CHAPTER VIII
SHEEP AND GOATS
Now, as I came again to the forest's edge and hastened along the widelogging road, to make up for moments wasted, I caught sight of twoneighbors, John Putman and Herman Salisbury, walking ahead of me.
They wore the regimentals of our Mohawk Regiment of district militia,carried rifles and packs; and I smelled the tobacco from their pipes,which seemed pleasant though I had never learned to smoke.
I called to them; they heard me and waited.
"Well, John," says Putman, as I came up with them, "this is like to be asorry business for farmers, what with plowing scarce begun and not aseed yet planted in all the Northland, barring winter wheat."
"You think we are to take the field in earnest this time?" I askedanxiously.
"It looks that way to me, Mr. Drogue. It's a long, long road to liberty,lad; and I'm thinking we're off at last."
"He believes," explained Salisbury, "that Little Abraham's Mohawks areleaving the Lower Castle--which God prevent!--but I think this businessis liker to be some new deviltry of Sir John's."
"Sir John gave his parole to General Schuyler," said I, turning veryred; for I was mortified that the honour of my caste should be socarelessly questioned.
"It is not unthinkable that Sir John might lie," retorted Salisburybluntly. "I knew his father. Well and good. I know the son, also.... ButI suppose that gentlemen like yourself, Mr. Drogue, are ashamed tosuspect the honour of any of their own class,--even an enemy."
But Putman was plainer spoken, saying that in his opinion any Tory waslikely to attempt any business, however dirty, and rub up his tarnishedhonour afterward.
I made him no answer; and we marched swiftly forward, each engaged witha multitude of serious and sombre thoughts.
A few moments later, chancing to glance behind me, stirred by whatinstinct I know not, I espied two neighbors, young John, son of PhilipHelmer, and Charles Cady, of Fonda's Bush, following us so stealthilyand so closely that they might decently have hailed us had they been sominded.
Now, when they perceived that I had noticed them, they dodged into thebush, as though moved by some common impulse. Then they reappeared inthe road. And, said I in a low voice to John Putman:
"Yonder comes slinking a proper pair o' tree-cats to sniff us to ourdestination. If these two be truly of the other party, then they have nobusiness at John Stoner's."
Putman and Salisbury both looked back. Said the one, grimly:
"They are not coming to answer the militia call; they have rifles butneither regimentals nor packs."
Said the other: "I wish we were clean split at Fonda's Bush, so that anhonest man might know when 'neighbor' spells 'traitor' in low Dutch."
"Some riddles are best solved by bullets," muttered the other. "Whoargues with wolves or plays cat's-cradle with catamounts!"
Glancing again over my shoulder, I saw that the two behind us weremending their pace and must soon come up with us. And so they did,Putman giving them a civil good-day.
"Have you any news, John Drogue?" inquired young Helmer.
I replied that I had none to share with him, meaning only that I had nonews at all. But Cady took it otherwise and his flat-featured facereddened violently, as though the pox were coming out on him.
And, "What the devil," says he, "does this young, forest-runningcockerel mean? And why should he not share his news with John Helmerhere,--yes, or with me, too, by God, or yet with any true man in CountyTryon?"
I said that I had not intended any such meaning; that he mistook me; andthat I had aimed at no discourtesy to anybody.
"And safer for you, too!" retorted Cady in a loud and threatening tone."A boy's wisdom lies in his silence."
"Johnny Helmer asked a question of me," said I quietly. "I replied asbest I knew how."
"Yes, and I'll ask a dozen questions if I like!" shouted Cady. "Don'tthink to bully me or cast aspersions on my political complexion!"
"If," said I, "your political complexion be no clearer than yournatural one, God only can tell what ferments under your skin."
At which he seemed so taken aback that he answered nothing; but Helmerurgently demanded to know what political views I pretended to carry.
"I wear mine on my back," said I pleasantly, glancing around at bothHelmer and Cady, who bore no packs on their backs in earnest of theirreadiness for service.
"You are a damned impudent boy!" retorted Cady, "whatever may be yourpolitics or your complexion."
Salisbury and Putman looked around at him in troubled silence, and hesaid no more for the moment. But Helmer's handsome features darkenedagain: and, "I'll not be put upon," said he, "whatever Charlie Cadystomachs! Who is Jack Drogue to flaunt his pack and his politics undermy nose!
