The rising wind, which had ridden much faster than Mistress Thankful,
had increased to a gale by the time it reached Morristown. It swept
through the leafless maples, and rattled the dry bones of the elms. It
whistled through the quiet Presbyterian churchyard, as if trying to
arouse the sleepers it had known in days gone by. It shook the blank,
lustreless windows of the Assembly Rooms over the Freemasons' Tavern,
and wrought in their gusty curtains moving shadows of those amply
petticoated dames and tightly hosed cavaliers who had swung in "Sir
Roger," or jigged in "Money Musk," the night before.
But I fancy it was around the isolated "Ford Mansion," better known as
the "headquarters," that the wind wreaked its grotesque rage. It howled
under its scant eaves, it sang under its bleak porch, it tweaked the
peak of its front gable, it whistled through every chink and cranny of
its square, solid, unpicturesque structure. Situated on a hillside that
descended rapidly to the Whippany River, every summer zephyr that
whispered through the porches of the Morristown farm-houses charged as
a stiff breeze upon the swinging half doors and windows of the "Ford
Mansion"; every wintry wind became a gale that threatened its security.
The sentry who paced before its front porch knew from experience when
to linger under its lee, and adjust his threadbare outer coat to the
bitter north wind.
Within the house something of this cheerlessness prevailed. It had an
ascetic gloom, which the scant firelight of the reception-room, and the
dying embers on the dining-room hearth, failed to dissipate. The
central hall was broad, and furnished plainly with a few rush-bottomed
chairs, on one of which half dozed a black body-servant of the
commander-in-chief. Two officers in the dining-room, drawn close by
the chimney-corner, chatted in undertones, as if mindful that the door
of the drawing-room was open, and their voices might break in upon its
sacred privacy. The swinging light in the hall partly illuminated it,
or rather glanced gloomily from the black polished furniture, the
lustreless chairs, the quaint cabinet, the silent spinet, the
skeleton-legged centre-table, and finally upon the motionless figure of
a man seated by the fire.
It was a figure since so well known to the civilized world, since so
celebrated in print and painting, as to need no description here. Its
rare combination of gentle dignity with profound force, of a set
resoluteness of purpose with a philosophical patience, have been so
frequently delivered to a people not particularly remarkable for these
qualities, that I fear it has too often provoked a spirit of playful
aggression, in which the deeper underlying meaning was forgotten. So
let me add that in manner, physical equipoise, and even in the mere
details of dress, this figure indicated a certain aristocratic
exclusiveness. It was the presentment of a king,--a king who by the
irony of circumstances was just then waging war against all kingship; a
ruler of men, who just then was fighting for the right of these men to
govern themselves, but whom by his own inherent right he dominated.
From the crown of his powdered head to the silver buckle of his shoe he
was so royal that it was not strange that his brother George of England
and Hanover--ruling by accident, otherwise impiously known as the
"grace of God"--could find no better way of resisting his power than by
calling him "Mr. Washington."
The sound of horses' hoofs, the formal challenge of sentry, the grave
questioning of the officer of the guard, followed by footsteps upon the
porch, did not apparently disturb his meditation. Nor did the opening
of the outer door, and a charge of cold air into the hall that invaded
even the privacy of the reception-room, and brightened the dying embers
on the hearth, stir his calm pre-occupation. But an instant later
there was the distinct rustle of a feminine skirt in the hall, a
hurried whispering of men's voices, and then the sudden apparition of a
smooth, fresh-faced young officer over the shoulder of the unconscious
figure.
"I beg your pardon, general," said the officer doubtingly, "but--"
"You are not intruding, Col. Hamilton," said the general quietly.
"There is a young lady without who wishes an audience of your
Excellency. 'Tis Mistress Thankful Blossom,--the daughter of Abner
Blossom, charged with treasonous practice and favoring the enemy, now
in the guard-house at Morristown."
"Thankful Blossom?" repeated the general interrogatively.
"Your Excellency doubtless remembers a little provincial beauty and a
famous toast of the country-side,--the Cressida of our Morristown epic,
who led our gallant. Connecticut captain astray--"
"You have the advantages, besides the better memory of a younger man,
colonel," said Washington, with a playful smile that slightly reddened
the cheek of his aide-de-camp. "Yet I think I HAVE heard of this
phenomenon. By all means, admit her--and her escort."
"She is alone, general," responded the subordinate.
