Lambert soon overtook the awkward rider. The two young men trotted on
for a time side by side without speaking, until suddenly the mare,
panting, stood still. Adam, having thus been thrown upon the neck of
the beast, remarked that the mare was a very intelligent creature, and
well knew that it was impossible for her to keep going at such a gait;
that in such a case she always stopped to give the rider time for
reflection; and that he had always found that one also finally reaches
his destination by going on a walk, and that far easier.
"But also so much later," said Lambert, impatiently. "If you are
absolutely unable to keep up with me I must leave you and ride on
ahead."
"For God's sake!" cried Adam, and thrust his heels so forcibly into the
sides of the mare that she sprang forward, and again fell into a trot.
"For God's sake! that will soon fail."
"You are a coward," said Lambert, "in that you are put to the blush by
a girl."
He turned back in the saddle toward the blockhouse before it should
disappear from his sight behind the forest-encompassed, rocky hill
around which they were winding. Catherine had not left her place in
front of the door. Though uncertain whether she could see the
salutation he waved his hand to her, and then the rocks hid her from
his sight.
An indescribable sadness fell upon Lambert and it did not lack much but
he would have turned Hans about and gone back at full speed. But with a
strong determination he overcame his painful emotion. "I am just as
great a coward," said he to himself, "and even a greater one, for I
know better about what is going on, and nothing that I do for her
should be burdensome to me."
"You may well talk," Adam broke in upon Lambert's self-communings.
"Why?" asked Lambert.
"Should they pull the scalp from over your ears no rooster would crow
after that; but my mother would weep her eyes out."
"Perhaps there may be somebody who would rather see my scalp on my head
than on an Indian's girdle."
"Do you mean the young lady?" asked Adam, opening his mouth from ear to
ear, and for a moment letting go of the horn of the saddle, and
pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb.
"Perhaps," said Lambert.
"Don't trouble yourself about that," said Adam, in a comforting tone.
"Then I will marry her. It is already a long time since mother wanted
me to marry. But you know I would not take just anybody. The girl
pleases me."
"So!" said Lambert.
"Yes," said Adam. "Barbara and Gussie and Annie would doubtless at
first cry a little, but that would come right in time. I believe that
Fritz and August Volz are already engaged to Barbara and Gussie, and we
have always thought that you would marry Annie."
"With or without a scalp?" asked Lambert.
Adam thought this such a capital joke that he stopped the mare to
press his fists into his sides and break out in ringing laughter. A
fish-hawk, which had plunged into the creek among the reeds, flew away
frightened, while his warning voice rang out.
"My God!" said Adam, "I really thought it was already one of the mean
French, or red-skins."
"Have you during this time of terror heard of them?" asked Lambert as
they were riding along.
"Once," said Adam, "about a month ago. Father went to Schenectady with
the wheat, and I was alone in the field, when little Anton came running
and cried out: 'The Indians have swum across the creek and are at our
house.' Fear so flew into my legs that I did not know where my head
stood, and I wanted to go right home to help the women. But when I
again got my breath I was standing before Eisenlord's door. The old man
was at home, and at once sent his youngest son to Peter Volz', whence
soon there came the old man himself and Fritz and August. Then we went
courageously forward, though the crying women did not want us to go. On
the way Christian Eisenlord and young Peter Volz joined us, so that we
were six or seven, although apparently there could not much reliance be
placed on me, since I almost cried my eyes out from pity and heartache
that I should now find our house burned down, and my beautiful Bless
and the four English hogs, that I had just that morning bought of John
Martens, driven away, and mother and Barbara and Gussie and Annie
scalped. But as we came out of the woods, through which we had
carefully skulked, there stood our house undisturbed; and the women
were standing before the door scolding little Anton, who was crying
bitterly."
"How about the Indians?" asked Lambert.
"You must not interrupt me, if I am to tell my story in an orderly
way," said Adam. "Where was I?"
"At Anton, who was crying bitterly."
"The poor boy!" said Adam. "I could not blame him. He should have gone
in and covered the Indian--who was about naked, so that the women were
ashamed."
"Then there really was one there?"
"Yes, indeed; and he had swum through the creek, and lay on the hearth
as drunk as a red-skin can be, and snored so that we could hear him
outdoors. Then the others had a good laugh at my expense, and, since,
they have constantly jeered me about the drunken fellow, though one
should not paint the devil on the wall. I indeed could do nothing about
it. But little Anton should have been wiser. On account of what took
place then, they would not believe my message to-day; and had I not
said and sworn that Herkimer himself had told my father, they would
have remained at home, except Aunt Ursul, who immediately saddled both
her horses."
"So! Has uncle also gone along?" asked Lambert.
"We shall soon know," said Adam. "I will call." They stopped before the
Ditmar house. Adam rose in his stirrups, put both hands to his mouth
and screamed so loud that the doves on the roof were frightened, and
Melac, the watch-dog, in the yard, began to bark and howl fearfully.
"He, holla! Christian Ditmar! holla, he!" However the long figure of
old Ditmar did not appear at the upper-half of the door, through which
one could see the interior.
Lambert thought best to go right on and not call at William Teichert's.
His farm lay somewhat to one side, at the edge of the woods which here
bore back from the creek in a great bend and came back to it again near
Peter Volz' yard. Here indeed they had to stop, for mother Volz had
seen the riders from a distance, and stood before the door with a
pitcher of home-brewed beer in each hand, which Peter, her youngest
son, had just drawn fresh from the barrel. Mother Volz was much
excited, and great tears rolled over her big cheeks as she handed the
pitchers to the riders, at the same time scolding the French and her
Peter, who would go to the meeting and leave her--an old, helpless
woman--alone, the good-for-nothing!
