*CHAPTER XIV*
*A MIDNIGHT EXPEDITION*
Four nights later, the hour before midnight found Landless walkingsteadily through the forest, bound upon a mission which he had had inhis mind since the night after the murder of Godwyn. This was the firstnight since that event upon which he had deemed it advisable to leavethe quarters, having no mind to be captured as a runaway by one of themany search parties which were scouring the peninsula between the twogreat rivers for the murderer of Robert Godwin. But the search was nowtrending northward towards Maryland, to which colony runaways usuallyturned their steps, and he felt that he might venture.
There was little undergrowth in the primeval forest, and the rows ofvast and stately trees were as easy to thread as the pillared aisles ofa cathedral. When he came to one of the innumerable streamlets thatcaught the land in a net of silver, he removed his coarse shoes andstockings, and waded it. The great branches overhead shut in a nightthat was breathlessly hot and still. He could see the stars only whenhe crossed the streams or emerged into one of the many little openglades. He walked warily, making no sound, and now and then stopping tolisten for the distant halloo, or bark of a dog, which might denote thathe was followed, or that there was a search party abroad, but he heardnothing save the usual forest sounds,--the dropping of acorns, thesighing leaves, the cry of some night bird,--sounds that seemed to makethe night more still than silence.
He was nearing his destination when from out a shadowy clump of alders,standing upon the bank of the stream which he had just crossed, thereshot a long arm, and the next moment he was wrestling with a dark andpowerful figure whose naked body slipped from his hold as though it hadbeen greased. But Landless, too, was strong and determined, and the twoswayed and strained backwards and forwards through the darkness, waryand resolute, neither giving his antagonist advantage. The hand of theunknown writhed itself from the other's clasp and stole downwardstowards his waist. Landless felt the motion and intercepted it. Thenthe figure, with an angry guttural sound, began to put forth its fullstrength. The arms encircled Landless with a slowly tightening ironband; the great dark shoulder came forward with the force of abattering-ram; the limbs twined like boa-constrictors around the limbsof the other. Locked together, the two reeled into a little fairy glade,where the short grass, pearled with dew, lay open to the moon. Here,borne backwards by the overwhelming force of his assailant, Landlessfell heavily to the ground. The figure falling with him, pinned him tothe earth with its knee upon his breast. In the moonlight he saw thegleam of the lifted knife.
He had had but time for a half-tittered, half-thought prayer when thepressure upon his breast relaxed; the knife fell, indeed, but harmlesslyupon the grass, and the figure rose to its height with an astonished"Ugh!"
Landless, rising also, began to think that he recognized the giganticform towering through the pale moonlight.
"Ugh!" said the figure again. "The great Spirit threw us into the lightin time. Monakatocka had been forever shamed had his knife drunk thelife of his friend."
"Why did you set upon me?" demanded Landless, still breathless from thestruggle, while the Indian was as calmly composed as upon the day oftheir first meeting.
"Monakatocka took you for the man for whom they hunt with dogs throughthe forest, scaring the deer from the licks and the partridge from thefern. Two nights ago Major Carrington said to Monakatocka, 'Find methat man and kill him, and to the twenty arms' length of roanoke whichthe county will pay to Monakatocka, I will add a gun with store ofpowder, and with a bullet for every stag between Werowocomico andMachot.' When he heard you a long way off, moving over the leaves,trying to make no sound, Monakatocka thought he held the gun of thepale-face Major in his hand. But now--" he waved his hand with agesture eloquent of resignation.
"I am sorry to disappoint you," said Landless, amused at his air of calmregret.
"I am glad to have proved the strength of my brother," was thesententious reply. "Where goes my brother through the woods, which arefull of danger to him to-night? Or has he a pass?"
"I have business at Rosemead," answered Landless. "I am close to thehouse, I think?"
The Indian pointed through the trees. "It lies twelve bowshots beforeyou. The overseer with the dogs has gone to the great swamp to look forthe man with the red hair."
"Thanks for the information, friend," said Landless. "I ask you,moreover, to say nothing of this encounter. I have no pass."
"I have but one friend," answered the Indian. "His secret is my secret."
"Are you, too, then, so lonely?" asked Landless, touched by his tone.