"Then the more reason why we should be polite," returned Washington,
for the first time altering his easy posture, rising to his feet, and
lightly clasping his ruffled hands before him. "We must not keep her
waiting. Give her access, my dear colonel, at once; and even as she
came,--ALONE."
The aide-de-camp bowed and withdrew. In another moment the half-opened
door swung wide to Mistress Thankful Blossom.
She was so beautiful in her simple riding-dress, so quaint and original
in that very beauty, and, above all, so teeming with a certain vital
earnestness of purpose just positive and audacious enough to set off
that beauty, that the grave gentleman before her did not content
himself with the usual formal inclination of courtesy, but actually
advanced, and, taking her cold little hand in his, graciously led her
to the chair he had just vacated.
"Even if your name were not known to me, Mistress Thankful," said the
commander-in-chief, looking down upon her with grave politeness,
"nature has, methinks, spared you the necessity of any introduction to
the courtesy of a gentleman. But how can I especially serve you?"
Alack! the blaze of Mistress Thankful's brown eyes had become somewhat
dimmed in the grave half-lights of the room, in the graver, deeper
dignity of the erect, soldier-like figure before her. The bright color
born of the tempest within and without had somehow faded from her
cheek; the sauciness begotten from bullying her horse in the last
half-hour's rapid ride was so subdued by the actual presence of the man
she had come to bully, that I fear she had to use all her self-control
to keep down her inclination to whimper, and to keep back the tears,
that, oddly enough, rose to her sweet eyes as she lifted them to the
quietly critical yet placid glance of her interlocutor.
"I can readily conceive the motive of this visit, Miss Thankful,"
continued Washington, with a certain dignified kindliness that was more
reassuring than the formal gallantry of the period; "and it is, I
protest, to your credit. A father's welfare, however erring and weak
that father may be, is most seemly in a maiden--"
Thankful's eyes flashed again as she rose to her feet. Her upper lip,
that had a moment before trembled in a pretty infantine distress, now
stiffened and curled as she confronted the dignified figure before her.
"It is not of my father I would speak," she said saucily: "I did not
ride here alone to-night, in this weather, to talk of HIM; I warrant HE
can speak for himself. I came here to speak of myself, of lies--ay,
LIES told of me, a poor girl; ay, of cowardly gossip about me and my
sweetheart, Capt. Brewster, now confined in prison because he hath
loved me, a lass without polities or adherence to the cause--as if
'twere necessary every lad should ask the confidence or permission of
yourself or, belike, my Lady Washington, in his preferences."
She paused a moment, out of breath. With a woman's quickness of
intuition she saw the change in Washington's face,--saw a certain cold
severity overshadowing it. With a woman's fateful persistency--a
persistency which I humbly suggest might, on occasion, be honorably
copied by our more politic sex--she went on to say what was in her,
even if she were obliged, with a woman's honorable inconsistency, to
unsay it an hour or two later; an inconsistency which I also humbly
protest might be as honorably imitated by us--on occasion.
"It has been said," said Thankful Blossom quickly, "that my father has
given entertainment knowingly to two spies,--two spies that, begging
your Excellency's pardon, and the pardon of Congress, I know only as
two honorable gentlemen who have as honorably tendered me their
affections. It is said, and basely and most falsely too, that my
sweetheart, Capt. Allan Brewster, has lodged this information. I have
ridden here to deny it. I have ridden here to demand of you that an
honest woman's reputation shall not be sacrificed to the interests of
politics; that a prying mob of ragamuffins shall not be sent to an
honest farmer's house to spy and spy--and turn a poor girl out of doors
that they might do it. 'Tis shameful, so it is; there! 'tis most
scandalous, so it is: there, now! Spies, indeed! what are THEY, pray?"
In the indignation which the recollection of her wrongs had slowly
gathered in her, from the beginning of this speech, she had advanced
her face, rosy with courage, and beautiful in its impertinence, within
a few inches of the dignified features and quiet gray eyes of the great
commander. To her utter stupefaction, he bent his head and kissed her,
with a grave benignity, full on the centre of her audacious forehead.
