OLD FRIENDS
The sunrise gun awoke me. I rolled out of my blanket, saw the white
cannon-smoke floating above the trees, ran down to the river, and
plunged in.
When I returned, the Sagamore had already broken his fast, and once
more was engaged in painting himself--this time in a most ghastly
combination of black and white, the startling parti-coloured
decorations splitting his visage into two equal sections, so that his
eyes gleamed from a black and sticky mask, and his mouth and chin and
jaw were like the features of a weather-bleached skull.
"More war, O Mayaro, my brother?" I asked in a bantering voice. "Every
day you prepare for battle with a confidence forever new; every night
the army snores in peace. Yet, at dawn, when you have greeted the sun,
you renew your war-paint. Such praiseworthy perseverance ought to be
rewarded."
"It has already been rewarded," remarked the Indian, with quiet humour.
"In what manner?" I asked, puzzled.
"In the manner that all warriors desire to be rewarded," he replied,
secretly amused.
"I thought," said I, "that the reward all warriors desire is a scalp
taken in battle."
He cast a sly glance at me and went on painting.
"Mayaro," said I, disturbed, "is it possible that you have been out
forest-running while I've slept?"
He shot a quick look at me, full of delighted malice.
And "Ho!" said he. "My brother sleeps sounder than a winter bear. Three
Erie scalps hang stretched, hooped, and curing in the morning sun,
behind the bush-hut. Little brother, has the Sagamore done well?"
Straightway I whirled on my heel and walked out and around the hut.
Strung like drying fish on a willow wand three scalps hung in the
sunshine, the soft July breeze stirring the dead hair. And as soon as I
saw them I knew they were indeed Erie scalps.
Repressing my resentment and disgust, I lingered a moment to examine
them, then returned to the hut, where the Siwanois, grave as a
catamount at his toilet, squatted in a patch of sunshine, polishing his
features.
"So you've done this business every night as soon as I slept," said I.
"You've crept beyond our outer pickets, risking your life, imperilling
the success of this army, merely to satisfy your vanity. This is not
well, Mayaro."
He said proudly: "Mayaro is safe. What warrior of the Cat-People need a
Sagamore of the Siwanois dread?"
"Do you count them warriors then, or wizards?"
"Demons have teeth and claws. Look upon their scalp-locks, Loskiel!"
I strove to subdue my rising anger.
"You are the only reliable guide in the army today who can take us
straight to Catharines-town," I said. "If we lose you we must trust to
Hanierri and his praying Oneidas, who do not know the way even to
Wyalusing as well as you do. Is this just to the army? Is it just to
me, O Sagamore? My formal orders are that you shall rest and run no
risk until this army starts from Lake Otsego. My brother Mayaro knew
this. I trusted him and set no sentry at the hut door. Is this well,
brother?"
The Sagamore looked at me with eyes utterly void of expression.
"Is Mayaro a prisoner, then?" he asked quietly.
Instantly I knew that he was not to be dealt with that way. The
slightest suspicion of any personal restraint or of any military
pressure brought to bear on him might alienate him from our cause, if
not, perhaps, from me personally.
I said: "The Siwanois are free people. No lodge door is locked on them,
not even in the Long House. They are at liberty to come and go as the
eight winds rise and wane--to sleep when they choose, to wake when it
pleases them, to go forth by day or night, to follow the war-trail, to
strike their enemies where they find them.
"But now, to one of them--to the Mohican Mayaro, Sagamore of the
Siwanois, Sachem of the Enchanted Clan, is given the greatest mission
ever offered to any Delaware since Tamenund put on his snowy panoply of
feathers and flew through the forest and upward into the air-ocean of
eternal light.
"A great army of his embattled brothers trusts in him to guide them so
that the Iroquois Confederacy shall be pierced from Gate to Gate, and
the Long House go roaring up in flames.
"There are many valiant deeds to be accomplished on this coming
march--deeds worthy of a war-chief of the Lenni-Lenape--deeds fitted to
do honour to a Sagamore of the Magic Wolf.
"I only ask of my friend and blood-brother that he reserve himself for
these great deeds and not risk a chance bullet in ambush for the sake
of an Erie scalp or two--for the sake of a patch of mangy fur which
grows on these Devil-Cats of Amochol."
At first his countenance was smooth and blank; as I proceeded, he
became gravely attentive; then, as I ended, he gave me a quick,
unembarrassed, and merry look.
