XX
COCK-CROW
At dawn we left the road and struck the Oneida trail north of the river,following it swiftly, bearing a little north of east until, towardsnoon, we came into the wagon-road which runs over the Mayfield hills anddown through the outlying bush farms of Mayfield and Kingsborough.
Many of the houses were deserted, but not all; here and there smokecurled from the chimney of some lonely farm; and across the stumppasture we could see a woman laboring in the sun-scorched fields and aman, rifle in hand, standing guard on a vantage-point whichoverlooked his land.
Fences and gates became more frequent, crossing the rough road everymile or two, so that we were constantly letting down and replacingcattle-bars, unpinning rude gates, or climbing over snake fences ofsplit rails.
Once we came to a cross-roads where the fence had been demolished and awarning painted on a rough pine board above a wayside watering-trough.
"WARNING!
All farmers and townsfolk are hereby requested and ordered to remove gates, stiles, cow-bars, and fences, which includes all obstructions to the public highway, in order that the cavalry may pass without difficulty. Any person found felling trees across this road, or otherwise impeding the operations of cavalry by building brush, stump, rail, or stone fences across this road, will be arrested and tried before a court on charge of aiding and giving comfort to the enemy. G. COVERT,
"Captain Commanding Legion."
Either this order did not apply to the cross-road which we now filedinto, or the owners of adjacent lands paid no heed to it; for presently,a few rods ahead of us, we saw a snake fence barring the road and a manwith a pack on his back in the act of climbing over it.
He was going in the same direction that we were, and seemed to be afur-trader laden with packets of peltry.
I said this to Murphy, who laughed and looked at Mount.
"Who carries pelts to Quebec in August?" asked Elerson, grinning.
"There's the skin of a wolverine dangling from his pack," I said, in alow voice.
Murphy touched Mount's arm, and they halted until the man ahead hadrounded a turn in the road; then they sprang forward, creeping swiftlyto the shelter of the undergrowth at the bend of the road, while Elersonand I followed at an easy pace.
"What is it?" I asked, as we rejoined them where they were kneeling,looking after the figure ahead.
"Nothing, sir; we only want to see them pelts, Tim and me."
"Do you know the man?" I demanded.
Murphy gazed musingly at Mount through narrowed eyes. Mount, in a brownstudy, stared back.
"Phwere th' divil have I seen him, I dunnoa!" muttered Murphy. "Jack,'tis wan mush-rat looks like th' next, an' all thrappers has the samecut to them! Yonder's no thrapper!"
"Nor peddler," added Mount; "the strap of the Delaware baskets neverbowed his legs."
"Thrue, avick! Wisha, lad, 'tis horses he knows better than snow-shoes,bed-plates, an' thrip-sticks! An' I've seen him, I think!"
"Where?" I asked.
He shook his head, vacantly staring. Moved by the same impulse, we allstarted forward; the man was not far ahead, but our moccasins made nonoise in the dust and we closed up swiftly on him and were at his elbowbefore he heard us.
Under the heavy sunburn the color faded in his cheeks when he saw us. Inoted it, but that was nothing strange considering the perilousconditions of the country and the sudden shock of our appearance.
"Good-day, friend," cried Mount, cheerily.
"Good-day, friends," he replied, stammering as though for lack ofbreath.
"God save our country, friend," added Elerson, gravely.
"God save our country, friends," repeated the man.
So far, so good. The man, a thick, stocky, heavy-eyed fellow, moistenedhis broad lips with his tongue, peered furtively at me, and instantlydropped his eyes. At the same instant memory stirred within me; a vaguerecollection of those heavy, black eyes, of that broad, bow-leggedfigure set me pondering.
"Me fri'nd," purred Murphy, persuasively, "is th' Frinch thrappersbalin' August peltry f'r to sell in Canady?"
"I've a few late pelts from the lakes," muttered the man, withoutlooking up.
"Domned late," cried Murphy, gayly. "Sure they do say, if ye dhraw asummer mink an' turrn th' pelt inside out like a glove, the winther furwill sprout inside--wid fashtin' an' prayer."
The man bent his eyes obstinately on the ground; instead of smiling hehad paled.
"Have you the skin of a wampum bird in that bale?" asked Mount,pleasantly.
Elerson struck the pack with the flat of his hand; the mangy wolverinepelt crackled.
"Green hides! Green hides!" laughed Mount, sarcastically. "Come, myfriend, we're your customers. Down with your bales and I'll buy."