"Be seated, I beg, Mistress Blossom," he said, taking her cold hand in
his, and quietly replacing her in the unoccupied chair. "Be seated, I
beg, and give me, if you can, your attention for a moment. The officer
intrusted with the ungracious task of occupying your father's house is
a member of my military family, and a gentleman. If he has so far
forgotten himself--if he has so far disgraced himself and me as--"
"No! no!" uttered Thankful, with feverish alacrity, "the gentleman was
most considerate. On the contrary--mayhap--I"--she hesitated, and then
came to a full stop, with a heightened color, as a vivid recollection
of that gentleman's face, with the mark of her riding-whip lying across
it, rose before her.
"I was about to say that Major Van Zandt, as a gentleman, has known how
to fully excuse the natural impulses of a daughter," continued
Washington, with a look of perfect understanding; "but let me now
satisfy you on another point, where it would seem we greatly differ."
He walked to the door, and summoned his servant, to whom he gave an
order. In another moment the fresh-faced young officer who had at
first admitted her re-appeared with a file of official papers. He
glanced slyly at Thankful Blossom's face with an amused look, as if he
had already heard the colloquy between her and his superior officer,
and had appreciated that which neither of the earnest actors in the
scene had themselves felt,--a certain sense of humor in the situation.
Howbeit, standing before them, Col. Hamilton gravely turned over the
file of papers. Thankful bit her lips in embarrassment. A slight
feeling of awe, and a presentiment of some fast-coming shame; a new and
strange consciousness of herself, her surroundings, of the dignity of
the two men before her; an uneasy feeling of the presence of two ladies
who had in some mysterious way entered the room from another door, and
who seemed to be intently regarding her from afar with a curiosity as
if she were some strange animal; and a wild premonition that her whole
future life and happiness depended upon the events of the next few
moments,--so took possession of her, that the brave girl trembled for a
moment in her isolation and loneliness. In another instant Col.
Hamilton, speaking to his superior, but looking obviously at one of the
ladies who had entered, handed a paper to Washington, and said, "Here
are the charges."
"Read them," said the general coldly.
Col. Hamilton, with a manifest consciousness of another hearer than
Mistress Blossom and his general, read the paper. It was couched in
phrases of military and legal precision, and related briefly, that upon
the certain and personal knowledge of the writer, Abner Blossom of the
"Blossom Farm" was in the habit of entertaining two gentlemen, namely,
the "Count Ferdinand" and the "Baron Pomposo," suspected enemies of the
cause, and possible traitors to the Continental army. It was signed by
Allan Brewster, late captain in the Connecticut Contingent.
As Col. Hamilton exhibited the signature, Thankful Blossom had no
difficulty in recognizing the familiar bad hand and equally familiar
mis-spelling of her lover.
She rose to her feet. With eyes that showed her present trouble and
perplexity as frankly as they had a moment before blazed with her
indignation, she met, one by one, the glances of the group who now
seemed to be closing round her. Yet with a woman's instinct she felt,
I am constrained to say, more unfriendliness in the silent presence of
the two women than in the possible outspoken criticism of our
much-abused sex.
"Of course," said a voice which Thankful at once, by a woman's unerring
instinct, recognized as the elder of the two ladies, and the legitimate
keeper of the conscience of some one of the men who were present,--"of
course Mistress Thankful will be able to elect which of her lovers
among her country's enemies she will be able to cling to for support in
her present emergency. She does not seem to have been so special in
her favors as to have positively excluded any one."
"At least, dear Lady Washington, she will not give it to the man who
has proven a traitor to HER," said the younger woman impulsively.
"That is--I beg your ladyship's pardon"--she hesitated, observing in
the dead silence that ensued that the two superior male beings present
looked at each other in lofty astonishment.
"He that is trait'rous to his country," said Lady Washington coldly,
"is apt to be trait'rous elsewhere."
"'Twere as honest to say that he that was trait'rous to his king was
trait'rous to his country," said Mistress Thankful with sudden
audacity, bending her knit brows on Lady Washington. But that lady
turned dignifiedly away, and Mistress Thankful again faced the general.
"I ask your pardon," she said proudly, "for troubling you with my
wrongs. But it seems to me that even if another and a greater wrong
were done me by my sweetheart, through jealousy, it would not justify
this accusation against me, even though," she added, darting a wicked
glance at the placid brocaded back of Lady Washington, "even though
that accusation came from one who knows that jealousy may belong to the
wife of a patriot as well as a traitor." She was herself again after
this speech, although her face was white with the blow she had taken
and returned.
Col. Hamilton passed his hand across his mouth, and coughed slightly.
