THE CAPITULATION.
In the room of a farm-house in the American lines near Saratoga, a
large gathering of officers was assembled. The scarlet of the British,
the dark green of the Hessian, and the homely blue and buff of the
American officers, mingled in friendly union for the first time.
The British officers looked gloomy and depressed, while the Americans
treated them with marked courtesy and consideration. A carriage rolled
up to the door of the farm-house, attended by a single dragoon, and a
lady with two little children was helped out by one of the American
officers, whose plain uniform bore no distinctive marks of rank.
This same officer had a peculiarly kind and benevolent expression on
his face. He took up the frightened little ones in his arms as readily
as if he had been their proper parent, kissed them affectionately,
and turned to welcome the mother, with all the kindly courtesy of a
gentleman of the old school.
The lady was the Baroness Reidesel, wife of the Hessian commander, and
her heart was at once won to the kind stranger.
“Oh, sir,” she said, impulsively, “you are very, very kind, to us who
have injured you so much.”
“Dear madam,” said the stranger, “that was but the fortune of war.
You are trembling. Do not be alarmed, I pray you. Probably it may
be somewhat embarrassing to you to be the only lady in such a large
company of gentlemen. Pray let me take you and the children to my tent,
where I will try to entertain you as best I can.”
The tears rushed to the eyes of the lady, as she said:
“Oh, sir, you must be a husband and father to show me so much kindness.
Tell me only to whom I am indebted.”
“The debt is mine, madam,” said the officer, politely. “I am General
Schuyler.”
And indeed it was that noblest of all heroes of the Revolution, after
Washington, the General to whose genius the capture of Burgoyne was
owing, and who was yet superseded in the hour of his triumph by the
intrigues of the unscrupulous Gates, around whose brows the laurels
were placed that really belonged to Schuyler. The baroness in her
memories has left us this little incident, illustrative of the real
nobility of the man.
In Schuyler’s tent, in which the baroness soon found herself, she was
greeted with respectful cordiality by a young lady, one of the most
beautiful creatures she had ever seen, who was introduced to her by the
General as “Mademoiselle Diane de Cavannes, the betrothed wife of my
cousin, Captain Schuyler.”
Sitting down to dinner, the baroness was soon after introduced to
a remarkably handsome young officer of hussars, as the cousin in
question, who entered while they were at table.
The conversation was carried on indifferently in English, German,
and French, for every one at table seemed to be a good linguist, and
before half an hour had passed the baroness felt as happy as if she had
been among intimate friends instead of being, as she really was in an
enemy’s camp, her husband and all his army prisoners.
While they were still at table, however, an incident occurred which
showed that war was not at rest entirely.
A disturbance was heard outside, some shouting, the reports of two
muskets, followed by the gallop of a horse near the tent.
Adrian Schuyler jumped up, at a signal from the General, and went
out to see what was the matter. The baroness full of vague fears, as
was natural to a lady in her lonely position, remained silent and
absent minded, in spite of the assiduous attentions of her host and
Mademoiselle de Cavannes to continue the conversation.
It was not long however before she was reassured by the entrance of
Adrian, who was accompanied by Baron Reidesel himself.
“Ah, _mon ami_,” exclaimed the anxious wife, “I feared some terrible
thing had happened to thee.”
The baron, after bowing to General Schuyler, whom he seemed to know,
explained the disturbance in a few words.
It seemed that Burgoyne and his principal officers had been dining with
Gates and his staff, and that all were somewhat the worse for wine, as
was common in those days of hard drinking.
That one of Burgoyne’s officers, who, it appeared, had held an
independent command among the rangers and Indians attached to the
expedition, had distinguished himself by the depths of his potations
which yet had no apparent effect on him save to make him more sullen
and reserved.
“He was always a surly fellow, that Butler,” said the baron; “and none
of us had liked him much, but he was a valuable officer at collecting
intelligence and planning surprises, and brought us in more news than
all our scouts, so Sir John tolerated him. Once or twice, I believe he
went out as a spy among your people, General. Pretty soon, a dispute
arose at table about that unfortunate affair of Miss McCrea, and
although both Generals tried to stop it, words waxed high. Then on a
sudden this Butler chimed in with the disputants in the most insulting
manner, and the end of it was that he gave the lie direct to Colonel
Morgan of the Rifles. One of Morgan’s officers, who sat next to Butler,
maddened by his potations, so far forgot himself as to strike Butler.
I shall never forget the scene that followed. Butler caught up a
carving-knife, and before any one could interfere he literally hacked
the other to pieces. Then with a savage curse, he flung the knife at
Gates, rushed from the house, knocking down two officers that tried
to stop him, as if they were children, sprung on the horse of Gates
himself, that stood by the door, and actually escaped. I tell you,
General, that sobered us all. Such an affair I never saw before, nor
hope to again. It has cured me of deep drinking for a long while.”
Even as he was finishing, a tall gentleman entered the tent, with
a hasty apology, went up to Schuyler and whispered in his ear. The
General looked grave and troubled but he answered, hastily:
“Certainly, count, certainly. I have no command here, and Adrian’s
duties are merely honorary. He can go.”
The Count de Cavannes, for it was none other, turned to Adrian Schuyler
and the young lady, who was known as Diane de Cavannes, and spoke
rapidly in French:
“My children, we must be in the saddle in an hour. The enemy of my
house is at large, and I have sworn never to rest till he is past doing
further mischief. Make your excuses and follow.”
Then, with a hurried bow to the rest of the company that told of the
highbred courtesy that even haste could not extinguish, the mysterious
count left the tent.
Baron Reidesel remained staring at the tent door in blank surprise
after his departure for some minutes. Then he turned to Schuyler and
asked, in a low voice:
“Excuse the question, Monsieur le General, but who is that tall
gentleman that has gone out?”
“The Count de Cavannes, father to this young lady,” said the General,
with a wave of his hand toward Mademoiselle.
“And, excuse me, does he hold a commission in your forces?”
“That is a question, baron, I can not in honor answer,” said the other,
gravely. “He is a true friend to our cause, I will say.”
“Eh, _mon Dieu_, it is explained, then,” muttered the baron. “He is an
agent of the Secret Service.”
Schuyler smiled but made no answer, and after fidgeting for some
minutes, the baron resumed:
“Will you excuse one more question?”
“Certainly, baron. If I can answer, I will.”
“The count, is he a--well, a conjuror.”
“I can answer that,” interposed Diana, who had listened to the colloquy
with an amused smile. “My father was a member of the French Academy of
Sciences, baron, and a pupil of the great Cagliostro himself. Have you
seen him before, that you ask?”
“_Mon Dieu_, Mademoiselle, I should think I had. Did he not enter the
quarters of Burgoyne himself in spite of his sentries and frighten us
all out of our senses, in the likeness of the king of evil himself?”
To his surprise, both Adrian and Diana burst into a hearty laugh, and
the former said:
“I do not wonder, baron. The count frightened me, once, in a way
I shall never forget. But now I know him, let me say that a more
honorable and braver gentleman never made use of the artifices of war
to deceive and entrap an enemy. Farewell, baron. The day will come when
you will know and respect De Cavannes, as I do.”
And he left the tent with Diana.