Murphy had laid a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, halting him short inhis tracks; Elerson, rifle cradled in the hollow of his left arm, pokedhis forefinger into the bales, then sniffed at the aperture.
"There are green hides there!" he exclaimed, stepping back. "Jack, slipthat pack off!"
The man started forward, crying out that he had no time to waste, butMurphy jerked him back by the collar and Elerson seized his right arm.
"Wait!" I said, sharply. "You cannot stop a man like this on thehighway!"
"You don't know us, sir," replied Mount, impudently.
"Come, Colonel Ormond," added Elerson, almost savagely. "You're ourcaptain no longer. Give way, sir. Answer for your own men, and we'llanswer to Danny Morgan!"
Mount, struggling to unfasten the pack, looked over his huge shouldersat me.
"Not that we're not fond of you, sir; but we know this old fox now--"
"You lie!" shrieked the man, hurling his full weight at Murphy andtearing his right arm free from Elerson's grip.
There came a flash, an explosion; through a cloud of smoke I saw thefellow's right arm stretched straight up in the air, his hand clutchinga smoking pistol, and Elerson holding the arm rigid in a grip of steel.
"INSTANTLY MOUNT TRIPPED THE MAN".]
Instantly Mount tripped the man flat on his face in the dust, and Murphyjerked his arms behind his back, tying them fast at the wrists with acord which Elerson cut from the pack and flung to him.
"Rip up thim bales, Jack!" said Murphy. "Yell find them full o' powtheran' ball an' cutlery, sorr, or I'm a liar!" he added to me. "This limbo' Lucifer is wan o' Francy McCraw's renegados!--Danny Redstock, sorr,th' tirror av the Sacandaga!"
Redstock! I had seen him at Broadalbin that evening in May, threateningthe angry settlers with his rifle, when Dorothy and the Brandt-Meesterand I had ridden over with news of smoke in the hills.
Murphy tied the prostrate man's legs, pulled him across the dusty roadto the bushes, and laid him on his back under a great maple-tree.
Mount, knife in hand, ripped up the bales of crackling peltry, andElerson delved in among the skins, flinging them right and left in hisimpatient search.
"There's no powder here," he exclaimed, rising to his knees on the roadand staring at Mount; "nothing but badly cured beaver and mangymusk-rat."
"Well, he baled 'em to conceal something!" insisted Mount. "No man packsin this moth-eaten stuff for love of labor. What's that parcel inthe bottom?"
"Not powder," replied Elerson, tossing it out, where it rebounded,crackling.
"Squirrel pelts," nodded Mount, as I picked up the packet and looked atthe sealed cords. The parcel was addressed: "General Barry St. Leger, incamp before Stanwix." I sat down on the grass and began to open it, whena groan from the prostrate prisoner startled me. He had struggled to asitting posture, and was facing me, eyes bulging from their sockets.Every vestige of color had left his visage.
"For God's sake don't open that!" he gasped--"there is naught there,sir--"
"Silence!" roared Mount, glaring at him, while Murphy and Elerson,dropping their armfuls of pelts, came across the road to the bankwhere I sat.
"I will
not be silent!" screamed the man, rocking to and fro on theground. "I did not do that!--I know nothing of what that packet holds! AMohawk runner gave it to me--I mean that I found it on the trail--"
The riflemen stared at him in contempt while I cut the strings of theparcel and unrolled the bolt of heavy miller's cloth.
At first I did not comprehend what all that mass of fluffy hair couldbe. A deep gasp from Mount enlightened me, and I dropped the packet in arevulsion of horror indescribable. For the parcel was fairly burstingwith tightly packed scalps.
In the deathly silence I heard Redstock's hoarse breathing. Mount kneltdown and gently lifted a heavy mass of dark, silky hair.
At last Elerson broke the silence, speaking in a strangely gentle andmonotonous voice.
"I think this hair was Janet McCrea's. I saw her many times atHalf-moon. No maid in Tryon County had hair like hers."
Shuddering, Mount lifted a long braid of dark-brown hair fastened to ahoop painted blue. And Elerson, in that strange monotone,continued speaking:
"The hair on this scalp is braided to show that the woman was a mother;the skin stretched on a blue hoop confirms it.
"The murderer has painted the skin yellow with red dots to representtears shed for the dead by her family. There is a death-maul paintedbelow in black; it shows how she was killed."
He laid the scalp back very carefully. Under the mass of hair a bit ofpaper stuck out, and I drew it from the dreadful packet. It was a sealedletter directed to General St. Leger, and I opened and read the contentsaloud in the midst of a terrible silence.