"Listen," said the Indian, leaning his back against a great oak. "Iwill tell my brother who I am.... Many years ago the Conestogas, theywhom the palefaces call the Susquehannocks, came down the great bay andfought with the palefaces. Monakatocka was then but a lad on his firstwar-path. Agreskoi was angry: he hid his face behind a cloud. Withtheir guns the palefaces beat the Conestogas like fleeing women back totheir village on the banks of a great river, and themselves returned intriumph to their board wigwams, bearing with them many captives.Monakatocka, son to a great chief, was one. The palefaces made him towork like a squaw in their fields of tobacco and maize. When he ranaway they put forth a long arm and plucked him back and beat him.Agreskoi was angry, for Monakatocka had not any offering to make him.One by one his fellow captives have dropped away like the leaves thatfall in the moon of Taquetock, until, behold! he is left alone. Thepalefaces are his enemies. He thinks of the village beside the pleasantstream, and he hates them. A warrior of the long house takes no friendfrom the wigwam of an Algonquin. Monakatocka is alone."
He spoke with a wild pathos, his high, stern features working in themoonlight, and his bold glance softened into an exquisite melancholy.
"I too am friendless," said Landless, "and bound to a far more degradingcaptivity than that you suffer. Our fate is the same."
The Indian took his hand in his, and raising it, pressed the forefingeragainst a certain spot upon his shoulder. "You have a friend," he said.
"You make too much of a very slight service," said Landless. "But Iembrace your offer of friendship--there 's my hand upon it. And now Imust be going upon my way. Good-night!"
The Indian gave a guttural "Good-night," and Landless strode on throughthe thinning woods. Shortly he emerged from the forest and saw beforehim tobacco fields and a house, and beyond the house the vast sheet ofthe Chesapeake slumbering beneath the moon. There was a beaten pathleading to the house. Landless struck into it and followed it until itled him beneath a window which (having been once sent with a message tothe Surveyor-General), he knew to belong to the sleeping-chamber ofMajor Carrington. Stopping beneath this window he listened for anysound that might warn him of aught stirring within or without themansion,--all was silent, the house and its inmates locked in slumber.
He took a handful of pebbles from the path and threw them, one by one,against the wooden shutter, the thud of the last pebble being answeredby a slight noise from within the room. Presently the shutter wasopened and an authoritative voice demanded:--
"Who is it? What do you want?"
Landless came closer beneath the window. "Major Carrington," he said ina low voice, "It is I, Godfrey Landless. I must have speech with you."
There was a moment's silence, and then the other said coldly, "'Must' isa word that becomes neither your lips nor my ears. I know no reason whyMiles Carrington _must_ speak with the servant of Colonel Verney."
"As you please: Godfrey Landless craves the honor of a word with MajorCarrington."
"And what if Major Carrington refuses?" said the other sharply.
"I do not think he will do so."
The Surveyor-General hesitated a moment, then said:--
"Go to the great door. I will open to you in a moment. But make nonoise."
Landless nodded, and proceeded to follow his directions. Presently
thedoor swung noiselessly inward, and Carrington, appearing in the opening,beckoned Landless within, and led the way, still in profound silence,across the hall to the great room. Here, after softly closing the door,he lighted candles, saw to it that the heavy wooden shutters weresecurely drawn across the windows, and turned to face his visitor in asomewhat different guise than the riding suit and jack boots, the maskand broad flapping beaver, in which he had appeared in their encounterin the hut on the marsh. His stately figure was now wrapped in anight-gown of dark velvet, his bare feet were thrust into velvetslippers, and a silken nightcap, half on and half off, imparted a rakishair to his gravely handsome countenance. He threw himself into a greatarmchair and tapped impatiently upon the table.
"Well!" he said dryly.
Landless standing before him began to speak with dignity and to thepoint. Godwyn, the head of a great conspiracy, was dead, leaving him,Landless, in some sort his successor. In a conference of the leadingconspirators held but a few nights before the murder, Godwyn hadannounced that not only had he given to the son of Warham Landless hiscomplete confidence, but that in case aught should happen to himselfbefore the time for action, he would wish the young man to succeed himin the leadership of the revolt. There had been some demur, but Godwyn'sinfluence was boundless, and on his advancing reason after reason forhis preference, the Oliverians had acquiesced in his judgment and hadgiven their solemn promise to respect his wishes. Three nights later,Godwyn was murdered. Since that dreadful blow, Landless had seen onlysuch of the conspirators as were in his immediate neighborhood.Confounded at the turn affairs had taken, and utterly at a loss, theyhad turned eagerly to him as to one having authority. For his ownfreedom, for the sake of his promise to the dead man, he would do hisutmost. He had come to-night to discover, if possible, MajorCarrington's intentions--
Carrington, who had listened thus far with grave attention, frownedheavily.