"If I am good for nothing," said Peter, "I cannot help you, mother. But
I must always stay at home and play the baby; that is just as it is."
"Yes, that is the case," said Adam, smacking his lips forcibly over his
beer, "and the rest of us must have a hard time of it."
"Then give me the mare and you stay here," said the courageous Peter.
Adam was not disinclined to accept so agreeable an offer, and began to
climb out of the saddle when the mare, perhaps misunderstanding the
motion of the rider, or because she perceived that she was near her own
stable, suddenly started on a trot, to Adam's disappointment and
Lambert's satisfaction, whose impatience at the unnecessary loitering
had become very great.
Now, however, thanks to the mare's fixed purpose to end her unusual
labor for the day, without stopping, she went on faster and faster--so
that Adam held convulsively to the horn of the saddle, while his long,
yellow hair flew about his ears--on along the creek, past John
Eisenlord's house, where the women hastened to the door, and called,
and wondering looked after those who were rushing past. Thus they went
faster and faster until the mare stopped in Bellinger's yard with a
jerk and threw her rider over her head in the sand at the feet of his
mother and three sisters and younger brother. His mother called out:
"Run, little Anton! and open the stable for the mare, so that she does
not crush her skull against the door--the poor beast!"
No one felt concerned for Adam. In fact, this was the usual way in
which the mare, after such a trip, returned her rider. He soon got up
and rubbed his long legs groaning, while the women surrounded Lambert
and inquired about his journey; when he got back; and why in the
world he yesterday took the rough road through the woods? how his
maid-servant behaved? and why he had brought one from a distance of
fifty miles, when he could easily have found one--and perhaps a better
one--near by?
Lambert briefly thanked them for their kind inquiries, ascertained how
long since the men had gone, spurred his horse and, with a brief
salutation, trotted away, thus filling the beautiful blonde Annie with
not a little anxiety, and compelling her to listen to the remarks of
her sisters, Barbara and Gussie:
"Now one can clearly see, what we always thought, that Lambert
Sternberg did not take that long journey to New York on account of the
pines."
Annie replied that she cared nothing for Lambert, and that Fritz and
August Volz had also not yet declared themselves. The mother took
Annie's part, and the dispute threatened to become serious, when it
happily occurred to them that they had not once asked Adam what sort of
a person the new girl was.
They now learned from the keen rider, who had gone into the house and
was rubbing his shins with brandy, that, in no case was Lambert to have
her, but that he himself was to marry the girl as soon as the Indians
had taken Lambert's scalp, and that he and Lambert had come to a
complete agreement on that matter.
While Catherine's fate was thus discussed in the Bellinger family,
Lambert pushed along on a fast trot to regain lost time. He had
gathered from the questions of the women, and still more from the tone
in which they were put, that the way in which he had dealt was not
thought favorably of. He was yesterday persuaded of this, and to escape
this neighborhood interference he had taken the road through the woods.
He felt grieved and angry at his aunt, who alone could have spread
abroad the knowledge of his return and his relation to Catherine. Still
he said to himself that, since all must shortly know it, it was best
they should know it as soon as possible. He saw how difficult his
position in the community would be--as indeed it should be--so long as
Catherine was not his wife; possibly even after that; that, at all
events, it was his duty to make his relation to Catherine clear to all
eyes. He determined yet to-day, should opportunity offer, to speak to
the minister and to seek the advice and help of that excellent man.
He had now come out of what was properly the valley of the creek, near
its mouth. Toward the right of him lay the broad German Flats, in the
fork between the creek and the Mohawk. The land, long rescued from the
primitive forest, was rich, and there were unbroken lines of successive
settlements, with a small church and a parsonage in the midst on a
hill. Before him, on the other side of the Mohawk, whose clear waters
glanced between its bushy shores, there stood out also on a hill, what
looked like a small fortification. This, the purposed end of his
journey, was Nicolas Herkimer's stately house.
He now discovered that, as he had feared, he would not be the last one
to arrive. In the even reaches between corn-fields and bushes those
coming on foot or on horseback singly, or by twos, or threes, from
different directions, could be seen, all moving toward one point. There
was a house conveniently situated on this side of the river, diagonally
across from Herkimer's farm, where Hans Haberkorn, the ferryman, lived.
Here, a few minutes afterward, Lambert met the men whom he had from a
distance seen coming. By them he was greeted very cordially, as though
all had heard of his journey to New York, but not of his return. They
wanted to know how the matters had resulted and especially what he had
heard in the city about the war in Europe; whether the French had
really, the year before at Roszbach, been so helplessly slaughtered,
and whether the king of Prussia was this year going to take the field
against his countless enemies.
Lambert told them what he knew, and on his part sought information
about things at home. Of the five or six men who thus happened to meet,
each gave his impressions as best he could, from which it appeared that
there were nearly as many different opinions as there were men, in the
small gathering. Yes, while they were eagerly attacking Hans
Haberkorn's rum, they became so warm that they seemed to have forgotten
why they were there, until Lambert's urgency induced them to go on.
Hans Haberkorn thought there was no hurry and that they could just as
well consult here as at Herkimer's. The rest, however, would not stay
behind. They tied their horses in a row, under an open shed, to the
manger, and went upon the river; and on the short passage across
renewed their debate with increased earnestness, so that it did not
lack much of going from words to blows on the small scow.
On this account it was fortunate that, as they landed on the other
side, others joined them, of whom some had crossed before, while
others, coming from the other side, awaited the landing of the
ferry-boat so that they could go on together. Over the greeting they
for the moment forgot their contention, but they had proceeded but a
few steps before the war of words began again as before, while those
who came up afterward mingled in the crowd and took part on one or the
other side. So, scolding and quarreling, they reached the front yard of
Herkimer's house.