Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/ticonderogastory00jameuoft
(University of Toronto)
[Book Cover: Ticonderoga By G. P. R. JAMES]
[Illustration By J. Watson Davis:
As a tall dark figure gilded into the room, Lord H---- drew Edith
suddenly back and placed himself before her. Page 99.
_Frontispiece_. --_Ticonderoga_]
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_A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley_
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_By G. P. R. JAMES_
_Author of "Darnley, A Romance of the times
of Henry VIII."; "Richelieu, A Tale of
France in the Reign of King Louis XIII_."
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A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
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TICONDEROGA
CHAPTER I
The house was a neat, though a lowly one. It bore traces of newness,
for the bark on the trunks which supported the little veranda had not
yet mouldered away. Nevertheless, it was not built by the owner's own
hands; for when he came there he had much to learn in the rougher arts
of life; but with a carpenter from a village some nine miles off, he
had aided to raise the building and directed the construction by his
own taste. The result was satisfactory to him; and, what was more, in
his eyes, was satisfactory to the two whom he loved best--at least, it
seemed satisfactory to them, although those who knew them, even not so
well as he did, might have doubted, and yet loved them all the better.
The door of the house was open, and custom admitted every visitor
freely, whatever was his errand. It was a strange state of society
that, in which men, though taught by daily experience that precaution
was necessary, took none. They held themselves occasionally ready to
repel open assault, which was rare, and neglected every safeguard
against insidious attack, which was much more common.
It was the custom of the few who visited that secluded spot to enter
without ceremony, and to search in any or every room in the house for
some one of the inhabitants. But on this occasion the horse that came
up the road stopped at the gate of the little fence, and the traveler,
whoever he was, when he reached the door after dismounting, knocked
with his whip before he entered.
The master of the house rose and went to the door. He was somewhat
impatient of ceremony, but the aspect and demeanor of his visitor were
not of a kind to nourish any angry feeling. He was a young and very
handsome man, probably not more than thirty years of age, sinewy and
well formed in person, with a noble and commanding countenance, a
broad, high brow, and a keen but tranquil eye. His manner was
courteous, but grave, and he said, without waiting to have his errand
asked: "I know not, sir, whether I shall intrude upon you too far in
asking hospitality for the night, but the sun is going down, and I was
told by a lad whom I met in the woods just now that there is no other
house for ten miles farther; and, to say the truth, I am very ignorant
of the way."
"Come in," said the master of the cottage. "We never refuse to receive
a visitor here, and, indeed, have sometimes to accommodate more than
the house will well hold. We are alone, however, now, and you will not
have to put up with the inconveniences which our guests are sometimes
obliged to encounter. Stay! I will order your horse to be taken care
of."
Thus saying, he advanced a step or two beyond the door and called in a
loud voice for someone whom he named Agrippa. He had to shout more
than once, however, before a negro appeared, blind in one eye, and
somewhat lame withal, but yet, apparently, both active and
intelligent. The necessary orders were soon given, and in a moment
after the traveler was seated with his host in the little parlor of
the cottage. The manner of the latter could not be called cordial,
though it was polite and courteous.
The other seemed to feel it in some degree, and a certain stateliness
appeared in his demeanor which was not likely to warm his host into
greater familiarity. But suddenly the chilly atmosphere of the room
was warmed in a moment, and a chain of sympathy established between
the two by the presence of youth. A boy of sixteen, and a girl a
little more than a year older, entered with gay and sunshiny looks,
and the cloud was dispelled in a moment.
"My daughter Edith--my son Walter," said the master of the house,
addressing the stranger, as the two young people bounded in; and then
he added, with a slight inclination of the head: "It was an ancient
and honorable custom in Scotland, when that country was almost as
uncivilized as this, and possessed all the uncivilized virtues, never
to inquire the name of a guest; and therefore I cannot introduce you
to my children; but doubtless they will soon acknowledge you as their
nameless friend."
"I am a friend of one of them already," answered the stranger, holding
out his hand to the lad. "This is the young gentleman who told me that
I should find the only house within ten miles about this spot, and his
father willing to receive me, though he did not say that I should find
a gem in the wilderness, and a gentleman in these wild woods."
"It has been a foolish fancy, perhaps," said the master of the house,
"to carry almost into the midst of savage life some remnants of
civilization. We keep the portraits of dead friends--a lock of hair--a
trinket--a garment of the loved and departed. The habits and the
ornaments of another state of society are to me like those friends,
and I long to have some of their relics near me."
"Oh, my dear father," said Edith, seating herself by him and leaning
her head upon his bosom, without timidity or restraint, "you could
never do without them. I remember when we were coming hither, now
three years ago, that you talked a great deal of free, unshackled
existence; but I knew quite well, even then, that you could not be
content till you had subdued the rough things around you to a more
refined state."