"If my memory serves me, sirrah, I told you once before that MilesCarrington stirs not hand or foot in this matter. I may wish you well,but that is all."
"'T is a poor friend that cries 'Godspeed!' to one who struggles in abog, and gives not his hand to help him out."
"Your figure does not hold," said the other, dryly. "I have not cried'Godspeed!' I have said nothing at all, either good or bad. I havenothing to do with this conspiracy. You are the only man now livingthat knows that I am aware that such a thing exists. And I hope, sir,that you will remember how you gained that knowledge."
"I am in no danger of forgetting."
"Very well. Your journey here to-night was a useless as well as adangerous one. I have nothing to say to you."
"Will you tell me one thing?" said Landless, patiently. "What willMajor Carrington have to say to me upon the day when I speak to him as afree man with free men behind me?"
"Upon that day," said the other, composedly, "Miles Carrington willsubmit to the inevitable with a good grace, having been, as is wellknown, a friend to the Commonwealth, and having always, even when therewas danger in so doing, spoken against the cruel and iniquitousenslavement of men whose only offense was non-conformity, or the havingserved under the banners of Cromwell."
"If he should be offered Cromwell's position in the new Commonwealth,what then?"
"Pshaw! no such offer will be made."
"We must have weight and respectability, must identify ourselves withthat Virginia in which we are strangers, if we are to endure," saidLandless, with a smile. "A fact that we perfectly recognize--as doesMajor Carrington. He probably knows who is of, and yet head andshoulders above, that party in the state upon whose support we mustultimately rely, who alone could lead that party; who alone mightreconcile Royalist and Puritan;--and to whom alone the offer I speak ofwill be made."
Carrington smiled despite himself. "Well, then, if the offer is made, Iwill accept it. In short, when your man is out of the bog I will lendmy aid to cleanse him of the stains incurred in the transit. But hemust pull himself out of the mire. I am safe upon the bank, I will notbe drawn with him into a bottomless ruin. Do I make myself plain?"
"Perfectly," said Landless, dryly.
The other flushed beneath the tone. "You think perhaps that I play buta craven part in this game. I do not. God knows I run a tremendous riskas it is, without madly pledging life and honor to this desperateenterprise!"
"I fail to see the risk," said Landless, coldly.
The other struck his hand against the table. "I risk a slaveinsurrection!" he said.
A noise outside the door made them start like guilty things. The dooropened softly and a charming vision appeared, to wit, Mistress BettyCarrington, rosy from sleep and hastily clad in a dressing-gown ofsombre silk. Her little white feet were bare, and her dark hair hadescaped from its prim, white night coif. She started when she saw avisitor, and her feet drew demurely back under the hem of her gown,while her hands went up to her disheveled hair: but a second glanceshowing her his quality, she recovered her composure and spoke to herfather in her soft, serious voice.
"I heard a noise, my father, and looking into your room, found it empty,so I came down to see what made you wakeful to-night."
"'T is but a message from Verney Manor, child," said her father. "Getback to bed."
"From Verney Manor!" exclaimed Betty. "Then I can send back to-nightthe song book and book of plays lent me by Sir Charles Carew, and which,after reading the first page, I e'en restored to their wrappings andlaid aside with a good book a-top to put me in better thoughts if ever Iwas tempted to touch them again. I will get them, good fellow, and youshall carry them back to their owner with my thanks, if it so be that Ican find words that are both courteous and truthful."
"Stop, child!" said her father as she turned to leave the room. "Thevolumes, which you were very right not to read, may rest awhile beneaththe good book. This is a secret mission upon which this young man hascome. It is about a--a matter of state upon which his master and I havebeen engaged. No one here or at Verney Manor must know that he has beenat Rosemead."
"Very well, my father," said Betty, meekly, "the books can wait someother opportunity."
"And," with some sternness, "you will be careful to hold your tongue asto this man's presence here to-night."
"Very well, father."
"You are not to speak of it to Mistress Patricia or to any one."
"I will be silent, my father."
"Very well," said the Major. "You are not like the majority of women.I know that your word is as good as an oath. Now run away to bed,sweetheart, and forget that you have seen this messenger."