"And," he added, looking angrily at me, "by every natural right agentleman should be a King's man. So if your politics stink somewhat ofBoston, you are doubly suspect as an ingrate to the one side and afavour-currying servant to the other!"
I said: "Had Sir William lived to see this day in Tryon, I think he,also, would be wearing his regimentals as I do, and to the samepurpose."
Cady burst into a jeering laugh: "Say as much to Sir John! Go to theHall and say to Sir John that his father, had he lived, would this daybe sending out a district militia call! Tell him that, young cockerel,if you desire a flogging at the guard-house."
"You know more of floggings than do I," said I quietly. Which stopt hismouth. For, despite my scarcity of years, I had given him a soundbeating the year before, being so harassed and pestered by him because Ihad answered the militia-call on the day that General Schuyler marchedup and disarmed Sir John's Highlanders at the Hall.
Putman, beside whom I was marching, turned to me and said, loud enoughfor all to hear: "You are only a lad, John Drogue, but I bear witnessthat you display the patience and good temper of a grown man. For ifCharlie Cady, here, had picked on me as he has on you, he sure hadtasted my rifle-butt before now!"
"Neighbors must bear with one another in such times," said I, "and helpeach other stamp down the earth where the war-axe lies buried."
And, "Damn you!" shouts Cady at a halt, "I shall not stir a step more tobe insulted. I shall not budge one inch, bell or no bell, call or nocall!----"
But Helmer dropped to the rear and got him by the elbow and pulled himforward; and I heard them whispering together behind us as we hastenedon.
Herman Salisbury said: "A pair of real tree-cats, old Tom and littleKit! I'm in half a mind to turn them back!" And he swung his brown riflefrom the shoulder and let it drop to the hollow of his left arm--aninsult and a menace to any man.
"They but answer their nature, which is to nose about and smell outwhat's a-frying," growled Putman. "Shall we turn them back and be donewith them? It will mean civil war in Fonda's Bush."
"Watched hens never lay," said I. "Let them come with us. While theyremain under our eyes the stale old plan they brood will addle like acluck-egg."
Salisbury nodded meaningly:
"So that I can see my enemy," growled he, "I have no care concerninghim. But let him out o' sight and I fret like a chained beagle."
As he finished speaking we came into Stoner's clearing, which was but athicket of dead weed-stalks in a fallow field fenced by split rails.Fallow, indeed, lay all the Stoner clearing, save for a patch o'hen-scratched garden at the log-cabin's dooryard; for old Henry Stonerand his forest-running sons were none too fond of dallying with plow andhoe while rifle and fish-pole rested across the stag-horn's crotch abovethe chimney-piece.
And if ever they fed upon anything other than fish and flesh, I do notknow; for I never saw aught growing in their garden, save a dozenpotato-vines and a stray corn-stalk full o' worms.
Around the log house in the clearing already were gathered a dozen orsixteen men, the greater number wearing the tow-cloth rifle-frock of thedistrict militia.
Other men began to arrive as we came up. Everywhere great, sinewy handswere extended to greet us; old Henry
Stoner, sprawling under an appletree, saluted us with a harsh pleasantry; and I saw the gold ringsshining in his ears.
Nick came over to where I stood, full of that devil's humour which sooften urged him into--and led him safely out of--endless scrapes betwixtsun-up and moon-set every day in the year.
"It's Sir John we're to take, I hear," he said to me with a grin. "Theysay the lying louse of a Baronet has been secretly plotting with GuyJohnson and the Butlers in Canada. What wonder, then, that ourProvincial Congress has its belly full of these same Johnstown Toriesand must presently spew them up. And they say we are to march on theHall at noon and hustle our merry Baronet into Johnstown jail."
I felt myself turning red.
"Is it not decent to give Sir John the benefit of doubt until we learnwhy that bell is ringing?" said I.
