_Philip's Adventures--Captain Falconer Comes to Town._
Upon the way back to our lines, we were entertained by Mr. Cornelius
with an account of Philip's movements during the past three years. One
piece of information interested Captain De Lancey: the recent attack
upon Van Wrumb's Hessians, which it had been our purpose that night to
revenge, was the work of Winwood's troop of horse. Our curiosity upon
hearing of Philip as a captain of independent cavalry, who had left us
as a lieutenant of New York foot, was satisfied in the course of the
pedagogue's narrative. The tutor himself had received promotion upon
two sides: first, to the Presbyterian ministry, his admission thereto
having occurred while he was with the rebel army near Morristown, New
Jersey, the last previous Winter but one; second, to the chaplaincy of
Winwood's troop.
"Sure the devil's in it," said I, when he had told me this, "if the
rebels' praying men are as sanguinary as you showed yourself
to-night--leaping out to pursue your beaten enemy, as you did."
"Why," he replied, self-reproachfully, in his mildest voice, "I find,
do what I can, I have at bottom a combative spirit that will rise upon
occasion. I had thought 'twas long since quelled. But I fear no man is
always and altogether his own master. I saw even General Washington,
at Monmouth--but no matter for that. Especially of late, I have found
my demon of wrath--to speak figuratively--too much for me. 'Twas too
violently roused, maybe, that night your General Grey and his men fell
upon us as we slept, yonder across the Hudson, and slaughtered us like
sheep in the barn we lay in."
"Why, were you in that too?" I asked, surprised. "I thought that troop
was called Lady Washington's Light Horse."[3]
"Ay, we were then of that troop, Captain Winwood and I. 'Twas for his
conduct in that affair, his valour and skill in saving the remnant of
the troop, that he was put, t'other day, in command of an independent
company. I may take some pride in having helped him to this honour;
for his work the night General Grey surprised us was done so quietly,
and his report made so little of his own share in the business,
'twould have gone unrecognised, but for my account of it. Though, to
be sure, General Washington said afterward, in my hearing, that such
bravery and sagacity, coupled with such modesty, were only what he
might expect of Captain Winwood."
Cornelius had shared Philip's fortunes since their departure from New
York. When Winwood fell wounded in the snow, between the two
blockhouses at the foot of the cliff, that night the rebels met defeat
at Quebec, the pedagogue remained to succour him, and so was taken
prisoner with him. He afterward helped nurse him in the French
religious house, in the walled "upper town," to which the rebel
wounded were conveyed.
Upon the exchange of prisoners, Philip, having suffered a relapse, was
unable to accompany his comrades homeward, and Cornelius stayed to
care for him. There was a Scotchwoman who lived upon a farm a few
miles West of Quebec, and whose husband was serving on our side as one
of Colonel Maclean's Royal Highlanders. She took Winwood and the
pedagogue into her house as guests, trusting them till some uncertain
time in the future might find them able to pay.
When at last Philip dared hazard the journey, the rebel siege of
Quebec, which had continued in a half-hearted manner until Spring
brought British reinforcements up the river in ship-loads, had long
been raised, and the rebels had long since flown. Provided by Governor
Carleton with the passports to which in their situation they were
entitled, the two started for New York, bound by way of the St.
Lawrence, the Richelieu, the lakes, and the Hudson. It was now Winter,
and only Winwood's impatience to resume service could have tempted
them to such a journey in that season.
They came part way afoot, receiving guidance now from some solitary
fur-capped _courier du bois_ clad in skins and hoofed with snow-shoes,
now from some peaceful Indian, now from the cowled brothers of, some
forest monastery which gave them a night's shelter also. Portions of
the journey they made upon sledges driven by poor _habitans_ dwelling
in the far-apart villages or solitary farmhouses. At other times they
profited by boats and canoes, propelled up the St. Lawrence by French
peasants, befringed hunters, or friendly red men. Their entertainment
and housing were sometimes from such people as I have mentioned;
sometimes of their own contriving, the woods furnishing game for food,
fagots for fuel, and boughs for roof and bedding.
They encountered no danger from human foes until they were in the
province of New York, and, having left the lakes behind them, were
footing it Southward along the now frozen Hudson. The Indians in
Northern New York had been won to our interest, by Sir John Johnson,
of Johnson Hall, in the Mohawk Valley, and were more than formerly
inclined to vigilance regarding travellers in those lonely regions.