"I am going now, father," said Betty, obediently. "Is Mistress Patriciawell, good fellow?"
"Quite well, I believe, madam."
"She spake of crossing to Accomac with Mistress Lettice and Sir CharlesCarew, when the latter should go to visit Colonel Scarborough. Know youif she went?"
"I think not, madam. I think that Sir Charles Carew went alone."
"Ah! They have fallen out then," said Betty, half to herself, and witha demure satisfaction in her wild flower face. "I am glad of it, for Ilike him not. Thanks, good fellow, for your answering my idlequestions."
Landless bowed gravely. Betty bent her pretty head, and with a hasty,"I am going, father!" in answer to an impatient movement on the part ofthe Major, vanished from the room.
Carrington waited until the last light footfall had died away, and thensaid, "Our interview is over. Are you satisfied?"
"At least, I understand your position."
"Yes," said Carrington, thoughtfully, "it is as well that you shouldunderstand it. It is simple. I wish you well. I am in heart aCommonwealth's man. I love not the Stuarts. I would fain see this fairland freed from their rule and returned to the good days of theCommonwealth. And I may as well acknowledge, since you have found itout for yourself,"--a haughty smile,--"that I have my ambitions. Whatman has not?" He rose and began to pace the room, his hands claspedbehind him, his handsome head
bent, his rich robe trailing upon theground behind him.
"I could rule this land more acceptably to the people than can WilliamBerkeley with his parrot phrases, 'divine right,' and 'passiveobedience.' I know the people and am popular with them, with Royalistand Churchman as well as with Nonconformist and Oliverian. I know theneeds of the colony--home rule, self taxation, free trade, a moreliberal encouragement to emigrants, religious tolerance, a rod of iron,for the Indians, the establishment of a direct slave trade with Africaand the Indies. I could so rule this colony that in a twelvemonth'stime, Richard Verney or Stephen Ludlow, hot Royalists though they be,would be forced to acknowledge that never, since the day Smith sailed upthe James, had Virginia enjoyed a tithe of her present prosperity."
"''T is a consummation devoutly to be desired,'" said Landless, dryly."In the mean time, like the cat i' the adage--"
"You are insolent, sirrah!"
"When a stripling I served under one who took the bitter with the sweet,the danger as well as the reward, who led the soldiers from whom he tookhis throne."
"Cromwell, sirrah," said Carrington sternly, "led soldiers. You wouldrequire Miles Carrington to lead servants, to place himself, a gentlemanand a master, at the head of a rebellion which, if it failed, wouldplunge him into a depth of ignominy and ruin proportionate to the heightfrom which he fell. He declines the position. When you have won yourfreedom he will treat with you. Not before."
"Then," said Landless slowly, "upon the day on which the flag of theCommonwealth floats over the Assembly hall at Jamestown, then--"
"Then I will join myself to you as I have said, and I will bring with methose without whom your revolution would be but short-lived--the Puritanand Nonconformist element in the colony, gentle and simple."
"That is sufficiently explicit," said Landless, "and I thank you."
"I have trusted you fully, young man," said the other, stopping beforehim, "not only because you cannot betray me if you would, seeing thatnot one scrap of writing exists to inculpate me in this matter, and thatyour word would scarce be taken before mine, but because I believe youto be trustworthy. I believe also"--graciously--"that Robert Godwyn(whose death I sincerely mourn) showed his usual wisdom and knowledge ofmankind when he chose you as his confidant and co-worker. I wish youwell through with a dangerous and delicate piece of work and inenjoyment of your reward, namely, your freedom, and the esteem of theCommonwealth of Virginia. I will myself see to it that any pastoffenses which you are supposed to have committed (for myself, I believeyou to have been harshly used), shall not stand in your light."
"Major Carrington is very good," said Landless, calmly. "I shall studyto deserve his commendation."
The other took a restless turn or two through the room, stopping atlength before the younger man.
"You may tell me one thing," he said in a voice scarcely above awhisper, and with his eyes bent watchfully upon the other's composedface. "Had Godwyn set the day?"
"Yes."
"And you will adhere to it?"
"Yes."
"What day?"
"The thirteenth of September."
"Humph! Two weeks off! Well, my tobacco will be largely in, and Ishall send my daughter upon a visit to her Huguenot kindred upon thePotomac. Good night."
"Good night," answered Landless.
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