"There we go!" cried Nick Stoner. "Just because your father loved SirWilliam and you may wear gold lace on your hat, you feel an attachmentto all quality. Hearken to me, John Drogue: Sir William is dead and theothers are as honourable as a pack of Canada wolves." He climbed to thetop of the rickety rail fence and squatted there. "The landed gentry ofTryon County are a pack of bloody wolves," said he, lighting his cobpipe;--"Guy Johnson, Colonel Claus, Walter Butler, every one ofthem--every one!--only excepting you, John Drogue! Look, now, wherethey're gathering in the Canadas--Johnsons, Butlers, McDonalds,--thewhole Tory pack--with Brant and his Mohawks stole away, and LittleAbraham like to follow with every warrior from the Lower Castle!
"And do you suppose that Sir John has no interest in all this Torytreachery? Do you suppose that this poisonous Baronet is not in constantand secret communication with Canada?"
I looked elsewhere sullenly. Nick took me by the arm and drew me up to aseat beside him on the rail fence.
"Let's view it soberly and fairly, Jack," says he, tapping his palm withthe stem of his pipe, through which smoke oozed. "Let's view it from thestart. Begin from the Boston business. Now, then! George the Virginiangot the Red-coats cooped up in Boston. That's the Yankee answer to toomuch British tyranny.
"We, in the Northland, looked to our landed gentry to stand by us, leadus, and face the British King who aims to turn us into slaves.
"We called on our own governing class to protect us in our ancientliberties,--to arm us, lead us in our own defense! We begged Guy Johnsonto hold back his savages so that the Iroquois Confederacy should remainpassive and take neither the one side nor t'other.
"I grant you that Sir William in his day did loyally his uttermost toquiet the Iroquois and hold his own Mohawks tranquil when Cresap wasbetrayed by Dunmore, and the first breeze from this storm which is nowupon us was already stirring the Six Nations into restlessness."
"Sir William," said I, "was the greatest and the best of all Americans."
He said gravely: "Sir William is dead. May God rest his soul. But thisis the situation that confronts us here this day on the frontier: Weappealed to the landed gentry of Tryon. They sneered at us, and spoke ofus as rebels, and have used us very scornfully--all excepting yourself,John!
"They forced Alec White on us as Sheriff, and he broke up our meetings.They strove by colour of law and by illegal force to stamp out in TryonCounty the last spark of liberty, of manhood among us. God knows what wehave endured these last few years from the landed gentry of Tryon!--whatwe have put up with and stomached since the first shot was fired atLexington!
"And what has become of our natural protectors and leaders! Where is thelanded gentry of County Tryon at this very hour? Except you, JohnDrogue, where are our gentlemen of the Northland?"
"Gone," said I soberly.
"Gone to Canada with the murderous Indians they were supposed to holdneutral! Guy Park stands empty and locked. It is an accursed place! GuyJohnson is fled with every Tory desperado and every Indian he couldmuster! May God damn him!
"Old John Butler followed; and is brigading malcontents in Canada.Butlersbury stands deserted. May every devil in hell haunt that house!Young Walter Butler is gone with many of our old neighbors of Tryon; andat Niagara he is forming a merciless legion to return and cut ourthroats.
"And Colonel Claus is gone, and McDonald, the bloody thief!--with hiskilted lunatics and all his Scotch banditti----"
"But Sir John remains," said I quietly.
"Jack! Are you truly so blinded by your caste! Did not you yourselfanswer the militia call last winter and march with our good General todisarm Sir John's popish Highlanders! And even then they lied--and SirJohn lied--for they hid their broad-swords and pikes! and delivered themnot when they paraded to ground their muskets!"
"Sir John has given his parole," I repeated stubbornly.
"Sir John breaks it every hour of the day!" cried Nick. "And he willbreak it again when we march to take him. Do you think he won't learn ofour coming? Do you suppose he will stay at the Hall, which he haspledged his honour to do?"
"His lady is still there."
"With his lady I have no quarrel," rejoined Nick. "I know her to be avery young, very wilful, very bitter, and very unhappy Tory; and shetreats us plain folk like dirt under her satin shoon. But for that Icare nothing. I pity her because she is the wife of that cold, sleekbeast, Sir John. I pity her because she is gently bred and frail andlonely and stuffed with childish pride o' race. I pity her lot there inthe great Hall, with her girl companions and her servants and herslaves. And I pity her because everybody in County Tryon, excepting onlyherself, knows that Sir John cares nothing for her, and that ClairePutnam of Tribes Hill is Sir John's doxy!--and be damned to him! And youthink such a man will not break his word?