Upon waking suddenly one night when camped in the woods, Philip saw by
the firelight that he was surrounded by a party of silent savages; his
sword and pistol, and Cornelius's rifle, being already in their
possession. The two soldiers were held as prisoners for several days,
and made to accompany their captors upon long, mysterious
peregrinations. At last they were brought before Sir John Johnson, at
one of his forts; and that gentleman, respecting Governor Carleton's
passes, and the fact that Captain Winwood was related by marriage to
the De Lanceys, sent them with a guide to Albany.
Here they reported to General Schuyler; and Philip, having learned by
the experience of his journey that his wound left him incapacitated
for arduous service afoot, desired an arrangement by which he might
join the cavalry branch of the army. Mr. Schuyler was pleased to put
the matter through for him, and to send him to Morristown, New Jersey,
(where the rebel main force was then in Winter quarters) with a
commendatory letter to General Washington. Cornelius, whose time of
service had expired, was free to accompany him.
Philip, being enrolled, without loss of nominal rank, in Lady
Washington's Light Horse, which Cornelius entered as a trooper, had now
the happiness of serving near the person of the commander-in-chief. He
was wounded again at the Brandywine, upon which occasion Cornelius
bore him off the field without their being captured. During the Winter
at Valley Forge, and at the battle of Monmouth, and in the recent
partisan warfare on both sides of the Hudson, their experiences were
those of Washington's army as a whole, of which there are histories
enough extant: until their troop was cut to pieces by Earl Grey, and
Captain Winwood was advanced to an independent command. This was but a
recent event.
"And did he never think of us in New York," said Tom, "that he sent us
no word in all this time?"
"Sure, you must thank your British occupation of New York, if you
received none of our messages. General Washington allowed them to
pass."
"Ay, 'tis not easy for rebels to communicate with their friends in New
York," quoth I, "despite the traffic of goods between the Whig country
folk and some of our people, that Captain De Lancey knows about."
"Tut, man!" said De Lancey. "Some things must be winked at; we need
their farm stuff as much as they want our tea and such. But
correspondence from rebels must go to headquarters--where 'tis like to
stop, when it's for a family whose head is of Mr. Faringfield's way of
thinking."
"Well," said Mr. Cornelius, "Captain Winwood and I have discussed more
than one plan by which he might perchance get sight of his people for
a minute or so. He has hoped he might be sent into New York under a
flag of truce, upon some negotiation or other, and might obtain
permission from your general to see his wife while there; but he has
always been required otherwise when messengers were to be sent. He has
even thought of offering to enter the town clandestinely--"
"Hush!" I interrupted. "You are indiscreet. We are soldiers of the
king, remember. But, to be sure, 'tis nonsense; Phil would not be such
a fool as to risk hanging."
"Oh, to be sure; nonsense, indeed!" Cornelius stammered, much upset at
the imprudence due to his thoughtlessness. "And yet," he resumed
presently, "never did a man more crave a sight of those he left
behind. He would barter a year of his life, I think, for a minute's
speech with his wife. He talks of her by the hour, when he and I are
alone together. There was some coolness, you will remember, before
their parting; but 'twas not on his side, and his lady seemed to have
dropped it when he was taking leave of her; and three years of absence
have gone since then. So I am sure she has softened quite, and that
she desires his return as much as he longs for her presence. And
though he knows all this must be so, he keeps me ever reassuring and
persuading him it is. Ah, sir, if ever there was a man in love with
his wife!"
I made no reply. I had previously informed him of her good health, in
answer to a question whose eagerness came of his friendship for
Philip. I asked myself whether his unsuspecting mind was like to
perceive aught that would pain him for Philip's sake, in her
abandonment to the gaieties of the town, to the attentions of the
king's officers, to the business of making herself twice as charming
as the pedagogue had ever seen her.
We got it arranged that our prisoner should be put on parole and
quartered at Mr. Faringfield's house, where his welcome was indeed a
glad one. When Margaret heard of his presence in the town, she gave a
momentary start (it seemed to me a start of self-accusation) and paled
a little; but she composed herself, and asked in a sweet and gracious
(not an eager) tone:
"And Philip?"
