perceived the Legion Cavalry
were slowing to a trot to rest their hard-blown horses; and gradually
our men did the same. But the Hussars continued to come on, and we
continued our retreat, matching our speed to theirs.
They let drive at us once with their heavy pistols, and we in the rear
returned their fire, emptying one saddle and knocking two horses into
the roadside bushes.
Then they ran us hard again, and strove to flank us, but the rocky
country was too stiff for their riders, and they could not make out to
cut us off or attain our flanks.
"What a disgrace! What a disgrace!" was all Boyd found to say; and I
knew he meant the shameful surprise, not the retreat of our eighty
light horsemen before the thundering charge of their heavy hundreds.
Our troopers did not seem really frightened; they now jogged along
doggedly, but coolly enough. We had with us on the New Canaan road some
twenty light dragoons, not including Boyd, myself, and Jack Mount--one
captain, one cornet and a trumpeter lad, the remainder being rank and
file, and several mounted militiamen.
The captain, riding in the rear with us, was ever twisting his hatless
head to scowl back at the Hussars; and he talked continually in a loud,
confident voice to reassure his men.
"They're dropping off by tens and twenties," he said. "If they keep to
that habit we'll give 'em a charge. Wait till the odds lessen. Steady
there, boys! This cattle chase is not ended. We'll fetch 'em a crack
yet. We'll get a chance at their mounted infantry yet. All in God's
time, boys. Never doubt it."
The bugle-horns of the Legion were now sounding their derisive,
fox-hunting calls, and behind us we could hear the far laughter and
shouting: "Yoicks! Forrard! Stole away--stole away!"
My cheeks began to burn; Boyd gnawed his lips continually, and I saw
our dragoons turning angrily in their saddles as they understood the
insult of the British trumpets.
Half a mile farther on there ran a sandy, narrow cross road into the
woods on either side of us.
The captain drew bridle, stood up in his stirrups, and looked back. For
some time, now, the taunting trumpets had not jeered us, and the
pursuit seemed to have slackened after nearly three hard miles of
running. But they still followed us, though it was some minutes before
their red jackets came bobbing up again over the sandy crest of the
hill behind us.
All our men who had been looking back were now wheeled; and we divided,
half backing into the sandy road to the right, half taking the
left-hand road under command of Lieutenant Boyd.
"They are not too many," said the dragoon captain coolly, beckoning to
his little bugle-horn.
Willows hid us until their advanced troopers were close to where we
sat--so close that one of our excited dragoons, spurring suddenly
forward into the main road, beat down a Hussar's guard, flung his arms
around him, and tore him from his saddle. Both fell from their horses
and began to fight fisticuffs in the sandy ditch.
We charged instantly, and the enemy ran for it, our troopers raising
the view halloo in their turn and whipping out their sabres. And all
the way back to the Stamford road we ran them, and so excited became
our dragoons that we could scarce hold them when we came in sight once
more of the British main body now reforming under the rolling smoke of
Poundridge village, which they had set on fire.
But further advance was madness, even when the remainder of our light
troop came cantering down the Stamford road to rejoin us and watch the
burning town, for we could now muster but two score and ten riders,
having lost nearly thirty dead or missing.
A dozen of Captain Fancher's militia came up, sober farmers of the
village that lay below us buried in smoke; and our dragoons listened to
the tales of these men, some of whom had been in the village when the
onset came, and had remained there, skulking about to pick off the
enemy until their main forces returned.
"Tarleton was in a great rage, I warrant you," said one big, raw-boned
militiaman. "He rode up to Major Lockwood's house with his dragoons,
and says he: 'Burn me this arch rebel's nest!' And the next minute the
Yagers were running in and out, setting fire to the curtains and
lighting bundles of hay in every room. And I saw the Major's lady stand
there on her doorstep and demand the reason for such barbarity--the
house already afire behind her. Mrs. Hunt and the servants came out
with the children in their arms. And, 'By God, madam,' says Tarleton,
'when shots are fired at my men from houses by the inhabitants of any
town in America, I'll burn the town and hang the men if I can get 'em.'
