_A Fine Project._
Were it my own history that I am here undertaking, I should give at
this place an account of my first duel, which was fought with swords,
in Bayard's Woods, my opponent being an English lieutenant of foot,
from whom I had suffered a display of that superciliousness which our
provincial troops had so resented in the British regulars in the old
French War. By good luck I disarmed the man without our receiving more
than a small scratch apiece; and subsequently brought him to the
humbleness of a fawning spaniel, by a mien and tone of half-threatening
superiority which never fail of reducing such high-talking sparks to
abject meekness. 'Twas a trick of pretended bullying, which we
long-suffering Americans were driven to adopt in self-defence against
certain derisive, contemptuous praters that came to our shores from
Europe. But 'tis more to my purpose, as the biographer of Philip
Winwood, to continue upon the subject of Captain Falconer.
He was the mirror of elegance, with none of the exaggerations of a
fop. He brought with him to the Queen Street house the atmosphere of
Bond Street and Pall Mall, the perfume of Almack's and the assembly
rooms, the air of White's and the clubs, the odour of the chocolate
houses and the fashionable taverns. 'Twas all that he represented, I
fancy, rather than what the man himself was, and conquering as he was,
that caught Margaret's eye. He typified the world before which she had
hoped to shine, and from which she had been debarred--cruelly
debarred, it may have seemed to her. I did not see this then; 'twas
another, one of a broader way of viewing things, one of a less partial
imagination--'twas Philip Winwood--that found this excuse for her.
Captain Falconer had the perception soon to gauge correctly us who
were of American rearing, and the tact to cast aside the lofty manner
by which so many of his stupid comrades estranged us. He treated Tom
and me with an easy but always courteous familiarity that surprised,
flattered, and won us. He would play cards with us, in his
sitting-room, as if rather for the sake of our company than for the
pleasure of the game. Indeed, as he often frankly confessed, gambling
was no passion with him; and this was remarkable at a time when 'twas
the only passion most fine young gentlemen would acknowledge as
genuine in them, and when those who did not feel that passion affected
it. We admired this fine disdain on his part for the common
fashionable occupation of the age (for the pursuit of women was
pretended to be followed as a necessary pastime, but without much real
heart) as evidence of a superior mind. Yet he played with us, losing
at first, but eventually winning until I had to withdraw. Tom, having
more money to lose, held out longer.
"Why now," said the captain once, regarding his winnings with a face
of perfect ruefulness, "'tis proven that what we seek eludes us, and
what we don't value comes to us! Here am I, the last man in the world
to court success this way, and here am I more winner than if I had
played with care and attention."
Tom once mentioned, to another officer, Captain Falconer's luck at
cards as an instance of fortune befriending one who despised her
favours in that way.
"Blood, sir!" exclaimed the officer. "Jack Falconer may have a mind
and taste above gaming as a pleasure, for aught I know. But I would I
had his skill with the cards. 'Tis no pastime with him, but a
livelihood. Don't you know the man is as poor as a church-mouse, but
for what he gets upon the green table?"
This revelation a little dampened our esteem for the captain's
elevation of intellect, but I'll take my oath of it, he was really
above gaming as a way of entertaining his mind, however he resorted to
it as a means of filling his purse.
Of course Tom's friendly association with him was before there was
sure cause to suspect his intentions regarding Margaret. His manner
toward her was the model of proper civility. He was a hundred times
more amiable and jocular with Fanny, whom he treated with the
half-familiar pleasantry of an elderly man for a child; petting her
with such delicacy as precluded displeasure on either her part or
mine. He pretended great dejection upon learning that her heart was
already engaged; and declared that his only consolation lay in the
fact that the happy possessor of the prize was myself: for which we
both liked him exceedingly. Toward Mrs. Faringfield, too, he used a
chivalrous gallantry as complimentary to her husband as to the lady.
Only between him and Margaret was there the distance of unvaried
formality.