I told her all I had learned from Cornelius, to which she listened
with a kindly heedfulness, only sometimes pressing her white teeth
upon her lower lip, and other times dropping her lustrous eyes from my
purposely steady, and perhaps reproachful, gaze.
"So then," said she, as if to be gay at the expense of her husband's
long absence, "now that three years and more have brought him so near
us, maybe another three years or so will bring him back to us!" 'Twas
affected gaiety, one could easily see. Her real feeling must have been
of annoyance that any news of her husband should be obtruded upon her.
She had entered into a way of life that involved forgetfulness of him,
and for which she must reproach herself whenever she thought of him,
but which was too pleasant for her to abandon. But she had the virtue
to be ashamed that reminders of his existence were unwelcome, and
consequently to pretend that she took them amiably; and yet she had
not the hypocrisy to pretend the eager solicitude which a devoted wife
would evince upon receiving news of her long-absent soldier-husband.
Such hypocrisy, indeed, would have appeared ridiculous in a wife who
had scarce mentioned her husband's name, and then only when others
spoke of him, in three years. Yet her very self-reproach for
disregarding him--did it not show that, under all the feelings that
held her to a life of gay coquetry, lay her love for Philip, not dead,
nor always sleeping?
When Cornelius came to the house to live, she met him with a warm
clasp of the hand, and with a smile of so much radiance and sweetness,
that for a time he must have been proud of her on Phil's behalf; and
so dazzled that he could not yet see those things for which, on the
same behalf, he must needs be sorrowful.
Knowing now exactly where Philip was, we were able to send him speedy
news of Cornelius's safety, and of the good health and good wishes of
us all; and we got in reply a message full of thanks and of
affectionate solicitude. The transfer of his troop to New Jersey soon
removed the possibility of my meeting him.
In the following Summer (that of 1779), as I afterward learned,
Captain Winwood and some of his men accompanied Major Lee's famous
dragoons (dismounted for the occasion) to the nocturnal surprise and
capture of our post at Paulus Hook, in New Jersey, opposite New York.
But he found no way of getting into the town to see us. And so I bring
him to the Winter of 1779, when the main rebel camp was again at
Morristown, and Philip stationed near Washington's headquarters. But
meanwhile, in New York, in the previous Autumn some additional British
troops had arrived from England; and one of these was Captain
Falconer.
There was a ball one night at Captain Morris's country-house some
eight or ten miles North of the town, which the rebel authorities had
already declared confiscate, if I remember aright, but which, as it
was upon the island of Manhattan and within our lines, yet remained in
actual possession of the rightful owner. Here Washington (said to have
been an unsuccessful suitor to Mrs. Morris when she was Miss Philipse)
had quartered ere the British chased the rebels from the island of
Manhattan; and here now were officers of our own in residence. 'Twas a
fine, white house, distinguished by the noble columns of its Grecian
front; from its height it overlooked the Hudson, the Harlem, the East
River, the Sound, and miles upon miles of undulating land on every
side.[4]
On this night the lights showed welcome from its many windows, open
doors, and balconies, and from the coloured paper lanterns festooned
upon its façade and strung aloft over its splendid lawn and gardens.
The house still stands, I hear, and is known as the Jumel Mansion,
from the widow who lives there. But I'll warrant it presents no more
such scenes as it offered that night, when the wealth and beauty of
New York, the chivalry of the king's army, arrived at its broad
pillared entrance by horse and by coach in a constant procession. In
the great hall, and the adjacent rooms, the rays of countless candles
fell upon brilliant uniforms, upon silk and velvet and brocade and
broadcloth, upon powdered hair, and fans and furbelows, upon white
necks and bosoms, and dazzling eyes, upon jewels and golden buckles
and shining sword-hilts.
We that entered from the Faringfield coach were Mrs. Faringfield and
my mother, Margaret and Fanny, Tom and myself. We had just received
the greeting of our handsome hostess, and were passing up the hall,
when my eyes alighted upon the figure of an officer who stood alone,
in an attitude of pensive negligence, beside the mantelpiece. He was
fully six feet tall, but possessed a carriage of grace and elegance,
instead of the rigid erectness of so many of his comrades. He had a
slender, finely cut, English face, a long but delicate chin, gray eyes
of a beautiful clearness, slightly wavy hair that was now powdered,
and the hands and legs of a gentleman.