"He broke his vows to wife and mistress alike. Why should he keep hisvows to men?" He slid to the ground as he spoke, and I followed, for ourthree drummers had formed rank and were drawing their sticks from theircross-belts. Our fifers, also, lined up behind them; and Nick and hisyoung brother, John, took places with them.
"Fall in! Fall in!" cried Joe Scott, our captain; and everybody ran withtheir packs and rifles to form in double ranks of sixteen files frontwhile the drums rolled like spring thunder, filling the woods with theirhollow sound, and the fifes shrilled like the swish of rain throughtrees.
Standing at ease between Dries Bowman and Baltus Weed, I answered to theroll call. Some among us lighted pipes and leaned on our long rifles,chatting with neighbors; others tightened belts and straps, buttonedspatter-dashes, or placed a sprig of hemlock above the black and whitecockades on their felt hats.
Balty Weed, who lived east of me, a thin fellow with red rims to hiseyes and dry, sparse hair tied in a queue with a knot of buckskin, askedme in his stealthy way what I thought about our present business, and ifour Provincial Congress had not, perhaps, unjustly misjudged Sir John.
I replied cautiously. I had never trusted Balty because he frequentedtaverns where few friends to liberty cared to assemble; and he was fartoo thick with Philip and John Helmer and with Charlie Cady to suit mytaste.
We, in the little hamlet of Fonda's Bush, were scarce thirty families,all counted; and yet, even here in this trackless wilderness, out ofwhich each man had hewed for himself a patch of garden and a stumppasture along the little river Kennyetto, the bitter quarrel had longsmouldered betwixt Tory and Patriot--King's man and so-called Rebel.
And this was the Mohawk country. And the Mohawks stood for the King ofEngland.
The road, I say, ended here; but there was a Mohawk path through twentyodd miles of untouched forest to those healing springs called Saratoga.
Except for this path and a deep worn war-trail north to the Sacandaga,which was the Iroquois road to Canada, and except for the wood road toSir William's Mayfield and Fish House settlements, we of Fonda's Bushwere utterly cut off. Also, save for the new Block House at Mayfield, wewere unprotected in a vast wilderness which embodied the very centre ofthe Mohawk country.
True, north of us stood that little pleasure house built for his hour ofleisure by Sir William, and called "The Summer House."
Painted whi
te and green, it stood on a hard ridge jutting out into thosedismal, drowned lands which we call the Great Vlaie. But it was notfortified.
Also, to the north, lay the Fish House, a hunting lodge of Sir William.But these places were no protection for us. On the other hand, theyseemed a menace; for Tories, it had been rumoured, were ever skulkingalong the Vlaie and the Sacandaga; and for aught we knew, thesebuildings were already designed to be made into block-houses and to begarrisoned by our enemies as soon as the first rifle-shot cracked out inthe cause of liberty.
* * * * *
Our company of the Mohawk Regiment numbered thirty-six rifles--all thatnow remained of the old company, three-fourths of which had alreadydeserted to the Canadas with Butler. All our officers had fled; JoeScott of Maxon, formerly a sergeant, now commanded us; Benjamin deLuysnes was our lieutenant; Dries Bowman and Phil Helmer oursergeants--both already suspected.
Well, we got away from Stoner's, marching in double file, and only thelittle creatures of the forest to hear our drums and fifes.
But the old discipline which had obtained in all our Tryon regimentswhen Sir William was our Major General and the landed gentry ourofficers seemed gone; a dull sense of bewilderment reigned, confusingmany among us, as when leaderless men begin to realize how they haddepended upon a sturdy staff now broken forever.
We marched with neither advanced guard nor flankers for the first halfmile; then Joe Scott halted us and made Nick Stoner put away his belovedfife and sent him out on our right flank where the forest was heavy.
Me he selected to scout forward on the left--a dirty job where aldersand willows grew thick above the bogs.
But why in God's name our music played to advertise our coming I can notguess, for our men needed no heartening, having courage and resolution,only the lack of officers causing them any anxiety at all.
On the left flank of the little column I kept very easily in touchbecause of this same silly drumming and fifing. And I was glad when wecame to high ground and breasted the hills which lead to that higherplateau, over which runs the road to Johnstown.