"Loskiel," he said laughingly, "Mayaro plays with the Cat-People. A
child's skill only is needed to take their half-shed fur and dash them
squalling and spitting and kicking into Biskoonah!"
He resumed his painting with a shrug of contempt, adding:
"Amochol rages in vain. Upon this wizard a Mohican spits! One by one
his scalped acolytes tumble and thump among the dead and bloody forest
leaves. The Siwanois laugh at them. Let the red sorcerer of the Senecas
make strong magic so that his cats return to life, and the vile fur
grows once more where a Mohican has ripped it out!"
"Each night you go forth and scalp. Each morning you paint. Is this to
continue, Sagamore?"
"My brother sees," he said proudly. "Cats were made for skinning."
There was nothing to do about it; no more to be said. I now
comprehended this, as I stood lacing my rifle-shirt and watching him at
his weird self-embellishment.
"The war-paint you have worn each day has seemed to me somewhat
unusual," I said curiously.
He glanced sharply up at me, scowled, then said gravely:
"When a Sagamore of the Mohicans paints for a war against warriors, the
paint is different. But," he added, and his eyes blazed, and the very
scalp-lock seemed to bristle on his shaven head, "when a Lenape Sachem
of the Enchanted Clan paints for war with Seneca sorcerers, he wears
also the clean symbols of his sacred priesthood, so that he may fight
bad magic with good magic, sorcery with sorcery, and defy this scarlet
priest--this vile, sly Warlock Amochol!"
Truly there was no more for me to say. I dared not let him believe that
his movements were either watched or under the slightest shadow of
restraint. I knew it was useless to urge on him the desirability of
inaction until the army moved. He might perhaps have understood me and
listened to me, were the warfare he was now engaged in only the red
knight-errantry of an Indian seeking glory. But he had long since won
his spurs.
And this feud with Amochol was something far more deadly than mere
warfare; it was the clash of a Mohican Sagamore of the Sacred Clan with
the dreadful and abhorred priesthood of the Senecas--the hatred and
infuriated contempt of a noble and ordained priest for the black-magic
of a sorcerer--orthodoxy, militant and terrible, scourging blasphemy
and crushing its perverted acolytes at the very feet of their
Antichrist.
I began to understand this strange, stealthy slaughter in the dark,
which only the eyes of the midnight sky looked down on, while I lay
soundly sleeping. I knew that nothing I could say would now keep this
Siwanois at my side at night. Yet, he had been given me to guard. What
should I do? Major Parr might not understand--might even order the
Sagamore confined to barracks under guard. The slightest mistake in
dealing with the Siwanois might prove fatal to all our hopes of him.
All the responsibility, therefore, must rest on me; and I must use my
judgment and abide by the consequences.
Had it been, as I have said, any other nation but the Senecas, I am
certain that I could have restrained the Indian. But the combination of
Seneca, Erie, and Amochol prowling around our picket-line was too much
for the outraged Sagamore of the Spirit Wolf. And I now comprehended it
thoroughly.
As I sat thinking at our bush-hut door, the endless lines of wagons
were still passing toward Otsego Lake, piled high with stores, and I
saw Schott's riflemen filing along in escort, their tow-cloth
rifle-frocks wide open to their sweating chests.
Almost all the troops had already marched to the lake and had pitched
tents there, while Alden's chastened regiment was damming the waters so
that when our boats were ready the dam might be broken and the high
water carry our batteaux over miles of shallow water to Tioga Point,
where our main army now was concentrating.
When were the Rifles to march? I did not know. Sitting there in the
sun, moodily stripping a daisy of its petals, I thought of Lois,
troubled, wondering how her security and well-being might be
established.
The hour could not be very distant now before our corps marched to the
lake. What would she do? What would become of her if she still refused
to be advised by me?
As for her silly desire to go to Catharines-town, the more I thought
about it the less serious consideration did I give it. The thing was,
of course, impossible. No soldiers' wives were to be permitted to go as
far as Wyalusing or Wyoming. Even here, at this encampment, the
officers' ladies had left, although perhaps many of them might have
remained longer with their husbands had it been known that the
departure of the troops for Otsego Lake was to be delayed by the slow
arrival of cattle and provisions.