And yet we ought to have seen how matters stood. For now Margaret,
though she had so little apparent cordiality for the captain, had
ceased to value the admiration of the other officers, and had
substituted a serene indifference for the animated interest she had
formerly shown toward the gaieties of the town. And the captain, too,
we learned, had the reputation of an inveterate conqueror of women;
yet he had exhibited a singular callousness to the charms of the
ladies of New York. He had been three months in the town, and his name
had not been coupled with that of any woman there. We might have
surmised from this a concealed preoccupation. And, moreover, there was
my first reading of his countenance, the night of the Morris ball;
this I had not forgotten, yet I ignored it, or else I shut my eyes to
my inevitable inferences, because I could see no propriety in any
possible interference from me.
One evening in December there was a drum at Colonel Philipse's town
house, which Margaret did not attend. She had mentioned, as reason for
absenting herself, a cold caught a few nights previously, through her
bare throat being exposed to a chill wind by the accidental falling of
her cloak as she walked to the coach after Mrs. Colden's rout. As the
evening progressed toward hilarity, I observed that Tom Faringfield
became restless and gloomy. At last he approached me, with a face
strangely white, and whispered:
"Do you see?--Captain Falconer is not here!"
"Well, what of that?" quoth I. "Ten to one, he finds these companies
plaguey tiresome."
"Or finds other company more agreeable," replied Tom, with a very dark
look in his eyes.
He left me, with no more words upon the subject. When it was time to
go home, and Mrs. Faringfield and Fanny and I sought about the rooms
for him, we found he had already taken his leave. So we three had the
chariot to ourselves, and as we rode I kept my own thoughts upon Tom's
previous departure, and my own vague dread of what might happen.
But when Noah let us in, all seemed well in the Faringfield house.
Margaret was in the parlour, reading; and she laid down her book to
ask us pleasantly what kind of an evening we had had. She was the only
one of the family up to receive us, Mr. Faringfield having retired
hours ago, and Tom having come in and gone to bed without an
explanation. The absence of light in Captain Falconer's windows
signified that he too had sought his couch, for had he been still out,
his servant would have kept candles lighted for him.
The next day, as we rode out Northward to our posts, Tom suddenly
broke the silence:
"Curse it!" said he. "There are more mysteries than one. Do you know
what I found when I got home last night?"
"I can't imagine."
"Well, I first looked into the parlour, but no one was there. Instead
of going on to the library, I went up-stairs and knocked at Margaret's
door. I--I wanted to see her a moment. It happened to be unlatched,
and as I knocked rather hard, it swung open. No one was in that room,
either, but I thought she might be in the bedchamber beyond, and so I
crossed to knock at that. But I chanced to look at her writing-table
as I passed; there was a candle burning on it, and devil take me if I
didn't see a letter in a big schoolboy's hand that I couldn't help
knowing at a glance--the hand of my brother Ned!"
"Then I'll engage the letter wasn't to Margaret. You know how much
love is lost between those two."
"But it was to her, though! 'Dear M.,' it began--there's no one else
whose name begins with M in the family. And the writing was fresh--not
the least faded. I saw that much before I thought of what I was doing.
But when I remembered 'twasn't my letter, I looked no more."
"But how could he send a letter from the rebel camp to her in New
York?"[5]
"Why, that's not the strangest part of it. There's no doubt Washington
has spies in the town, and ways of communicating with the rebel
sympathisers here; I've sometimes thought my father--but no matter for
that. The fact is, there the letter was, as certainly from Ned as I'm
looking at you; and we know he's in the rebel army. But the wonder,
the incredible thing, is that he should write to Margaret."
"'Tis a mystery, in truth."
"Well, 'tis none of ours, after all, and of course this will go no
further--but let me tell you, the devil's in it when those two are in
correspondence. There's crookedness of some kind afoot, when such
haters combine together!"
"You didn't ask her, of course?"
"No. But I knocked at her chamber door, and getting no answer I went
down-stairs again. This time she was in the parlour. She had been in
the library before, it seemed; 'twas warmer there."