Gen. Washington, standing by the fire with an impassive face, turned to
Thankful gravely:--
"You are forgetting, Mistress Thankful, that you have not told me how I
can serve you. It cannot be that you are still concerned in Capt.
Brewster, who has given evidence against your other--FRIENDS, and
tacitly against YOU. Nor can it be on their account, for I regret to
say they are still free and unknown. If you come with any information
exculpating them, and showing they are not spies or hostile to the
cause, your father's release shall be certain and speedy. Let me ask
you a single question: Why do you believe them honest?"
"Because," said Mistress Thankful, "they were--were--gentlemen."
"Many spies have been of excellent family, good address, and fair
talents," said Washington gravely; "but you have, mayhap, some other
reason."
"Because they talked only to ME," said Mistress Thankful, blushing
mightily; "because they preferred my company to father's; because"--she
hesitated a moment--"because they spoke not of politics, but--of--that
which lads mainly talk of--and--and,"--here she broke down a
little,--"and the baron I only saw once, but he"--here she broke down
utterly--"I know they weren't spies: there, now!"
"I must ask you something more," said Washington, with grave kindness:
"whether you give me the information or not, you will consider, that,
if what you believe is true, it cannot in any way injure the gentlemen
you speak of; while, on the other hand, it may relieve your father of
suspicion. Will you give to Col. Hamilton, my secretary, a full
description of them,--that fuller description which Capt. Brewster, for
reasons best known to yourself, was unable to give?"
Mistress Thankful hesitated for a moment, and then, with one of her
truthful glances at the commander-in-chief, began a detailed account of
the outward semblance of the count. Why she began with him, I am
unable to say; but possibly it was because it was easier, for when she
came to describe the baron, she was, I regret to say, somewhat vague
and figurative. Not so vague, however, but that Col. Hamilton suddenly
started up with a look at his chief, who instantly checked it with a
gesture of his ruffled hand.
"I thank you. Mistress Thankful," he said quite impassively, "but did
this other gentleman, this baron--"
"Pomposo," said Thankful proudly. A titter originated in the group of
ladies by the window, and became visible on the fresh face of Col.
Hamilton; but the dignified color of Washington's countenance was
unmoved.
"May I ask if the baron made an honorable tender of his affections to
you," he continued, with respectful gravity,--"if his attentions were
known to your father, and were such as honest Mistress Blossom could
receive?"
"Father introduced him to me, and wanted me to be kind to him. He--he
kissed me, and I slapped his face," said Thankful quickly, with cheeks
as red, I warrant, as the baron's might have been.
The moment the words had escaped her truthful lips, she would have
given her life to recall them. To her astonishment, however, Col.
Hamilton laughed outright, and the ladies turned and approached her,
but were checked by a slight gesture from the otherwise impassive
figure of the general.
"It is possible, Mistress Thankful," he resumed, with undisturbed
composure, "that one at least of these gentlemen may be known to us,
and that your instincts may be correct. At least rest assured that we
shall fully inquire into it, and that your father shall have the
benefit of that inquiry."
"I thank your Excellency," said Thankful, still reddening under the
contemplation of her own late frankness, and retreating toward the
door. "I--think--I--must--go--now. It is late, and I have far to
ride."
To her surprise, however, Washington stepped forward, and, again taking
her hands in his, said with a grave smile, "For that very reason, if
for none other, you must be our guest to-night, Mistress Thankful
Blossom. We still retain our Virginian ideas of hospitality, and are
tyrannous enough to make strangers conform to them, even though we have
but perchance the poorest of entertainment to offer them. Lady
Washington will not permit Mistress Thankful Blossom to leave her roof
to-night until she has partaken of her courtesy as well as her counsel."
"Mistress Thankful Blossom will make us believe that she has at least
in so far trusted our desire to serve her justly, by accepting our poor
hospitality for a single night," said Lady Washington, with a stately
courtesy.
Thankful Blossom still stood irresolutely at the door. But the next
moment a pair of youthful arms encircled her; and the younger
gentlewoman, looking into her brown eyes with an honest frankness equal
to her own, said caressingly, "Dear Mistress Thankful, though I am but
a guest in her ladyship's house, let me, I pray you, add my voice to
hers. I am Mistress Schuyler of Albany, at your service, Mistress
Thankful, as Col. Hamilton here will bear me witness, did I need any
interpreter to your honest heart. Believe me, dear Mistress Thankful,
I sympathize with you, and only beg you to give me an opportunity
to-night to serve you. You will stay, I know, and you will stay with
me; and we shall talk over the faithlessness of that over-jealous
Yankee captain who has proved himself, I doubt not, as unworthy of YOU
as he is of his country."