In the meantime, the two companies of my regiment attached to this
brigade were still out on scout with Major Parr; and when they returned
I made no doubt that we would shoulder packs, harness our wagons, and
take the lake road next morning.
And what would become of Lois? Perplexed and dejected, I wandered about
the willow-run, pondering the situation; sat for a while on the
river-bank to watch the batteaux and the Oneida canoes; then, ever
restless with my deepening solicitude for Lois, I walked over to the
fort. And the first man I laid eyes on was Lieutenant Boyd, conversing
with some ladies on the parade.
He did not see me. He had evidently returned from the main body with a
small scout the night before, and now was up and dressed in his best,
spick and span and gay, fairly shining in the sunlight as he stood
leaning against a log prop, talking with these ladies where they were
seated on one of the rustic settles lately made by Alden's men.
Venturing nearer, I found that I knew all of the ladies, for one was
the handsome wife of Captain Bleecker, of the 3rd New York, and another
proved to be Angelina Lansing, wife of Gerrit Lansing, Ensign in the
same regiment.
The third lady was a complete surprise to me, she being that pretty and
vivacious Magdalene Helmer--called Lana--the confidante of Clarissa
Putnam--a bright-eyed, laughing beauty from Tribes Hill, whom I had
known very well at Guy Park, where she often stayed with her friend,
Miss Putnam, when Sir John Johnson was there.
As I recognised them, Boyd chanced to glance around, and saw me. He
smiled and spoke to the ladies; all lifted their heads and looked in my
direction; and Lana Helmer waved her handkerchief and coolly blew me a
kiss from her finger-tips.
So, cap in hand, I crossed the parade, made my best bow and respects to
each in turn, replaced my cap, and saluted Lieutenant Boyd, who
returned my salute with pretended hauteur, then grinned and offered his
hand.
"See what a bower of beauty is blossomed over night in these dreary
barracks, Loskiel. There seems to be some happiness left in the world
for the poor rifleman."
"Do you remain?" I asked of Mrs. Bleecker.
"Indeed we do," she said, laughing, "provided that my husband's
regiment remains. As soon as we understood that they had not been
ordered into the Indian country we packed our boxes and came up by
batteau last night. The news about my husband's regiment is true, is it
not?"
"Colonel Gansevoort's regiment is not to join General Sullivan, but is
to be held to guard the Valley. I had the news yesterday for certain."
"What luck!" said Boyd, his handsome eyes fixed on Lana Helmer, who
shot at him a glance as daring. And it made me uneasy to see she meant
to play coquette with such a man as Boyd; and I remembered her high
spirits and bright daring at the somewhat loose gatherings at Guy Park,
where every evening too much wine was drunk, and Sir John and Clarissa
made no secret of the flame that burned between them.
Yet, of Lana Helmer never a suspicious word had been breathed that ever
I had heard--for it seemed she could dare where others dared not; say
and do and be what another woman might not, as though her wit and
beauty licensed what had utterly damned another. Nor did her devotion
and close companionship with Clarissa ever seem to raise a question as
to her own personal behaviour. And well I remember a gay company being
at cards and wine one day in the summer house on the river hew she
answered a disrespect of Sir John with a contemptuous rebuke which sent
the muddy blood into his face and left him ashamed--the only time I
ever saw him so.
Ensign Chambers came a-mincing up, was presented to the ladies,
languidly made preparations for taking Mrs. Lansing by storm; and the
first deadly grace he pictured for her was his macaroni manner of
taking snuff--with which fascinating ceremony he had turned many a
silly head in New York ere we marched out and the British marched in.
I talked for a while with Mrs. Bleecker of this and that, striving the
while to catch Lana Helmer's eye. For not only did her coquetry with
Boyd make me uneasy, knowing them both as I did, but on my own account
I desired to speak to her in private when opportunity afforded. Alone
and singly either of these people stood in no danger from the outer
world. Pitted against each other, what their recklessness might lead to
I did not know. For since Boyd's attempted gallantries toward Lois--he
believing her to be as youthful and depraved as seemed the case--a deep
and growing distrust for this man which I had never before felt had
steadily invaded my friendship for him. Also, he had already an affair
with a handsome wench at the Middle Fort, one Dolly Glenn, and the poor
young thing was plainly mad about him.