But, as I narrowly watched the poor lad, I questioned whether he was
really convinced that she had been in the library before. He had said
nothing of Captain Falconer's sitting-room, of which the door was that
of the transformed large parlour, and was directly across the hall
from the Faringfields' ordinary parlour, wherein Tom had first sought
and eventually found her.
'Twas our practice thus to ride back to our posts when we had been off
duty, although our rank did not allow us to go mounted in the service.
For despite the needs of the army, the Faringfields and I contrived to
retain our horses for private use. All of that family were good
riders, particularly Margaret. She often rode out for a morning's
canter, going alone because it was her will thereto, which was not
opposed, for she had so accustomed us to her aloofness that solitary
excursions seemed in place with her. One day, a little later in that
same December, Tom and I had taken the road by way of General De
Lancey's country mansion at Bloomingdale, rather than our usual
course, which lay past the Murray house of Incledon. As I rode
Northward at a slow walk, some distance ahead of my comrade, I
distinctly heard through a thicket that veiled the road from a little
glade at the right, the voice of Captain Falconer, saying playfully:
"Nay, how can you doubt me? Would not gratitude alone, for the
reparation of my fortunes, bind me as your slave, if you had not
chains more powerful?"
And then I caught this answer, in a voice that gave me a start, and
sent the blood into my face--the voice of Margaret:
"But will those chains hold, if this design upon your gratitude fail?"
She spoke as in jest, but with a perceptible undercurrent of
earnestness. This was a new attitude for her, and what a revelation to
me! In a flash I saw her infatuation for this fine fellow, some fear
of losing him, a pursuit of some plan by which she might repair his
fortunes and so bind him by obligation. Had Margaret, the invincible,
the disdainful, fallen to so abject a posture? And how long had these
secret meetings been going on?
There was new-fallen snow upon the road, and this had deadened the
sound of our horses' feet to those beyond the thicket. Tom was not yet
so near as to have heard their voices. I saw the desirability of his
remaining in ignorance for the present, so I uttered a loud "chuck,"
and gave a pull at my reins, as if urging my horse to a better gait,
my purpose being to warn the speakers of unseen passers-by ere Tom
should come up. I had not let my horse come to a stop, nor had I
otherwise betrayed my discovery.
But, to my dread, I presently heard Tom cry sharply, "Whoa!" and,
looking back, saw he had halted at the place where I had heard the
voices. My warning must have failed to hush the speakers. Never shall
I forget the look of startled horror, shame, and anger upon his face.
For a moment he sat motionless; then he turned his horse back to an
opening in the thicket, and rode into the glade. I galloped after him,
to prevent, if possible, some fearful scene.
When I entered the glade, I saw Margaret and Captain Falconer seated
upon their horses, looking with still fresh astonishment and
discomfiture upon the intruder. Their faces were toward me. Tom had
stopped his horse, and he sat regarding them with what expression I
could not see, being behind him. Apparently no one of the three had
yet spoken.
Tom glanced at me as I joined the group, and then, in a singularly
restrained voice, he said:
"Captain Falconer, may I beg leave to be alone with my sister a few
moments? I have something to ask her. If you would ride a little way
off, with Mr. Russell--"
'Twas, after all, a most natural request. A brother may wish to speak
to his sister in private, and 'tis more fitting to put a gentleman
than a lady to the trouble of an absence. Seeing it thus, and speaking
with recovered composure as if nothing were wrong, the captain
courteously replied:
"Most certainly. Mr. Russell, after you, sir--nay, no precedence to
rank, while we are simply private gentlemen."
He bowed low to Margaret, and we two rode out to the highway, there to
pace our horses up and down within call. Of what passed between
brother and sister, I afterward received a close account.
"I must have a straight answer," Tom began, "for I must not be put to
the folly of acting without cause. Tell me, then, upon your honour,
has there been reason between you and Captain Falconer for me to fight
him? The truth, now! Of course, I shall find another pretext. It looks
a thousand to one, there's reason; but I must be sure."