Hateful to Thankful as was the idea of being commiserated, she
nevertheless could not resist the gentle courtesy and gracious sympathy
of Miss Schuyler. Besides, it must be confessed that for the first
time in her life she felt a doubt of the power of her own independence,
and a strange fascination for this young gentlewoman whose arms were
around her, who could so thoroughly sympathize with her, and yet allow
herself to be snubbed by Lady Washington.
"You have a mother, I doubt not?" said Thankful, raising her
questioning eyes to Miss Schuyler.
Irrelevant as this question seemed to the two gentlemen, Miss Schuyler
answered it with feminine intuition: "And you, dear Mistress Thankful--"
"Have none," said Thankful; and here, I regret to say, she whimpered
slightly, at which Miss Schuyler, with tears in her own fine eyes, bent
her head suddenly to Thankful's ear, put her arm about the waist of the
pretty stranger, and then, to the astonishment of Col. Hamilton,
quietly swept her out of the august presence.
When the door had closed upon them, Col. Hamilton turned
half-smilingly, half-inquiringly, to his chief. Washington returned
his glance kindly but gravely, and then said quietly,--
"If your suspicions jump with mine, colonel, I need not remind you that
it is a matter so delicate that it would be as well if you locked it in
your own breast for the present; at least, that you should not intimate
to the gentleman whom you may have suspected, aught that has passed
this evening."
"As you will, general," said the subaltern respectfully; "but may I
ask"--he hesitated--"if you believe that anything more than a passing
fancy for a pretty girl--"
"When I asked your silence, colonel," interrupted Washington kindly,
laying his hand upon the shoulder of the younger man, "it was because I
thought the matter sufficiently momentous to claim my own private and
especial attention."
"I ask your Excellency's pardon," said the young man, reddening through
his fresh complexion like a girl; "I only meant--"
"That you would ask to be relieved to-night," interrupted Washington,
with a benign smile, "forasmuch as you wished the more to show
entertainment to our dear friend Miss Schuyler, and her guest; a
wayward girl, colonel, but, methinks, an honest one. Treat her of your
own quality, colonel, but discreetly, and not too kindly, lest we have
Mistress Schuyler, another injured damsel, on our hands;" and with a
half playful gesture peculiar to the man, and yet not inconsistent with
his dignity, he half led, half pushed his youthful secretary from the
room.
When the door had closed upon the colonel, Lady Washington rustled
toward her husband, who stood still, quiet and passive, on the
hearthstone.
"You surely see in this escapade nothing of political intrigue--no
treachery?" she said hastily.
"No," said Washington quietly.
"Nothing more than an idle, wanton intrigue with a foolish, vain
country girl?"
"Pardon me, my lady," said Washington gravely. "I doubt not we may
misjudge her. 'Tis no common rustic lass that can thus stir the
country side. 'Twere an insult to your sex to believe it. It is not
yet sure that she has not captured even so high game as she has named.
If she has, it would add another interest to a treaty of comity and
alliance."
"That creature!" said Lady Washington,--"that light-o'-love with her
Connecticut captain lover! Pardon me, but this is preposterous;" and
with a stiff courtesy she swept from the room, leaving the central
figure of history--as such central figures are apt to be left--alone.
Later in the evening Mistress Schuyler so far subdued the tears and
emotions of Thankful, that she was enabled to dry her eyes, and
re-arrange her brown hair in the quaint little mirror in Mistress
Schuyler's chamber; Mistress Schuyler herself lending a touch and
suggestion here and there, after the secret freemasonry of her sex.
"You are well rid of this forsworn captain, dear Mistress Thankful; and
methinks that with hair as beautiful as yours, the new style of wearing
it, though a modish frivolity, is most becoming. I assure you 'tis
much affected in New York and Philadelphia,--drawn straight back from
the forehead, after this manner, as you see."
The result was, that an hour later Mistress Schuyler and Mistress
Blossom presented themselves to Col. Hamilton in the reception-room,
with a certain freshness and elaboration of toilet that not only quite
shamed the young officer's affaire negligence, but caused him to open
his eyes in astonishment. "Perhaps she would rather be alone, that she
might indulge her grief," he said doubtingly, in an aside to Miss
Schuyler, "rather than appear in company."