I heard Mrs. Lansing propose a stroll to the river before dinner, on
the chance of meeting her husband's regiment returning, which
suggestion seemed to suit all; and in the confusion of chatter and
laughter and the tying of a sun-mask by Mrs. Bleecker, aided by Boyd
and by the exquisite courtier, I cleverly contrived to supplant Boyd
with Lana Helmer, and not only stuck to her side, but managed to secure
the rear of the strolling column.
All this manoeuvre did not escape her, and as we fell a few paces
behind, she looked up at me with a most deadly challenge in her violet
eyes.
"Now," she said, "that you have driven off your rival, I am resigned to
be courted.... Heaven knows you wasted opportunities enough at Guy
Park."
I laughed.
"How strange it is, Lana," I said, "to be here with you; I in rifle
dress and thrums, hatchet, and knife at my Mohawk girdle; you in chip
hat and ribbons and dainty gown, lifting your French petticoat over the
muddy ruts cut on the King's Highway by rebel artillery!"
"Who would have dreamed it three years ago?" she said, her face now
sober enough.
"I thought your people were Tory," said I.
"Not mine, Euan; Clarissa's."
"Where is that child?" I asked pityingly.
"Clarissa? Poor lamb--she's in Albany still."
I did not speak, but it was as though she divined my unasked question.
"Aye, she is in love with him yet. I never could understand how that
could be after he married Polly Watts. But she has not changed.... And
that beast, Sir John, installed her in the Albany house."
I said: "He's somewhere out yonder with the marauders against whom we
are to march. They're all awaiting us, it is said; the whole
crew--Johnson's Greens, Butler's Rangers, McDonald's painted Tories,
Brant's Mohawks--and the Senecas with their war-chiefs and their
sorcerer, Amochol--truly a motley devil's brood, Lana; and I pray only
that one of Morgan's men may sight Walter Butler or Sir John over his
rifle's end."
"To think," she murmured, "that you and I have dined and wined with
these same gentlemen you now so ardently desire to slay.... And young
Walter Butler, too! I saw his mother and his sister in Albany a week
ago--two sad and pitiable women, Euan, for every furtive glance cast
after them seemed to shout aloud the infamy of their son and brother,
the Murderer of Cherry Valley."
"To my mind," said I, "he is not sane at all, but gone stark blood-mad.
Heaven! How impossible it seems that this young man with his handsome
face and figure, his dreamy melancholy, his charming voice and manners,
his skill in verse and music, can be this same Walter Butler whose name
is cursed wherever righteousness and honour exist in human breasts.
Why, even Joseph Brant has spurned him, they say, since Cherry Valley!
Even his own father stood aghast before such infamy. Old John Butler,
when he heard the news, dashed his hands to his temples, groaning out:
'I would have crawled from this place to Cherry Valley on my hands and
knees to save those people; and why my son did not spare them, God only
knows.'"
Lana shook her pretty head.
"I can not seem to believe it of him even yet. I try to think of Walter
as a murderer of little children, and it is not possible. Why, it seems
but yesterday that I stood plaguing him on the stone doorstep at Guy
Park--calling him Walter Ninny and Walter Noodle to vex him. You
remember, Euan, that his full name is Walter N. Butler, and that he
never would tell us what the N. stands for, but we guessed it stood for
Nellis, in honour of Nellis Fonda.... Lord! What a world o' trouble for
us all in these three years!"
"I had supposed you married long ago, Lana. The young Patroon was very
ardent."
"I? The sorry supposition! I marry--in the face of the sad and
miserable examples all my friends afford me! Not I, Euan, unless----"
She smiled at me with pretty malice. "----you enter the lists. Do you
then enter?" I reddened and laughed, and she, always enchanted to
plague and provoke me, began her art forthwith, first innocently
slipping her arm through mine, as though to support her flagging steps,
then, as if by accident, letting one light finger slip along my sleeve
to touch my hand and linger lightly.
Years ago, when we were but seventeen, she had delighted to tease and
embarrass me with her sweetly malicious coquetry, ever on the watch to
observe my features redden. I remember she sometimes offered to
exchange kisses with me; but I was a ninny, and a serious and hopeless
one at that, and would have none of her.
I believe we were thinking of the same thing now, and when I caught her
eye the gay malice of it was not to be mistaken.
"Lanette," said I, "take care! I am a soldier since you had your saucy
way with me. You know that the military are not to be dealt with
lightly. And I am grown up in these three years."
"Grown soberer, perhaps. You always did conduct like a pious
Broad-brim, Euan."