"SACANDAGA VLAIE, August 17, 1777
"General Barry St. Leger
"SIR,--I send you under care of Daniel Redstock the first packet of scalps, cured, dried, hooped, and painted; four dozen in all, at twenty dollars a dozen, which will be eighty dollars. This you will please pay to Daniel Redstock, as I need money for tobacco and rum for the men and the Senecas who are with me.
"Return invoice with payment acquitted by the bearer, who will know where to find me. Below I have prepared a true invoice. Your very humble servant,
"F. MCCRAW.
"Invoice.
(6) Six scalps of farmers, green hoops to show they were killed in their fields; a large white circle for the sun, showing it was day; black bullet mark on three; hatchet on two.
(2) Two of settlers, surprised and killed in their houses or barns; hoops red; white circle for the sun; a little red foot to show they died fighting. Both marked with bullet symbol.
(4) Four of settlers. Two marked by little yellow flames to show how they died. (My Senecas have had no prisoners for burning since August third.) One a rebel clergyman, his band tied to the scalp-hoop, and a little red foot under a red cross painted on the skin. (He killed two of my men before we got him.) One, a poor scalp, the hair gray and thin; the hoop painted brown. (An old man whom we found in bed in a rebel house.)
(12) Twelve of militia soldiers; stretched on black hoops four inches in diameter, inside skin painted red; a black circle showing they were outposts surprised at night; hatchet as usual.
(12) Twelve of women; one unbraided--a very fine scalp (bought of a Wyandot from Burgoyne's army), which I paid full price for; nine braided, hoops blue, red tear-marks; two very gray; black hoops, plain brown color inside; death-maul marked in red.
(6) Six of boys' scalps; small green hoops; red tears; symbols in black of castete, knife, and bullet.
(5) Five of girls' scalps; small yellow hoops. Marked with the Seneca symbol to whom they were delivered before scalping.
(l) One box of birch-bark containing an infant's scalp; very little hair, but well dried and cured. (I must ask full price for this.)
48 scalps assorted, @ 20 dollars a dozen..............80 dollars.
"Received payment, F. McCRAW."
The ghastly face of the prisoner turned livid, and he shrieked as Mountcaught him by the collar and dragged him to his feet.
"Jack," I said, hoarsely, "the law sends that man before a court."
"Court be damned!" growled Mount, as Elerson uncoiled the pack-rope,flung one end over a maple limb above, and tied a running noose on theother end.
Murphy crowded past me to seize the prisoner, but I caught him by thearm and pushed him aside.
"Men!" I said, angrily; "I don't care whose command you are under. I'man officer, and you'll listen to me and obey me with respect. Murphy!"
The Irishman gave me a savage stare.
"By God!" I cried, cocking my rifle, "if one of you dares disobey, I'llshoot him where he stands! Murphy! Stand aside! Mount, bring thatprisoner here!"
There was a pause; then Murphy touched his cap and stepped back quietly,nodding to Mount, who shuffled forward, pushing the prisoner and dartinga venomous glance at me.
"Redstock," I said, "where is McCraw?"
A torrent of filthy abuse poured out of the prisoner's writhing mouth.He cursed us, threatening us with a terrible revenge from McCraw if weharmed a hair of his head.
Astonished, I saw that he had mistaken my attitude for one of fear. Istrove to question him, but he insolently refused all information. Mymen ground their teeth with impatience, and I saw that I could controlthem no longer.
So I gave what color I could to the lawless act of justice, partly tosave my waning authority, partly to save them the consequences ofexecuting a prisoner who might give valuable information to theauthorities in Albany.
I ordered Elerson to hold the prisoner and adjust the noose; Murphy andMount to the rope's end. Then I said: "Prisoner, this field-court findsyou guilty of murder and orders your execution. Have you anything to saybefore sentence is carried out?"
The wretch did not believe we were in earnest. I nodded to Elerson, whodrew the noose tight; the prisoner's knees gave way, and he screamed;but Mount and Murphy jerked him up, and the rope strangled the screechin his throat.
Sickened, I bent my head, striving to count the seconds as he hungtwisting and quivering under the maple limb.
Would he never die? Would those spasms never end?
"Shtep back, sorr, if ye plaze, sorr," said Murphy, gently. "Sure, sorr,ye're as white as a sheet. Walk away quiet-like; ye're not used to suchthings, sorr."
I was not, indeed; I had never seen a man done to death in cold blood.Yet I fought off the sickening faintness that clutched at my heart; andat last the dangling thing hung limp and relaxed, turning slowly roundand round in mid-air.