"Why, I think you have lost your wits, Tom," said she. "If a gentleman
known to the family happens to meet me when I ride out, and we chance
to talk--"
"Ay, but in such a private place, and in such familiar tones, when you
scarce ever converse together at home, and then in the most formal
way! Oh, sister, that it should come to this!"
"I say, you're a fool, Tom! And a spy too--dogging my footsteps! What
right have you to call me to account?"
"As your brother, of course."
"My younger brother you are; and too young to understand all you see,
for one thing, or to hold me responsible to you for my actions, for
another."
"I understand when your honour calls for my actions, however! Your
very anger betrays you. I will kill Falconer!"
"You'll do nothing of the kind!"
"You shall see! I know a brother's duties--his rights, by heaven!"
"A brother has no duties nor rights, concerning a sister who is
married."
"Then, if not as your brother, I have as your husband's friend. For,
by God, I _am_ Phil's friend, to the death; and while he's not here to
see what's passing, I dare act on his behalf. If I may not have a care
of my sister's honour, I may of Philip Winwood's! And now I'll go to
your captain!"
"But wait--stay, Tom--a moment, for God's sake! You're mistaken, I
tell you. There's naught against Philip Winwood's honour in my meeting
Captain Falconer. We have conferences, I grant. But 'tis upon a matter
you know nothing of--a matter of the war."
"What nonsense! To think I should believe that! What affair of the war
could you have to do with? It makes me laugh!"
"I vow there's an affair I have to do with. What do you know of my
secrets, my planning and plotting? 'Tis an affair for the royal cause,
I'll tell you that much. Nay, I'll tell you all; you won't dare betray
it--you'd be a traitor to the king if you did. You shall be let into
it, you and Bert. Call back Captain Falconer and him."
Puzzled and incredulous, but glad to test any assertion that might
clear his sister of the suspicion most odious, Tom hallooed for us.
When we re-entered the glade, Margaret spoke ere any one else had time
for a word:
"Captain Falconer, I think you'll allow me the right to admit these
gentlemen into the secret of our interviews. They are both loyal, both
so dear to me that I'd gladly have them take a part in the honour of
our project--of which, heaven knows, there'll be enough and to spare
if we succeed."
"Madam," said he, "its chance of success will be all the greater, for
the participation of these gentlemen."
"Well?" said Tom, looking inquiringly at his sister.
"You promise your aid, then, both?" she asked.
"Let us hear it first," he replied.
She obtained our assurances of secrecy in any event, and proceeded:
"Everybody knows what this rebellion costs England, in money, men, and
commerce; not to speak of the king's peace of mind, and the feelings
of the nation. Everybody sees it must last well-nigh for ever, if it
doesn't even win in the end! Well, then, think what it would mean for
England, for the king, for America, if the war could be cut short by a
single blow, with no cost; cut short by one night's courage, daring,
and skill, on the part of a handful of men!"
Tom and I smiled as at one who dreams golden impossibilities.
"Laugh if you will," said she; "but tell me this: what is the soul of
the rebellion? What is the one vital part its life depends on? The
different rebel provinces hate and mistrust one another--what holds
'em together? The rebel Congress quarrels and plots, and issues money
that isn't worth the dirty paper it's printed on; disturbs its army,
and does no good to any one--what keeps the rebellion afoot in spite
of it? The rebel army complains, and goes hungry and half-naked, and
is full of mutiny and desertion--what still controls it from melting
away entirely? What carries it through such Winters as the rebels had
at Valley Forge, when the Congress, the army, and the people were all
at sixes and sevens and swords' points? What raises money the Lord
knows how, finds supplies the Lord knows where, induces men to stay in
the field, by the Lord knows what means, and has got such renown the
world over that now France is the rebels' ally? I make you stare,
boys; you're not used to seeing me play the orator. I never did
before, and I sha'n't again, for heaven forbid I should be a woman of
that kind! But I've studied this matter, and I hope I have a few ideas
upon it."
"But what has done all these things you mention? May I ask that?" said
I, both amused and curious.
"Washington!" was her reply. "Remove him, and this rebellion will
burst like a soap-bubble! And that's the last of my speechmaking. Our
project is to remove Washington--nay, there's no assassination in it.