"I've a mind to kiss you now," said I, vexed.
"Kiss away, kind sir. You have me in the rear of them. Now's your
opportunity!"
"Doubtless you'd cry out."
"Doubtless I wouldn't."
"Wait for some moonlit evening when we're unobserved----"
"Broad-brim!"
I laughed, and so did she, saying:
"I warrant you that your pretty Lieutenant Boyd had never waited for my
challenge twice!"
"Best look out for Boyd," said I. "He's of your own careless, reckless
kind, Lanette. Sparks fly when flint and steel encounter."
"Cold sparks, friend Broad-brim!"
"Not too cold to set tinder afire."
"Am I then tinder? You should know me better."
"In every one of us," said I, "there is an element which, when it meets
its fellow in another, unites with it, turning instantly to fire and
burning to the very soul."
"How wise have you become in alchemy and metaphysics!" she exclaimed in
mock admiration.
"Oh, I am not wise in anything, and you know it, Lana."
"I don't know it. You've been wise enough to keep clear of me, if that
be truly wisdom. Come, Euan, what do you think? Do you and I contain
these fellow elements, that you seem to dread our mutual conflagration
if you kiss me?"
"You know me better."
"Do I? No, I don't. Young sir, caper not too confidently in your coat
of many colours! If you flout me once too often I may go after you, as
a Mohawk follows a scalp too often flaunted by the head that wears it!"
I tried to sustain her delighted gaze and reddened, and the impudent
little beauty laughed and clung to my arm in a very ecstasy of malice,
made breathless by her own mirth.
"Come, court me prettily, Euan. It is my due after all these grey and
Quaker years when I made eyes at you from the age of twelve, and won
only a scowl or two for my condescension."
But we had reached the river bank, and there the group came once more
together, the ladies curious to see the batteaux arriving, loaded with
valley sheep, we officers pointing out to them the canoes of our corps
of Oneida guides, and Hanierri and the Reverend Mr. Kirkland reading
their Testaments under the shade of the trees, gravely absorbed in God.
"A good man," said I, "and brave. But his honest Stockbridge Indians
know no more of Catharines-town than do the converted Oneidas yonder."
Boyd nodded: "I prophesy they quit us one and all within an
arrow-flight of Wyalusing. Do you take me, Loskiel?"
"No, you are right," I said. "The fear of the Long House chains them,
and their long servitude has worn like fetters to their very bones.
Redcoats they can face, and have done so gallantly. But there is in
them a fear of the Five Nations past all understanding of a white man."
I spoke to a diminished audience, for already Boyd and Lana Helmer had
strolled a little way together, clearly much interested in each other's
conversation. Presently our precious senior Consign sauntered the other
way with pretty Mistress Lansing on his arm. As for me, I was contented
to see them go--had been only waiting for it. And what I had thought I
might venture to say to Lana Helmer by warrant of old acquaintance, I
was now glad that I had not said at all--the years having in no wise
subdued the mischief in her, nor her custom of plaguing me. And how
much she had ever really meant I could not truly guess. No, it had been
anything but wise to speak to her of Lois. But now I meant to mention
Lois to Mrs. Bleecker.
We had seated ourselves on the sun-crisped Indian grass, and for a
while I let her chatter of Guy Park and our pleasant acquaintance
there, and of Albany, too, where we had met sometimes at the Ten
Broecks, the Schuylers, and the Patroons. And all the while I was
debating within my mind how this proud and handsome, newly-married girl
might receive my halting story. For it would not do to conceal anything
vital to the case. Her clear, wise eyes would see instantly through any
evasion, not to say deception--even a harmless deception. No; if she
were to be of any aid in this deeply-perplexing business, I must tell
her the story of Lois--not betraying anything that the girl might
shrink from having others know, but stating her case and her condition
as briefly and as honestly as I might.
And no sooner did I come to this conclusion than I spoke; and after the
first word or two Mrs. Bleecker put off her sun-mask and turned,
looking me directly in the eyes.
I said that the young lady's name was Lois de Contrecoeur--and if it
were not that it was nothing, and human creatures require a name! But
this I did not say to her, nor thought it necessary to mention any
doubt as to the girl's parentage, only to say she was the child of
captives taken by the Senecas after the Lake George rout.