Some Hussars came up, driving before them the Major's fine herd of
imported cattle--and a troop of his brood mares--the same he has so
often had to hide in the Rock Hills. 'Stand clear, madam!' bawls
Tarleton. 'I'll suffer nothing to be removed from that house!' At this
the Major's lady gives one long look after her children, which Betsy
Hunt and the blacks are carrying through the orchard; then she calmly
enters the burning house and comes out again with a big silver platter
and a load of linen from the dining-room in her arms. And at that a
trooper draws his sabre and strikes her with the flat o' the
blade--God, what a blow!--so that the lady falls to her knees and the
heavy silver platter rolls out on the grass and the fine linen is in
the mud. I saw her blacks lift her and get her off through the orchard.
I sneaked out of the brook willows, took a long shot at the beast who
struck her, and then pulled foot."
There was a shacked silence among the officers who had gathered to
listen. Until this moment our white enemies had offered no violence to
ladies. So this brutality toward the Major's lady astounded us.
Somebody said in a low voice:
"They've fired the church, now."
Major Lockwood's house was also burning furiously, as also were his
barns and stables, his sheds, and the new, unfinished barracks. We
could see it all very plainly from the hilltop where we had gathered.
"Alsop Hunt was taken," said a militiaman. "They robbed him of his
watch and purse, damning him for a rebel broad-brim. He's off to the
Provost, I fear."
"They took Mr. Reed, too," said another. "They had a dozen neighbours
under guard when I left."
Sheldon, looking like death, sat his saddle a little apart. No one
spoke to him. For even a deeper disgrace had now befallen the dragoons
in the loss of their standard left behind in Lockwood's house.
"What a pitiful mess!" whispered Boyd. "Is there nothing to be done but
sit here and see the red beasts yonder sack the town?"
Before I could answer, I caught the sound of distant firing on the
Lewisboro road. Colonel Thomas reared stiffly in his saddle, and:
"Those are my own men!" he said loudly, "or I lie like a Tory!"
A hill half a mile north of us suddenly became dark with men; we saw
the glitter of their muskets, saw the long belt of white smoke encircle
them, saw red-jacketed men run out of a farmhouse, mount, and gallop
toward the burning town.
Along the road below us a column of Continental infantry appeared on
the run, cheering us with their hats.
A roar from our dragoons answered them; our bugle-horn spoke, and I saw
Major Tallmadge, with a trumpeter at his back, rein in while the
troopers were reforming and calling off amid a whirlwind of rearing
horses and excited men.
Below in the village, the British had heard and perfectly understood
the volley from Thomas's regiment, and the cavalry and mounted infantry
of the Legion were assembling in the smoke, and already beginning a
rapid retreat by the Bedford road.
As Boyd and I went clattering down the hill, we saw Major Lockwood with
Thomas's men, and we rode up to him. He passed his sword to the left
hand, and leaning across in his saddle, exchanged a grip with us. His
face was ghastly.
"I know--I know," he said hurriedly. "I have seen my wife and children.
My wife is not badly injured. All are in safety. Thank you, gentlemen."
We wheeled our horses and fell in beside our infantry, now pressing
forward on a heavy run, so that Colonel Thomas and Major Lockwood had
to canter their horses.
Firing instantly broke out as we entered the smoky zone where the
houses were burning. Into it, an our left, galloped Sheldon's light
dragoons, who, having but five muskets in the command, went at the
Yagers with naked sabres; and suddenly found themselves in touch with
the entire Legion cavalry, who set up a Loud bawling:
"Surrender, you damned rebels! Pull up, there! Halt!"
I saw a trooper, one Jared Hoyt, split the skull of a pursuing British
dragoon straight across the mouth with a back-handed stroke, as he
escaped from the melee; and another, one John Buckhout, duck his head
as a dragoon fired at him, and, still ducking and loudly cursing the
fellow, rejoin us as we sheered off from the masses of red-jacketed
riders, wheeled, and went at the mounted Yagers, who did not stand our
charge.