"What made you think so, Edith?" asked her father, looking down at her
with a smile.
"Because you never could bear the parson of the parish drinking punch
and smoking tobacco pipes," answered the beautiful girl, with a laugh;
"and I was quite sure that it was not more savage life you sought, but
greater refinement."
"Oh, yes, my father," added the lad; "and you often said, when we were
in England, that the red Indian had much more of the real gentleman in
him than many a peer."
"Dreams, dreams," said their father, with a melancholy smile; and
then, turning to the stranger, he added: "You see, sir, how keenly our
weaknesses are read by even children. But come, Edith, our friend must
be hungry with his long ride; see and hasten the supper. Our habits
are primeval here, sir, like our woods. We follow the sun to bed, and
wake with him in the morning."
"They are good habits," answered the stranger, "and such as I am
accustomed to follow much myself. But do not, I pray you, hasten your
supper for me. I am anything but a slave of times and seasons. I can
fast long, and fare scantily, without inconvenience."
"And yet you are an Englishman," answered the master of the house,
gravely, "a soldier, or I mistake; a man of station, I am sure; though
all three would generally infer, as the world goes at this present
time, a fondness for luxurious ease and an indulgence of all the
appetites."
A slight flush came into his young companion's cheek, and the other
hastened to add: "Believe me, I meant nothing discourteous. I spoke of
the Englishman, the soldier, and the man of rank and station
generally, not of yourself. I see it is far otherwise with you."
"You hit hard, my good friend," replied the stranger, "and there is
some truth in what you say. But perhaps I have seen as many lands as
you, and I boldly venture to pronounce that the fault is in the age,
not in the nation, the profession, or the class."
As he spoke he rose, walked thoughtfully to the window, and gazed out
for a moment or two in silence; and then, turning round, he said,
addressing his host's son: "How beautifully the setting sun shines
down yonder glade in the forest, pouring, as it were, in a golden mist
through the needle foliage of the pines. Runs there a road down
there?"
The boy answered in the affirmative, and drawing close to the
stranger's side pointed out to him, by the undulation of the ground
and the gaps in the tree tops, the wavy line that the road followed,
down the side of the gentle hill, saying: "By a white oak and a great
hemlock tree, there is a footpath to the left; at a clump of large
cedars on the edge of the swamp the road forks out to the right and
left, one leading eastward toward the river, and one out westward to
the hunting grounds."
The stranger seemed to listen to him with pleasure, often turning his
eyes to the lad's face as he spoke, rather than to the landscape to
which he pointed; and when he had done he laid his hand on his
shoulder, saying, "I wish I had such a guide as you, Walter, for my
onward journey."
"Will it be far?" asked the youth.
"Good faith, I cannot well tell," answered the other. "It may be as
far as Montreal, or even to Quebec, if I get not satisfaction soon."
"I could not guide you as far as that," replied the boy, "but I know
every step toward the lakes, as well as an Indian."
"With whom he is very fond of consorting," said his father, with a
smile.
But before the conversation could proceed farther, an elderly,
respectable woman servant entered the room and announced that supper
was on the table. Edith had not returned, but they found her in a
large, oblong chamber to which the master of the house led the way.
There was a long table in the midst, and four wooden chairs arranged
round one end, over which a snowy tablecloth was spread. The rest of
the table was bare, but there were a number of other seats and two or
three benches in the room, while at equal distances on either side,
touching the walls, lay a number of bear and buffalo skins, as if
spread out for beds.
The eye of the stranger glanced over them as he entered, but his host
replied to his thoughts, with a smile: "We will lodge you somewhat
better than that, sir. We have, just now, more than one room vacant;
but you must know there is no such thing as privacy in this land, and
when we have any invasion of our Indian friends those skins make them
supremely happy. I often smile to think how a redman would feel in
Holland sheets. I tried it once, but it did not succeed. He pulled the
blankets off the bed and slept upon the floor."
Seated at the table, the conversation turned to many subjects,
general, of course, but yet personally interesting to both the elder
members of the party.
More than an hour was beguiled at the table--a longer period than
ordinary--and then the bright purple hues which spread over the
eastern wall of the room, opposite the windows, told that the autumnal
sun had reached the horizon. The master of the house rose to lead the
way into another room again, but ere he moved from the table another
figure was added to the group around it, though the foot was so
noiseless that no one heard its entrance into the chamber.