I told of her dreary girlhood, saying merely that her foster parents
were now dead and that the child had conceived the senseless project of
penetrating to Catharines-town, where she believed her mother, at
least, was still held captive.
The tall, handsome girl beside me listened without a word, her intent
gaze never leaving me; and when I had done, and the last word in my
brief for Lois had been uttered, she bent her head in thought, and so
continued minute after minute while I sat there waiting.
At last she looked up at me again, suddenly, as though to surprise my
secret reflections; and if she did so I do not know, for she smiled and
held out her hand to me with so pretty a confidence that my lips
trembled as I pressed them to her fingers. And now something within her
seemed to have been reassured, for her eyes and her lips became faintly
humorous.
"And where is this most forlorn and errant damsel, Sir Euan?" she
inquired. "For if I doubt her when I see her, no more than I doubt you
when I look at you, something should be done in her behalf without
delay.... The poor, unhappy child! And what a little fool! The Lord
looks after his lambs, surely, surely--drat the little hussy! It mads
me to even think of her danger. Did a body ever hear the like of it!
A-gypsying all alone--loitering around this army's camp! Mercy! And
what a little minx it is to so conduct--what with our godless, cursing
headlong soldiery, and the loud, swaggering forest-runners! Lord! But
it chills me to the bone! The silly, saucy baggage!"
She shuddered there in the hot sunshine, then shot at me a look so keen
and penetrating that I felt my ears go red. Which sudden distress on my
part again curved her lips into an indulgent smile.
"I always thought I knew you, Euan Loskiel," she said. "I think so
still.... As for your fairy damsel in distress--h'm--when may I see
her?"
In a low voice I confessed the late raggedness of Lois, and how she now
wore an Oneida dress until the boxes, which I had commanded, might
arrive from Albany. I had to tell her this, had to explain how I had
won from Lois this privilege of giving, spite of her pride.
"If I could bring her to you," said I, "fittingly equipped and clothed,
the pride in her would suffer less. Were you to go with me now in your
pretty silk and scarf, and patch and powder, and stand before her in
the wretched hut which shelters her--the taint of charity would poison
everything. For she is like you, Mrs. Bleecker, lacking only what does
not make, but merely and prettily confirms your quality and
breeding--clothing and shelter, and the means to live fittingly.... For
it is not condescension, not the lesser charity I ask, or she could
receive; it is the countenance that birth lends to its equal in dire
adversity."
Curious and various were the emotions which passed in rapid succession
over her pretty features; and not all seemed agreeable. Then suddenly
her eyes reflected a hidden laughter, and presently it came forth, a
merry peal, and sweet withal.
"Oh, Euan, what a boy you are! Had I been any other woman--but let it
go. You are as translucent as a woodland brook, and--at times you
babble like one, confident that your music pleases everyone who hears
it.... I pray you let me judge whether the errant lady be what a poet's
soul would have her.... I am not speaking with any unkind thought or
doubt.... But woman must judge woman. It is the one thing no man can
ever do for her. And the less he interferes during the judgment the
better."
"Then I'll say no more," said I, forcing a smile.
"Oh, say all you please, as long as you do not tell me what you think
about her. Tell me facts, not what your romantic heart surmises. And if
she were the queen of Sheba in disguise, or if she were a titled Saint
James drab, no honest woman but who would see through and through her,
and, ere she rose from her low reverence, would know her truly for
exactly what she is."
"Lord!" said I. "Is that the way you read us, also?"
"No. Women may read women. But never one who lived has read truly any
man, humble or high. Say that to the next pretty baggage who vows she
reads you like a book! And in her secret heart she will know you say
the truth--and know it, raging even while her smile remains unaltered.
For it is true, Euan; true concerning you men, also. Not one among you
all has ever really read us right. The difference is this; we know we
can not read you, but scorn to admit it; you honestly believe that you
can read us, and often boast of doing it. Which sex is the greater
fool, judge you? I have my own opinion."
We both laughed; after a moment she put on her sun-mask and I tied it.
"Where do you and Mrs. Lansing lodge until your husband's regiment
returns?" I asked.
"They have given us the old Croghan house. What it lacks in elegance of
appointment it gains in hospitality. If we had a dish of tea to brew
for you gentlemen we would do it; but Indian willow makes a vile and
bitter tea, and I had as lief go tealess, as I do and expect to
continue until our husbands teach the Tory King his manners."