We'll do better--capture him and send him to England. Once he is in
the Tower awaiting trial, how long do you think the rebellion will
last? And what rewards do you think there'll be for those that sent
him there?"
"Why," said Tom, "is that a new project? Hasn't the British army been
trying to wipe out Washington's army and take him prisoner these four
years?"
"But not in the way that we have planned it," replied Margaret, "and
that Captain Falconer shall execute it. Tell them, captain."
"'Tis very simple, gentlemen," said the English officer. "If the
honour of the execution is to be mine, and the men's whom I shall
lead, the honour of the design, and of securing the necessary
collusion in the rebel camp, is Mrs. Winwood's. My part hitherto has
been, with Sir Henry Clinton's approval, to make up a chosen body of
men from all branches of the army; and my part finally shall be to
lead this select troop on horseback one dark night, by a devious
route, to that part of the rebel lines nearest Washington's quarters;
then, with the coöperation that this lady has obtained among the
rebels, to make a swift dash upon those quarters, seize Washington
while our presence is scarce yet known, and carry him back to New York
by outriding all pursuit. Boats will be waiting to bring us across the
river. I allow such projects have been tried before, but they have
been defeated through rebel sentries giving the alarm in time. They
lacked one advantage we possess--collusion in the rebel camp--"
"And 'twas you obtained that collusion?" Tom broke in, turning to
Margaret. "Hang me if I see how you in New York--oh, but I do, though!
Through brother Ned!"
"You're a marvel at a guess," quoth she.
"Ay, ay! But how did you carry on your correspondence with him? 'Twas
he, then, originated this scheme?"
"Oh, no; 'twas no such thing! The credit is all mine, if you please. I
make no doubt, he _would_ have originated it, if he had thought of it.
But a sister's wits are sometimes as good as a brother's--remember
that, Tom. For I had the wit not only to devise this project, but to
know from the first that Ned's reason for joining the rebels was, that
he might profit by betraying them."
"Ay, we might have known as much, Bert," said Tom. "But we give you
all credit for beating us there, sister."
"Thank you! But the rascal never saw the way to his ends, I fancy; for
he's still in good repute in the rebel army. And when I began to think
of a way to gain--to gain the honour of aiding the king's cause, you
know, I saw at once that Ned might help me. Much as we disliked each
other, he would work with me in this, for the money 'twould bring him.
And I had 'lighted upon something else, too--quite by chance. A
certain old person I know of has been serving to carry news from a
particular Whig of my acquaintance (and neither of 'em must ever come
to harm, Captain Falconer has sworn) to General Washington." (As was
afterward made sure, 'twas old Bill Meadows, who carried secret word
and money from Mr. Faringfield and other friends of the rebellion.)
"This old person is very much my friend, and will keep my secrets as
well as those of other people. So each time he has gone to the rebel
camp, of late--and how he gets there and back into New York uncaught,
heaven only knows--he has carried a message to brother Ned; and
brought back a reply. Thus while he knowingly serves the rebel cause,
he ignorantly serves ours too, for he has no notion of what my brother
and I correspond about. And so 'tis all arranged. Through Ned we have
learned that the rebel light horse troop under Harry Lee has gone off
upon some long business or other, and, as far as the army knows, may
return to the camp at any time. All that our company under Captain
Falconer has to do, then, is to ride upon a dark night to a place
outside the rebel pickets, where Ned will meet them. How Ned shall
come there unsuspected, is his own affair--he swears 'tis easy. He
will place himself at the head of our troop, and knowing the rebel
passwords for the night, as well as how to speak like one of Major
Lee's officers, he can lead our men past the sentries without alarm.
Our troop will have on the blue greatcoats and the caps the rebel
cavalry wear--General Grey's men took a number of these last year, and
now they come into use. And besides our having all these means of
passing the rebel lines without hindrance, Ned has won over a number
of the rebels themselves, by promising 'em a share of the great reward
the parliament is sure to vote for this business. He has secured some
of the men about headquarters to our interest."