"Nonsense," quoth Mistress Schuyler. "Is a young woman to mope and
sigh because her lover proves false?"
"But her father is a prisoner," said Hamilton in amazement.
"Can you look me in the face," said Mistress Schuyler mischievously,
"and tell me that you don't know that in twenty-four hours her father
will be cleared of these charges? Nonsense! Do you think I have no
eyes in my head? Do you think I misread the general's face and your
own?"
"But, my dear girl," said the officer in alarm.
"Oh! I told her so, but not WHY," responded Miss Schuyler with a wicked
look in her dark eyes, "though I had warrant enough to do so, to serve
you for keeping a secret from ME!"
And with this Parthian shot she returned to Mistress Thankful, who,
with her face pressed against the window, was looking out on the
moonlit slope beside the Whippany River.
For, by one of those freaks peculiar to the American springtide, the
weather had again marvellously changed. The rain had ceased, and the
ground was covered with an icing of sleet and snow, that now glittered
under a clear sky and a brilliant moon. The northeast wind that shook
the loose sashes of the windows had transformed each dripping tree and
shrub to icy stalactites that silvered under the moon's cold touch.
"'Tis a beautiful sight, ladies," said a bluff, hearty, middle-aged
man, joining the group by the window. "But God send the spring to us
quickly, and spare us any more such cruel changes! My lady moon looks
fine enough, glittering in yonder treetops; but I doubt not she looks
down upon many a poor fellow shivering under his tattered blankets in
the camp beyond. Had ye seen the Connecticut tatterdemalions file by
last night, with arms reversed, showing their teeth at his Excellency,
and yet not daring to bite; had ye watched these faint-hearts, these
doubting Thomases, ripe for rebellion against his Excellency, against
the cause, but chiefly against the weather,--ye would pray for a thaw
that would melt the hearts of these men as it would these stubborn
fields around us. Two weeks more of such weather would raise up not one
Allan Brewster, but a dozen such malcontent puppies ripe for a
drum-head court-martial."
"Yet 'tis a fine night, Gen. Sullivan," said Col. Hamilton, sharply
nudging the ribs of his superior officer with his elbow. "There would
be little trouble on such a night, I fancy, to track our ghostly
visitant." Both of the ladies becoming interested, and Col. Hamilton
having thus adroitly turned the flank of his superior officer, he went
on, "You should know that the camp, and indeed the whole locality here,
is said to be haunted by the apparition of a gray-coated figure, whose
face is muffled and hidden in his collar, but who has the password pat
to his lips, and whose identity hath baffled the sentries. This
figure, it is said, forasmuch as it has been seen just before an
assault, an attack, or some tribulation of the army, is believed by
many to be the genius or guardian spirit of the cause, and, as such,
has incited sentries and guards to greater vigilance, and has to some
seemed a premonition of disaster. Before the last outbreak of the
Connecticut militia, Master Graycoat haunted the outskirts of the
weather-beaten and bedraggled camp, and, I doubt not, saw much of that
preparation that sent that regiment of faint-hearted onion-gatherers to
flaunt their woes and their wrongs in the face of the general himself."
Here Col. Hamilton, in turn, received a slight nudge from Mistress
Schuyler, and ended his speech somewhat abruptly.
Mistress Thankful was not unmindful of both these allusions to her
faithless lover, but only a consciousness of mortification and wounded
pride was awakened by them. In fact, during the first tempest of her
indignation at his arrest, still later at the arrest of her father, and
finally at the discovery of his perfidy to her, she had forgotten that
he was her lover; she had forgotten her previous tenderness toward him;
and, now that her fire and indignation were spent, only a sense of
numbness and vacancy remained. All that had gone before seemed not
something to be regretted as her own act, but rather as the act of
another Thankful Blossom, who had been lost that night in the
snow-storm: she felt she had become, within the last twenty-four hours,
not perhaps ANOTHER woman, but for the first time a WOMEN.
Yet it was singular that she felt more confused when, a few moments
later, the conversation turned upon Major Van Zandt: it was still more
singular that she even felt considerably frightened at that confusion.