Plodding along in the bush, keeping a keen watch for any enemy who mightcome in paint or in scarlet coat, and the far rhythm of our drumsthumping dully in my ears, I wondered whether other companies of myregiment were marching on Johnstown, and if other Tryon regiments--orwhat was left of them--were also afoot that day.
Was this, then, the beginning of the war in the Northland? And, when wemade a prisoner of Sir John, would all the dusky forests glow withscarlet war-paint and scarlet coats?
Today birds sang. Tomorrow the terrific panther-slogan of the Iroquoismight break out into hell's own uproar among these purple hills.
Was this truly the beginning? Would these still, leafy trails where thecrested partridge strutted witness bloody combats between oldneighbors--all the horrors of a fratricidal war?
Would the painted men of the woods hold their hands while Tory andpatriot fought it out? Or was this utter and supreme horror to be addedto this unnatural conflict?
Reflecting very seriously upon these matters, I trotted forward, riflea-trail, and saw nothing living in the woods save a big hare or two inthe alders, and the wild brown poultry of the woods, that ran to coveror rose into thunderous flight among the thickets.
* * * * *
About four o'clock came to me Godfrey Shew, of Fish House, a privatesoldier like myself, with news of a halt on the Johnstown road, andorders that I eat a snack and rest in my tracks.
He told me that a company of horse from Albany was out scouting alongthe Mohawk, and that a column of three thousand men under ColonelDayton were marching on Johnstown and had passed Schenectady about noon.
Other news he had none, excepting that our company was to remain wherewe had halted, in order to stop the road to Fonda's Bush and Saratoga,in case Sir John should attempt to retire this way.
"Well, Godfrey," said I, "if Sir John truly turns out to be withoutshame and honour, and if he marches this way, there is like to be alively time for us of the Bush, because Sir John has three hundredHighlanders to thirty odd of ourselves, and enough Borderers and Torymilitia to double the count."
"We all know that," said Shew calmly, "and are not afraid."
"Do you think our people mean to stand?"
"Yes," said he simply.
A hot thrill of pride tingled my every vein. Suddenly I completelycomprehended that these plain folk of Fonda's Bush were my own people;that I was one of them; that, as they meant to stand for the ancientliberties of all Englishmen, now wickedly denied them, so I also meantto stand to the end.
And now, at last, I comprehended that I was in actual revolt againstthat King and against that nobility and gentry who were deserting uswhen we had so desperate need of them in this coming battle for humanfreedom in a slave-cursed world.
The cleavage had come at last; the Northland was clean split; the redlivery of the King's men had suddenly become a target for every honestrifle in Tryon.
"Godfrey," I said, "the last chance for truce is passing as you and Istand here,--the last chance for any reconciliation and brotherlyunderstanding between us and our Tory neighbors."
"It is better that way," he said, giving me a sombre look.
I nodded, but all the horror of civil war lay heavy in my heart and Ithought of my many friends in Tryon who would wear the scarlet coattomorrow, and whom I now must try to murder with my proper hands, lestthey do the like for me.
Around us, where we were standing, a golden dusk reigned in the forest,into which, through the roof of green above, fell a long sunbeam,lighting the wooded aisle as a single candle on the altar gleams athwartthe gloom of some still cathedral.
* * * * *
At five o'clock Godfrey and I had not moved from that silent place wherewe stood on watch, leaning upon our rifles.
Twice soldiers came to bid us keep close guard in these open woodswhich, being primeval, were clear of underbrush and deep with the browncarpet of dead leaves.
At last, toward six o'clock, we heard our drums rolling in thedistance--signal to scout forward. I ran out among the great trees andstarted on toward Johnstown, keeping Godfrey in view on my left hand.
Very soon I came out of the forest on the edge of cleared land. Againstthe evening sky I saw the spires of Johnstown, stained crimson in thewestering sun which was going down red as a cherry.
But what held me in spell was the sight that met my eyes across the openmeadows, where moving ranks of musket-barrels glanced redly in the lastgleam of sunset and the naked swords and gorgets of mounted officersglittered.
Godfrey Shew emerged from the edge of the forest on my left and stoodknee deep in last year's wild grass, one hand shading his eyes.