She rose, giving me her pretty hand to aid her, shook out her dainty
skirts, put up her quizzing glass, and inspected me, smilingly.
"Bring her when you think it time," she said. "Somehow I already
believe that she may be something of what your fancy paints her. And
that would be a miracle."
"Truly she is a miracle," I said earnestly.
"Then remember not to say it to Angelina Lansing--and above all never
hint as much to Lana Helmer. Women are human; and pretty women perhaps
a little less than human. Leave them to me. For if this romantic damsel
be truly what you picture her, I'll have to tell a pretty fib or two
concerning her and you, I warrant you. Leave that saucy baggage,
Lanette, to me, Euan. And you keep clear of her, too. She's murderous
to men's peace of mind--more fatal than ever since Clarissa played the
fool."
"I was assassinated by Lana long ago," said I, smiling. "I am proof."
"Nevertheless, beware!" she whispered, as Boyd and Lana came sauntering
up. And there seemed to me to be now about them both a careless
indifference, almost studied, and in noticeable contrast to their
bright animation when they had left us half an hour ago.
"Such a professional heart-breaker as your Mr. Boyd is," observed Lana
coolly to us both. "I never before encountered such assurance. What he
must be in queue and powder, silk and small-sword, I dare not surmise.
A pitying heaven has protected me so far, and," she added, looking
deliberately at Boyd, "I ought to be grateful, ought I not, sir?"
Boyd made her a too low and over-courtly bow.
"Always the gallant and victorious adversary salutes the vanquished as
you, fair lady, have saluted me--imputing to my insignificant prowess
the very skill and address which has overthrown me."
"Are you overthrown?"
"Prone in the dust, mademoiselle! Draw Mr. Loskiel's knife and end me
now in mercy."
"Then I will strike.... Who is the handsome wench who passed us but a
moment since, and who looked at you with her very heart trembling in
her eyes?"
"How should I know?"
They stood looking smilingly at each other; and their smile did not
seem quite genuine to me, but too clear, and a trifle hard, as though
somehow it was a sort of mask for some subtler defiance. I reflected
uneasily that no real understanding could be possible between these two
in such a brief acquaintance; and, reassured, turned to greet our
macaroni Ensign and Mistress Angelina Lansing, now approaching us.
That our regimental fop had sufficient diverted her was patent, she
being over-flushed and smiling, and at gay swords' points already with
him, while he whisked his nose with his laced hanker and scattered the
perfume of his snuff to the four winds.
So, two and two, we walked along the road to Croghan's house, where was
a negro wench to aid them and a soldier-servant to serve them. And the
odd bits of furniture that had been used at our General's headquarters
had been taken there to eke out with rough make-shifts, fashioned by
Alden's men, a very scanty establishment for these three ladies.
Lana Helmer, to my surprise, motioned me to walk beside her; and all
the way to Croghan's house she continued close to me, seeming to
purposely avoid Boyd. And he the same, save that once or twice he
looked at her, which was more than she did to him, I swear.
She was now very serious and sweet with me on our way to Croghan's, not
jeering at me or at any of her teasing tricks, but conversing
reasonably and prettily, and with that careless confidence which to a
man is always pleasant and sometimes touching.
Of the old days we spoke much; the past was our theme--which is not an
unusual topic for the young, although they live, generally, only in the
future. And it was "Do you recall this?" and "Do you remember that?"
and "Do you mind the day" when this and that occurred? Incidents we
both had nigh forgotten were recalled gravely or smilingly, but there
was no laughter--none, somehow, seemed to be left either in her heart
or mine.
Twice I spoke of Clarissa, wishing, with kindliest intention, to hear
more of the unhappy child; but in neither instance did Lana appear to
notice what I had said, continuing silent until I, too, grew reticent,
feeling vaguely that something had somehow snapped our mutual thread of
sympathy.
At the door of Croghan's house we gathered to make our adieux, then
first went mincing our Ensign about his precious business; and then
Boyd took himself off, as though with an effort; and Lana and Angelina
Lansing went indoors.
"Bring her to me when I am alone," whispered Betty Bleecker, with a
very friendly smile. "And let the others believe that you stand for
nothing in this affair."
And so I went away, thinking of many things--too many and too
perplexing, perhaps, for the intellect of a very young man deeply in
love--a man who knows he is in love, and yet remains incredulous that
it is indeed love which so utterly bewilders and afflicts him.