There was much smoke, and the thick, suffocating gloom was lighted only
by streaming sparks, so that in the confusion and explosion of muskets
it was difficult to manoeuvre successfully and at the same time keep
clear of Tarleton's overwhelming main body.
This body was now in full but orderly retreat, driving with it cattle,
horses, and some two dozen prisoners, mostly peaceable inhabitants who
had taken no part in the affair. Also, they had a wagon piled with the
helmets, weapons, and accoutrements of Sheldon's dead riders; and one
of their Hussars bore Sheldon's captured standard in his stirrup.
To charge this mass of men was not possible with the two score horsemen
left us; and they retreated faster than our militia and Continentals
could travel. So all we could do was to hang on their rear and let
drive at them from our saddles.
As far as we rode with them, we saw a dozen of their riders fall either
dead or wounded from their horses, and saw their comrades lift them
into one of the wagons. Also we saw our dragoons and militia take three
prisoners and three horses before we finally turned bridle after our
last long shot at their rear guard.
For our business here lay not in this affair, and Boyd had disobeyed
his orders in not avoiding all fighting. He knew well enough that the
bullets from our three rifles were of little consequence to our country
compared to the safe accomplishment of our mission hither, and our safe
return with the Siwanois. Fortune had connived at our disobedience, for
no one of us bore so much as a scratch, though all three of us might
very easily have been done to death in the mad flight from the Meeting
House, amid that plunging hell of horsemen.
Fortune, too, hung to our stirrup leathers as we trotted into
Poundridge, for, among a throng of village folk who stood gazing at the
smoking ashes of the Lockwood house, we saw our Siwanois standing,
tall, impassive, wrapped in his blanket.
And late that afternoon we rode out of the half-ruined village,
northward. Our saddle-bags were full; our animals rested; and, beside
us, strode the Sagamore, fully armed and accoutred, lock braided, body
oiled and painted for war--truly a terrific shape in the falling dusk.
On the naked breast of this Mohican warrior of the Siwanois clan, which
is called by the Delawares "The Clan of the Magic Wolf," outlined in
scarlet, I saw the emblem of his own international clan--as I
supposed--a bear.
And of a sudden, within me, vaguely, something stirred--some faint
memory, as though I had once before beheld that symbol on a dark and
naked breast, outlined in scarlet. Where had I seen it before? At Guy
Park? At Johnson Hall? Fort Johnson? Butlersbury? Somewhere I had seen
that symbol, and in that same paint. Yes, it might easily have been.
Every nation of the Confederacy possessed a clan that wore the bear.
And yet--and yet--this bear seemed somehow different--and yet
familiar--strangely familiar to me--but in a manner which awoke within
me an unrest as subtle as it was curious.
I drew bridle, and as the Sagamore came up, I said uneasily:
"Brother, and ensign of the great bear clan of many nations, why is the
symbol that you wear familiar to me--and yet so strangely unfamiliar?"
He shot a glance of lightning intelligence at me, then instantly his
features became smoothly composed and blank again.
"Has my brother never before seen the Spirit Bear?" he asked coldly.
"Is that a clan, Mayaro?"
"Among the Siwanois only." "That is strange," I muttered. "I have never
before seen a Siwanois. Where could I have seen a Siwanois? Where?"
But he only shook his head.
Boyd and Mount had pricked forward; I still lingered by the Mohican.
And presently I said:
"That was a brave little maid who bore our message to you."
He made no answer.
"I have been wondering," I continued carelessly, "whether she has no
friends--so poor she seems--so sad and friendless, Have you any
knowledge of her?"
The Indian glanced at me warily, "My brother Loskiel should ask these
questions of the maid herself."
"But I shall never see her again, Sagamore. How can I ask her, then?"
The Indian remained silent. And, perhaps because I vaguely entertained
some future hope of loosening his tongue in her regard, I now said
nothing more concerning her, deeming that best. But I was still
thinking of her as I rode northward through the deepening dusk.
A great weariness possessed me, no doubt fatigue from the day's
excitement and anxiety. Also, for some hours, that curious
battle-hunger had been gnawing at my belly so that I had liked to
starve there in my saddle ere Boyd gave the signal to off-saddle for
the night.