The person who had joined the little party was a man of middle age, of
a tall, commanding figure, upright and dignified carriage, and fine,
but somewhat strongly marked features. The expression of his
countenance was grave and noble, but yet there was a certain
strangeness in it--a touch of wildness, perhaps I might call it--very
difficult to define. It was not in the eyes, for they were good, calm,
and steadfast, gazing straight at any object of contemplation, and
fixed full upon the face of anyone he addressed. It was not in the
lips, for, except when speaking, they were firm and motionless.
Perhaps it was in the eyebrow, which, thick and strongly marked, was
occasionally suddenly raised or depressed, without apparent cause.
His dress was very strange. He was evidently of European blood,
although his skin was embrowned by much exposure to sun and weather.
But yet he wore not altogether the European costume, the garb of the
American backwoodsman, or that of the Indian. There was a mixture of
all, which gave him a wild and fantastic appearance. His coat was
evidently English, and had straps of gold lace upon the shoulders; his
knee breeches and high riding boots would have looked English, also,
had not the latter been destitute of soles, properly so called; for
they were made somewhat like a stocking, and the part beneath the foot
was of the same leather as the rest. Over his shoulder was a belt of
rattlesnake skin, and round his waist a sort of girdle, formed from
the claws of the bear, from which depended a string of wampum, while
two or three knives and a small tomahawk appeared on either side. No
other weapons had he whatever. But under his left arm hung a common
powder flask, made of cow's horn, and beside it, a sort of wallet,
such as trappers commonly used for carrying their little store of
Indian corn. A round fur cap of bearskin, without any ornament
whatever, completed his habiliments.
It would seem that in that house he was well known, for its master
instantly held forth his hand to him, and the young people sprang
forward and greeted him warmly. A full minute elapsed before he spoke,
but nobody uttered a word till he did so, all seeming to understand
his habits.
"Well, Mr. Prevost," he said, at length, "I have been a stranger to
your wigwam for some time. How art thou, Walter? Not a man yet, in
spite of all thou canst do? Edith, my sweet lady, time deals
differently with thee from thy brother. He makes thee a woman against
thy will." Then turning suddenly to the stranger, he said: "Sir, I am
glad to see you. Were you ever at Kielmansegge?"
"Once," replied the stranger, laconically.
"Then we will confer presently," replied the newcomer. "How have you
been this many a day, Mr. Prevost? You must give me food, for I have
ridden far. I will have that bearskin, too, for my night's lodging
place, if it be not pre-engaged. No, not that one, the next. I have
told Agrippa to see to my horse, for I ever count upon your courtesy."
There was something extremely stately and dignified in his whole tone,
and with frank straightforwardness, but without any indecorous haste,
he seated himself at the table, drew toward him a large dish of cold
meat, and while Edith and her brother hastened to supply him with
everything else he needed, proceeded to help himself liberally to
whatever was within his reach. Not a word more did he speak for
several minutes, while Mr. Prevost and his guest stood looking on in
silence, and the two young people attended the newcomer at the table.
As soon as he had done he rose abruptly, and then, looking first to
Mr. Prevost, and next to the stranger, said: "Now, gentlemen, if you
please, we will to council."
The stranger hesitated, and Mr. Prevost answered, with a smile: "I am
not of the initiated, Sir William; but I and the children will leave
you with my guest, whom you seem to know, but of whose name[1] and
station I am ignorant."
"Stay! stay!" replied the other, to whom he spoke. "We shall need not
only your advice but your concurrence. This gentleman I will answer
for as a faithful and loyal subject of his majesty King George. He has
been treated with that hardest of all treatments--neglect. But his is
a spirit in which not even neglect can drown out loyalty to his king
and love to his country. Moreover, I may say, that the neglect which
he has met with has proceeded from a deficiency in his own nature.
God, unfortunately, did not make him a grumbler, or he would have been
a peer long ago. The Almighty endowed him with all the qualities that
could benefit his fellow creatures, but denied him those which were
necessary to advance himself. Others have wondered that he never met
with honors, or distinction, or reward. I wonder not at all; for he is
neither a charlatan, nor a coxcomb, nor a pertinacious beggar. He
cannot stoop to slabber the hand of power, nor lick the spittle of the
man in office. How can such a man have advancement? It is contrary to
the course of the things of this world. But as he has loved his fellow
men, so will he love them. As he has served his country, so will he
serve it. As he has sought honor and truth more than promotion, honor
and truth will be his reward--alas! that it should be the only one.
But when he dies, if he dies unrecompensed, it will not be
unregretted, or unvenerated. He must be of our council."
Mr. Prevost had stood by in silence, with his eyes bent upon the
ground. But Edith sprang forward and caught Sir William Johnson's hand
as he ended the praises of her father, and bending her head with
exquisite grace, pressed her lips upon it. Her brother seemed inclined
to linger for a moment, but saying, "Come, Walter," she glided out of
the room, and the young lad, following, closed the door behind him.