Finally she found herself listening with alternate irritability, shame,
and curiosity, to praises of that gentleman, of his courage, his
devotion, and his personal graces. For one wild moment Thankful felt
like throwing herself on the breast of Mistress Schuyler, and
confessing her rudeness to the major; but a conviction that Mistress
Schuyler would share that secret with Col. Hamilton, that Major Van
Zandt might not like that revelation, and, oddly enough associated with
this, a feeling of unconquerable irritability toward that handsome and
gentle young officer, kept her mouth closed. "Besides," she said to
herself, "he ought to know, if he's such a fine gentleman as they say,
just how I was feeling, and that I don't mean any rudeness to him;" and
with this unanswerable feminine logic poor Thankful to some extent
stilled her own honest little heart.
But not, I fear, entirely. The night was a restless one to her: like
all impulsive natures, the season of reflection, and perhaps distrust,
came to her upon acts that were already committed, and when reason
seemed to light the way only to despair. She saw the folly of her
intrusion at the headquarters, as she thought, only when it was too
late to remedy it; she saw the gracelessness and discourtesy of her
conduct to Major Van Zandt, only when distance and time rendered an
apology weak and ineffectual. I think she cried a little to herself,
lying in the strange gloomy chamber of the healthfully sleeping
Mistress Schuyler, the sweet security of whose manifest goodness and
kindness she alternately hated and envied; and at last, unable to stand
it longer, slipped noiselessly from her bed, and stood very wretched
and disconsolate before the window that looked out upon the slope
toward the Whippany River. The moon on the new-fallen, frigid, and
untrodden snow shone brightly. Far to the left it glittered on the
bayonet of a sentry pacing beside the river-bank, and gave a sense of
security to the girl that perhaps strengthened another idea that had
grown up in her mind. Since she could not sleep, why should she not
ramble about until she could? She had been accustomed to roam about
the farm in all weathers and at all times and seasons. She recalled to
herself the night--a tempestuous one--when she had risen in serious
concern as to the lying-in of her favorite Alderney heifer, and how she
had saved the life of the calf, a weakling, dropped apparently from the
clouds in the tempest, as it lay beside the barn. With this in her
mind, she donned her dress again, and, with Mistress Schuyler's mantle
over her shoulders, noiselessly crept down the narrow staircase, passed
the sleeping servant on the settee, and, opening the rear door, in
another moment was inhaling the crisp air, and tripping down the crisp
snow of the hillside.
But Mistress Thankful had overlooked one difference between her own
farm and a military encampment. She had not proceeded a dozen yards
before a figure apparently started out of the ground beneath her, and,
levelling a bayoneted musket across her path, called, "Halt!"
The hot blood mounted to the girl's cheek at the first imperative
command she had ever received in her life: nevertheless she halted
unconsciously, and without a word confronted the challenger with her
old audacity.
"Who comes there?" reiterated the sentry, still keeping his bayonet
level with her breast.
"Thankful Blossom," she responded promptly.
The sentry brought his musket to a "present." "Pass, Thankful Blossom,
and God send it soon and the spring with it, and good-night," he said,
with a strong Milesian accent. And before the still-amazed girl could
comprehend the meaning of his abrupt challenge, or his equally abrupt
departure, he had resumed his monotonous pace in the moonlight.
Indeed, as she stood looking after him, the whole episode, the odd
unreality of the moonlit landscape, the novelty of her position, the
morbid play of her thoughts, seemed to make it part of a dream which
the morning light might dissipate, but could never fully explain.
With something of this feeling still upon her, she kept her way to the
river. Its banks were still fringed with ice, through which its dark
current flowed noiselessly. She knew it flowed through the camp where
lay her faithless lover, and for an instant indulged the thought of
following it, and facing him with the proof of his guilt; but even at
the thought she recoiled with a new and sudden doubt in herself, and
stood dreamily watching the shimmer of the moon on the icy banks, until
another, and, it seemed to her, equally unreal vision suddenly stayed
her feet, and drove the blood from her feverish cheeks.
A figure was slowly approaching from the direction of the sleeping
encampment. Tall, erect, and habited in a gray surtout, with a hood
partially concealing its face, it was the counterfeit presentment of
the ghostly visitant she had heard described. Thankful scarcely
breathed. The brave little heart that had not quailed before the
sentry's levelled musket a moment before now faltered and stood still,
as the phantom with a slow and majestic tread moved toward her. She
had only time to gain the shelter of a tree before the figure,
majestically unconscious of her presence, passed slowly by. Through
all her terror Thankful was still true to a certain rustic habit of
practical perception to observe that the tread of the phantom was quite
audible over the crust of snow, and was visible and palpable as the
imprint of a military boot.