"What troops are those?" I shouted to him. "They look like theContinental Line!"
"It's a reg'lar rig'ment," he bawled, "but whose I know not!"
The clanking of their armament came clearly to my ears; the timing tapof their drum sounded nearer still.
"There can be no mistake," I called out to Godfrey; "yonder marches aregiment of the New York line! We're at war!"
We moved out across the pasture. I examined my flint and priming, and,finding all tight and bright, waded forward waist high, through lastyear's ghostly golden-rod, ready for a quick shot if necessary.
The sun had gone down; a lilac-tinted dusk veiled the fields, throughwhich the gay evening chirruping of the robins rang incessantly.
"There go our people!" shouted Godfrey.
I had already caught sight of the Fonda's Bush Company filing betweensome cattle-bars to the left of us; and knew they must be makingstraight for Johnson Hall.
We shouldered our pieces and ran through the dead weeds to interceptthem; but there was no need for haste, because they halted presently insome disorder; and I saw Joe Scott walking to and fro along the files,gesticulating.
And then, as Godfrey and I
came up with them, we witnessed the firstshameful exhibition of disorder that for so many months disgraced themilitia of New York--a stupidity partly cowardly, partly treacherous,which at one time so incensed His Excellency the Virginian that he saidthey were, as a body, more detrimental than helpful to the cause, andproposed to disband them.
In the light of later events, I now realize that their apparentpoltroonery arose not from individual cowardice. But these levies had nofaith in their companies because every battalion was still full ofTories, nor had any regiment yet been purged.
Also, they had no confidence in their officers, who, for the greaterpart, were as inexperienced as they themselves. And I think it wasbecause of these things that the New York militia behaved socontemptibly after the battle of Long Island, and in Tryon County, untilthe terrific trial by fire at Oriskany had burnt the dross out of us andleft only the nobler metal.
* * * * *
Our Fonda's Bush Company presented a most mortifying spectacle asGodfrey and I came up. Joe Scott stood facing the slovenly single rankwhich he had contrived to parade in the gathering dusk; and he wasarguing with the men while they talked back loudly.
There was a hubbub of voices, angry arguments, some laughter whichsounded more sinister to me than the cursing.
Then Charlie Cady and John Howell of Sacandaga left the ranks, refusingto listen to Scott, and withdrew a little distance, where they stoodsullenly in their defiance.
Elias Cady called out that he would not march to the Hall to take SirJohn, and he, also, left the ranks.
Then, and despite Joe Scott's pleading, Phil Helmer and his sullen son,John, walked away and joined the Cadys, and called on Andrew Bowman todo the like.
Dries wavered; but Baltus Weed and Eugene Grinnis left the company.
Which so enraged me that I, also, forgot all discipline and duty, andshook my rifles at the mutineers.
"You Tory dogs!" I said, "we're well purged of you, and I for one thankGod that we now know you for what you are!"
Godfrey, a stark, fierce figure in his blackened buckskins, went out infront of our single rank and called to the malcontents:
"Pull foot, you swine, or I'll mark you!"
And, "Pull foot!" shouted Nick Stoner, "and be damned to you! Why do youloiter! Do you wait for a volley in your guts!"
At that, Balty Weed turned and ran toward the woods; but the othersmoved more slowly and sullenly, not exactly menacing us with theirrifles, but carrying them conveniently across the hollow of their leftarms.
In the increasing darkness I heard somebody sob, and saw Joe Scottstanding with one hand across his eyes, as though to close from hissight such a scene of deep disgrace.
Then I went to him. I was trembling and could scarce command my voice,but gave him a salute and stood at attention until he finally noticedme.
"Well, John," said he, "this is like to be the death of me."
"Sir; will you order the drums to beat a march?"
"Do you think the men will march?"
"Yes, sir--what remains of them."
He came slowly back, motioning what was left of the company to close up.I could not hear what he said, but the men began to count off, and theirvoices were resolute enough to hearten all.
So presently Nick Stoner, who acted as fife-major, blew lustily into hisfife, playing the marching tune, which is called "The Little Red Foot";and the drums beat it; and we marched in column of fours to take SirJohn at his ancestral Hall, if it chanced to be God's will.
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