Mount nodded to Murphy and fell to digging with a sharpened stick.Elerson quietly lighted his pipe and aided him, while Murphy shaved offa white square of bark on the maple-tree under the slow-turning body,and I wrote with the juice of an elderberry:
"Daniel Redstock, a child murderer, executed by American Riflemen forhis crimes, under order of George Ormond, Colonel of Rangers, August 19,1777. Renegades and Outlaws take warning!"
When Mount and Elerson had finished the shallow grave, they laid thescalps of the murdered in the hole, stamped down the earth, and coveredit with sticks and branches lest a prowling outlaw or Seneca disinterthe remains and reap a ghastly reward for their redemption from Generalthe Hon. Barry St. Leger, Commander of the British, Hessians, LoyalColonials, and Indians, in camp before Fort Stanwix.
As we left that dreadful spot, and before I could interfere to preventthem, the three riflemen emptied their pieces into the swingingcorpse--a useless, foolish, and savage performance, and I saidso sharply.
They were very docile and contrite and obedient now, explaining that itwas a customary safeguard, as hanged men had been revived more thanonce--a flimsy excuse, indeed!
"Very well," I said; "your shots may draw McCraw's whole force down onus. But doubtless you know much more than your officers--like themilitia at Oriskany."
The reproof struck home; Mount muttered his apology; Murphy offered tocarry my rifle if I was fatigued.
"It wa
s thoughtless, I admit that," said Elerson, looking backward,uneasily. "But we're close to the patroon's boundary."
"We're within bounds now," said Mount. "Fonda's Bush lies over there tothe southeast, and the Vlaie is yonder below the mountain-notch. Thiswagon-track runs into the Fish-House road."
"How far are we from the manor?" I asked.
"About two miles and a half, sir," replied Mount. "Doubtless some of SirGeorge Covert's horsemen heard our shots, and we'll meet 'em canteringout to investigate."
I had not imagined we were as near as that. A painful thrill passedthrough me; my heart leaped, beating feverishly in my breast.
Minute after minute dragged as we filed swiftly onward, mechanicallytreading in each other's tracks. I strove to consider, to think, topicture the sad, strange home-coming--to see her as she would stand,stunned, astounded that I had ignored her appeal to help her bymy absence.
I could not think; my thoughts were chaos; my brain throbbed heavily; Ifixed my hot eyes on the road and strode onward, numbed, seeing,hearing nothing.
And, of a sudden, a shout rang out ahead; horsemen in line across theroad, rifles on thigh, moved forward towards us; an officer reversed hissword, drove it whizzing into the scabbard, and spurred forward,followed by a trooper, helmet flashing in the sun.
"Ormond!" cried the officer, flinging himself from his horse and holdingout both white-gloved hands.
"Sir George, ... I am glad to see you.... I am very--happy," Istammered, taking his hands.
"Cousin Ormond!" came a timid voice behind me.
I turned; Ruyven, in full uniform of a cornet, flung himself into myarms.
I could scarce see him for the mist in my eyes; I pressed the boy closeto my breast and kissed him on both cheeks.
Utterly unable to speak, I sat down on a log, holding Sir George'sgloved hand, my arm on Ruyven's laced shoulder. An immense fatigue cameover me; I had not before realized the pace we had kept up for these twomonths nor the strain I had been under.
"Singleton!" called out Sir George, "take the men to the barracks; takemy horse, too--I'll walk back. And, Singleton, just have your men takethese fine fellows up behind"--with a gesture towards the riflemen. "Andsee that they lack for nothing in quarters!"
Grinning sheepishly, the riflemen climbed up behind the troopersassigned them; the troop cantered off, and Sir George pointed toRuyven's horse, indicating that it was for me when I was rested.
"We heard shots," he said; "I mistrusted it might be a salute from you,but came ready for anything, you see--Lord! How thin you'vegrown, Ormond!"
"I'm cornet, cousin!" burst out Ruyven, hugging me again in hisexcitement. "I charged with the squadron when we scattered McDonald'soutlaws! A man let drive at me--"
"Oh, come, come," laughed Sir George, "Colonel Ormond has had morebullets driven at him than our Legion pouches in their bullet-bags!"
"A man let drive at me!" breathed Ruyven, in rapture. "I was not hit,cousin! A man let drive at me, and I heard the bullet!"
"Nonsense!" said Sir George, mischievously; "you heard a bumble-bee!"
"He always says that," retorted Ruyven, looking at me. "I know it was abullet, for it went zo-o-zip-tsing-g! right past my ear; and SergeantWest shouted, 'Cut him down, sir!' ... But another trooper did that.However, I rode like the devil!"