The blood came back to Thankful's cheek, and with it her old audacity.
In another instant she was out from the tree, and tracking with a light
feline tread the apparition that now loomed up the hill before her.
Slipping from tree to tree, she followed until it passed before the
door of a low hut or farm-shed that stood midway up the hill. Here it
entered, and the door closed behind it. With every sense feverishly
alert, Thankful, from the secure advantage of a large maple, watched
the door of the hut. In a few moments it re-opened to the same figure
free of its gray enwrappings. Forgetful of every thing now, but
detecting the face of the impostor, the fearless girl left the tree,
and placed herself directly in the path of the figure. At the same
moment it turned toward her inquiringly, and the moonlight fell full
upon the calm, composed features of Gen. Washington.
In her consternation Thankful could only drop an embarrassed courtesy,
and hang out two lovely signals of distress in her cheeks. The face of
the pseudo ghost alone remained unmoved.
"You are wandering late, Mistress Thankful," he said at last, with a
paternal gravity; "and I fear that the formal restraint of a military
household has already given you some embarrassment. Yonder sentry, for
instance, might have stopped you."
"Oh, he did!" said Thankful quickly; "but it's all right, please your
Excellency. He asked me 'Who went there,' and I told him; and he was
vastly polite, I assure you."
The grave features of the commander-in-chief relaxed in a smile. "You
are more happy than most of your sex in turning a verbal compliment to
practical account. For know then, dear young lady, that in honor of
your visit to the headquarters, the password to-night through this
encampment was none other than your own pretty patronymic,--'Thankful
Blossom.'"
The tears glittered in the girl's eyes, and her lip trembled; but, with
all her readiness of speech, she could only say, "Oh, your Excellency."
"Then you DID pass the sentry?" continued Washington, looking at her
intently with a certain grave watchfulness in his gray eyes. "And
doubtless you wandered at the river-bank. Although I myself, tempted
by the night, sometimes extend my walk as far as yonder shed, it were a
hazardous act for a young lady to pass beyond the protection of the
line."
"Oh! I met no one, your Excellency," said the usually truthful Thankful
hastily, rushing to her first lie with grateful impetuosity.
"And saw no one?" asked Washington quietly.
"No one," said Thankful, raising her brown eyes to the general's.
They both looked at each other,--the naturally most veracious young
woman in the colonies, and the subsequent allegorical impersonation of
truth in America,--and knew each other lied, and, I imagine, respected
each other for it.
"I am glad to hear you say so, Mistress Thankful," said Washington
quietly; "for 'twould have been natural for you to have sought an
interview with your recreant lover in yonder camp, though the attempt
would have been unwise and impossible."
"I had no such thought, your Excellency," said Thankful, who had really
quite forgotten her late intention; "yet, if with your permission I
could hold a few moments' converse with Capt. Brewster, it would
greatly ease my mind."
"'Twould not be well for the present," said Washington thoughtfully.
"But in a day or two Capt. Brewster will be tried by court-martial at
Morristown. It shall be so ordered that when he is conveyed thither
his guard shall halt at the Blossom Farm. I will see that the officer
in command gives you an opportunity to see him. And I think I can
promise also, Mistress Thankful, that your father shall be also present
under his own roof, a free man."
They had reached the entrance to the mansion, and entered the hall.
Thankful turned impulsively, and kissed the extended hand of the
commander. "You are so good! I have been so foolish--so very, very
wrong," she said, with a slight trembling of her lip. "And your
Excellency believes my story; and those gentlemen were NOT spies, but
even as they gave themselves to be."
"I said not that much," replied Washington with a kindly smile, "but no
matter. Tell me rather, Mistress Thankful, how far your acquaintance
with these gentlemen has gone; or did it end with the box on the ear
that you gave the baron?"
"He had asked me to ride with him to the Baskingridge, and I--had
said--yes," faltered Mistress Thankful.
"Unless I misjudge you, Mistress Thankful, you can without great
sacrifice promise me that you will not see him until I give you my
permission," said Washington, with grave playfulness.
The swinging light shone full in Thankful's truthful eyes as she lifted
them to his.
"I do," she said quietly.
"Good-night," said the commander, with a formal bow.
"Good-night, your Excellency."