"What a handsome fellow! Who is he?" whispered Margaret to Fanny.
I glanced at her. Her eyes showed admiration--an expression I had
never before seen in them. I looked back at the officer. He in turn
had seen her. His face, from having worn a look half melancholy, half
languid, had speedily become animated with interest. 'Twas as if each
of these two superb creatures had unexpectedly fallen upon something
they had scarce hoped to find in their present environment.
"A mighty pretty gentleman, indeed," said my mother.
"Nay," said Margaret, with a swift relapse into indifference, "no such
Adonis neither, on second view."
But I saw that she turned the corner of her eye upon him at intervals
as she moved forward, and that she was not sorry or annoyed to find
that he kept his gaze boldly upon her all the while. Presently he
looked about him, and singled out an acquaintance, to whom he made his
way. Five minutes later he was being introduced, as Captain Falconer,
to Mrs. Winwood.
"'Faith," said he, in a courteous, subdued voice, after bowing very
low, "I did not think to find a lady so recently from St. James', in
this place. One might swear, looking at you, madam, that this was
Almack's."
"Sir, you speak to one that never saw St. James' but in imagination,"
said Margaret, coolly. "Sure one can be white, and moderately civil,
and yet be of New York."
"The deuce, madam! A native? You?"
"Ay, sir, of the aborigines; the daughter of a red Indian!"
"'Fore God, then, 'tis no wonder the American colonists make war upon
the Indian race. Their wives and daughters urge 'em to it, out of
jealousy of the red men's daughters."
"Why, if they wished the red ladies exterminated, they couldn't do
better than send a number of king's officers among 'em--famous
lady-killers, I've heard."
"Madam, I know naught of that; nor of the art of lady-killing itself,
which I never desired to possess until this evening."
The captain's eyes, so languid with melancholy or ennui a short while
before, now had the glow of pre-determined conquest; his face shone
with that resolve; and by this transformation, as well as by the
inconsistency of his countenance with the soft tone and playful matter
of his words, which inconsistency betrayed the gentleness to be
assumed, I read the man through once for all: selfish, resolute,
facile, versatile, able to act any part thoroughly and in a moment,
constant to his object till it was won, then quick to leave it for
another; unscrupulous, usually invincible, confident of his proven
powers rather than vain of fancied ones; good-natured when not
crossed, and with an irresistible charm of person and manner. And
Margaret too--there was more and other meaning in her looks than in
her light, ironical speeches.
He led her through two minuets that night, and was her partner in the
Virginia reel (the name the Americans give the Sir Roger de Coverly);
and his was the last face we saw at our coach window as we started
homeward.
"You've made the rest of the army quite jealous of this new captain,"
growled Tom, as we rolled Southward over the stony Harlem road. "The
way Major Tarleton glared at him, would have set another man
trembling."
"Captain Falconer doesn't tremble so easily, I fancy," said Margaret.
"And yet he's no marvel of a man, as I can see."
Tom gave a sarcastic grunt. His manifestations regarding Margaret's
behaviour were the only exception to the kind, cheerful conduct of his
whole life. A younger brother is not ordinarily so watchful of a
sister's demeanour; he has the doings of other young ladies to concern
himself with. Tom did not lack these, but he was none the less keenly
sensitive upon the point of Margaret's propriety and good name. 'Twas
the extraordinary love and pride he had centred upon her, that made
him so observant and so touchy in the case. He brooded upon her
actions, worried himself with conjectures, underwent such torments as
jealous lovers know, such pangs as Hamlet felt in his uncertainty
regarding the integrity of his mother.
Within a week after the Morris ball, it came to pass that Captain
Falconer was quartered, by regular orders, in the house of Mr.
Faringfield. Tom and I, though we only looked our thoughts, saw more
than accident in this. The officer occupied the large parlour, which
he divided by curtains into two apartments, sitting-room and
sleeping-chamber. By his courtesy and vivacity, he speedily won the
regard of the family, even of Mr. Faringfield and the Rev. Mr.
Cornelius.
"Damn the fellow!" said Tom to me. "I can't help liking him."
"Nor I, either," was my reply; but I also damned him in my turn.