"Which way?" inquired Sir George, in pretended anxiety. And we alllaughed.
"It's good to see you back all safe and sound," said Sir George, warmly."Sir Lupus will be delighted and the children half crazed. You shouldhear them talk of their hero!"
"Dorothy will be glad, too," said Ruyven. "You'll be in time for thewedding."
I strove to smile, facing Sir George with an effort. His face, in thefull sunlight, seemed haggard and careworn, and the light had died outin his eyes.
"For the wedding," he repeated. "We are to be wedded to-morrow. You didnot know that, did you?"
"Yes; I did know it. Dorothy wrote me," I said. A numbed feeling creptover me; I scarce heard the words I uttered when I wished him happiness.He held my proffered hand a second, then dropped it listlessly,thanking me for my good wishes in a low voice.
There was a vague, troubled expression in his eyes, a strange lack offeeling. The thought came to me like a stab that perhaps he had learnedthat the woman he was to wed did not love him.
"Did Dorothy expect me?" I asked, miserably.
"I think not," said Sir George.
"She believed you meant to follow Arnold to Stanwix," broke in Ruyven."I should have done it! I regard General Arnold as the most magnificentsoldier of the age!" he added.
"I was ordered to Varick Manor," I said, looking at Sir George."Otherwise I might have followed Arnold. As it is I cannot stay for thewedding; I must report at Stillwater, leaving by nine o'clock inthe morning."
"Lord, Ormond, what a fire-eater you have become!" he said, smiling fromhis abstraction. "Are you ready to mount Ruyven's nag and come home to agood bed and a glass of something neat?"
"Let Ruyven ride," I said; "I need the walk, Sir George."
"Need the walk!" he exclaimed. "Have you not had walks enough?--and yourmoccasins and buckskins in rags!"
But I could not endure to ride; a nerve-racking restlessness was on me,a desire for movement, for utter exhaustion, so that I could no longerhave even strength to think.
Ruyven, protesting, climbed into his dragoon-saddle; Sir George walkedbeside him and I with Sir George.
Long, soft August lights lay across the leafy road; the blackberrieswere in heavy fruit; scarlet thimble-berries, over-ripe, dropped fromtheir pithy cones as we brushed the sprays with our sleeves.
Sir George was saying: "No, we have nothing more to fear fromMcDonald's gang, but a scout came in, three days since, bringing word ofMcCraw's outlaws who have appeared in the west--"
He stopped abruptly, listening to a sound that I also heard; the suddendrumming of unshod hoofs on the road behind us.
"What the devil--" he began, then cocked his rifle; I threw up mine; ashrill cock-crow rang out above the noise of tramping horses; agalloping mass of horsemen burst into view behind us, coming like anavalanche.
"McCraw!" shouted Sir George. Ruyven fired from his saddle; Sir George'srifle and mine exploded together; a horse and rider went down with acrash, but the others came straight on, and the cock-crow rang outtriumphantly above the roar of the rushing horses.
"Ruyven!" I shouted, "ride for your life!"
"I won't!" he cried, furiously; but I seized his bridle, swung hisfrightened horse, and struck the animal across the buttocks with clubbedrifle. Away tore the maddened beast, almost unseating his rider, wholost both stirrups at the first frantic bound and clung helplessly tohis saddle-pommel while the horse carried him away like the wind.
Then I sprang into the ozier thicket, Sir George at my side, and ran alittle way; but they caught us, even before we reached the timber, andthrew us to the ground, tying us up like basted capons with straps fromtheir saddles. Maltreated, struck, kicked, mauled, and dragged out tothe road, I looked for instant death; but a lank creature flung meacross his saddle, face downward, and, in a second, the whole band hadmounted, wheeled about, and were galloping westward, ventre a terre.
Almost dead from the saddle-pommel which knocked the breath from mybody, suffocated and strangled with dust, I hung dangling there in astorm of flying sticks and pebbles. Twice consciousness fled, only toreturn with the blood pounding in my ears. A third time my senses leftme, and when they returned I lay in a cleared space in the woods besideSir George, the sun shining full in my face, flung on the ground near afire, over which a kettle was boiling. And on every side of us movedMcCraw's riders, feeding their horses, smoking, laughing, playing atcards, or coming up to sniff the camp-kettle and poke the boiling meatwith pointed sticks.
Behind them, squatted in rows, sat two dozen Indians, watching us inferocious silence.
The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel Page 22