"What a traitor!" quoth Tom, in a tone of disgust.
"Why, sure, we can make use of his treason, without being proud of him
as one of the family," said Margaret. "The matter now is, that Captain
Falconer offers you two gentlemen places in the troop he has chosen."
"The offer comes a little late, sir," said Tom, turning to the
captain.
"Why, sir," replied Falconer, "I protest I often thought of you two.
But the risk, gentlemen, and your youth, and my dislike of imperilling
my friends--however, take it as you will, I now see I had done better
to enlist you at the first. The point is, to enlist you now. You shall
have your commander's permission; General Clinton gives me my choice
of men. 'Twill be a very small company, gentlemen; the need of silence
and dash requires that. And you two shall come in for honour and pay,
next to myself--that I engage. 'Twill make rich men of us three, at
least, and of your brother, sir; while this lady will find herself the
world's talk, the heroine of the age, the saviour of America, the
glory of England. I can see her hailed in London for this, if it
succeed; praised by princes, toasted by noblemen, envied by the ladies
of fashion and the Court, huzza'd by the people in the streets and
parks when she rides out--"
"Nay, captain, you see too far ahead," she interrupted, seeming ill at
ease that these things should be said before Tom and me.
"A strange role, sure, for Captain Winwood's wife," said Tom; "that of
plotter against his commander."
"Nay," she cried, quickly, "Captain Winwood plays a strange rôle for
Margaret Faringfield's husband--that of rebel against her king. For
look ye, I had a king before he had a commander. Isn't that what you
might call logic, Tom?"
"'Tis an unanswerable answer, at least," said Captain Falconer,
smiling gallantly. "But come, gentlemen, shall we have your aid in
this fine adventure?"
It was a fine adventure, and that was the truth. The underhand work,
the plotting and the treason involved, were none of ours. 'Twas
against Philip Winwood's cause, but our cause was as much to us as his
was to him. The prospect of pay and honour did not much allure us; but
the vision of that silent night ride, that perilous entrance into the
enemy's camp, that swift dash for the person of our greatest foe, that
gallop homeward with a roused rebel cavalry, desperate with
consternation, at our heels, quite supplanted all feelings of slight
in not having been invited earlier. Such an enterprise, for young
fellows like us, there was no staying out of.
We gave Captain Falconer our hands upon it, whereupon he told us he
would be at the pains to secure our relief from regular duty on the
night set for the adventure--that of the following Wednesday--and
directed us to be ready with our horses at the ferry at six o'clock
Wednesday evening. The rebel cavalry caps and overcoats were to be
taken to the New Jersey side previously, and there put on, this
arrangement serving as precaution against our disguise being seen
within our lines by some possible rebel spy who might thereupon
suspect our purpose and find means of preceding us to the enemy's
camp.
Tom and I saw the English captain and Margaret take the road toward
the town, whereupon we resumed our ride Northward. I could note the
lad's relief at being able to account for his sister's secret meeting
with Falconer by a reason other than he had feared.
"By George, though," he broke out presently, "'tis plaguey strange
Margaret should grow so active in loyalty! I never knew her zeal to be
very great for any cause of a public nature. 'Tisn't like her; rabbit
me if it is!"
"Why," quoth I, "maybe it's for her own purposes, after all--the
reward and the glory. You know the pleasure she takes in shining."
"Egad, that's true enough!" And Tom's face cleared again.
Alas, I knew better! Besides the motive I had mentioned, there had
been another to stimulate her wits and industry--the one her words,
overheard by me alone, had betrayed too surely--the desire of
enriching and advancing Captain Falconer. Well, she was not the first
woman, nor has been the last, scheming to pour wealth and honour into
a man's lap, partly out of the mere joy of pleasing him, partly in
hope of binding him by gratitude, partly to make him seem in the
world's eyes the worthier her devotion, and so to lessen her demerit
if that devotion be unlawful.
"Poor Philip!" thought I. "Poor Philip! And what will be the end of
this?"