CHAPTER X
A NIGHT MARCH
The village of Johnstown was more brightly lighted than I had everbefore seen it. Indeed, as we came out of the Hall the glow of it showedrosy in the sky and the distant bustle in the streets came quite plainlyto our ears.
Near the hedge fence outside the Hall we came upon remnants of ourmilitia company, which had just been dismissed from further duty, andthe men permitted to go home.
Some already were walking away across the fields toward the Fonda's Bushroad, and these all were farmers; but I saw De Luysnes and JohnnySilver, the French trappers, talking to old man Stoner and his youngerboy; and Nick and I went over to where they were gathered near asplinter torch, which burned with a clear, straight flame like a candle.
Joe Scott, too, was there, and I told him about my commission, whereuponhe gave me the officer's salute and we shook hands very gravely.
"There is scarce a handful remaining of our company," said he, "and youhad best choose from us such as may qualify for rangers, and who arewilling to go with you. As for me, I can not go, John, because I havehere a letter but just delivered from Honikol Herkimer, calling me tothe Canajoharie Regiment."
It appeared, also, that old man Stoner had already enlisted with ColonelLivingston's regiment, and his thirteen-year-old boy, also, had beentaken into the same command as a drummer.
Dries Bowman shook his head when I appealed to him, saying he had a wifeand children to look after, and would not leave them alone in the Bush.
None could find fault with such an answer, though his surly tonetroubled me a little.
However, the two French trappers offered to enlist in my company ofRangers, and they instantly began to strap up their packs like menprepared to start on any journey at a moment's notice.
Then Godfrey Shew, of Fish House, said to me very simply that hisconscience and his country weighed more together than did his cabin; andthat he was quite ready to go with me at once.
At that, Joe de Golyer, of Varick's, fetched a laugh and came up in thetorch-light and stood there towering six foot eight in his greasybuckskins, and showing every hound's tooth in his boyish head.
"Give me my shilling, John," quoth he, "for I, also, am going with you.I've a grist-mill and a cabin and a glebe fair cleared at Varick's. Butmy father was all French; I have seen red for many a day; and if theKing of England wants my mill I shall take my pay for it where I findit!"
Silver began to grin and strut and comb out his scarlet thrums withdirty fingers.
"Enfin," said he, with both thumbs in his arm-pits, "we shall be ver'happee familee in our pretee Bush. No more Toree, no more Iroquois!Tryon Bush all belong to us."
"All that belongs to us today," remarked Godfrey grimly, "is what wehold over our proper rifles, Johnny Silver!"
Old man Stoner nodded: "What you look at over your rifle sight is allthat'll ever feed and clothe you now, Silver."
"Oh, sure, by gar!" cried Silver with his lively grin. "Deer in bluecoat, man in red coat, meme chose, savvy? All good game to JohneeSilver. Ver' fine chasse! Ah, sacre garce!" And he strutted about like acock-partridge, slapping his hips.
Nick Stoner burst into a loud laugh.
"Ours is like to be a rough companionship, John!" he said. "For thefirst shot fired will hum in our ears like new ale; and the firstscreech from the Iroquois will turn us into devils!"
"Come," said I with a shiver I could not control.
I shook hands with Joe Scott; Nick took leave of his big, gaunt father.We both looked at Dries Bowman, but he had turned away in pretense offiring the torch.
"Good-bye, Brent-Meester!" cried little Johnny Stoner in his childishtreble, as we started down the stony way toward the town below.
* * * * *
Johnstown streets were full of people and every dwelling, shop, andtavern lighted brightly as we came into the village.
Mounted troopers of the Albany Horse guarded every street or clatteredto and fro in search, they told us, of hidden arms and supplies.Soldiers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, too, wereto be seen everywhere, some guarding the jail, some encamped before theCourt House, others occupying suspected dwellings and taverns notoriousas Tory nests.
Such inhabitants as were known friends to liberty roamed about thestreets or stood in knots under the trees, whispering together andwatching the soldiers. But Tories and their families remained indoors,peering sullenly from their windows and sometimes scowling upon thesesoldiers of a new nation, within the confines of which they already werediscovering that no place remained for any friend to England or herKing.
As my little file of riflemen passed on moccasined feet through theswarming streets of Johnstown, soldiers and townspeople gazed curiouslyafter us, surmising immediately what might be our errand. And manygreeted us or called out pleasantries after us, such as, "Hearkaway! Thered fox will fool you yet!" And, "Dig him out, you wolf-hounds! He'sgone to earth at Sacandaga!"
Many soldiers cheered us, swinging their cocked hats; and Nick Stonerand Johnny Silver swung their coon-tailed caps in return, shouting thewolf-cry of the Coureur-du-Bois--"Yik-yik-hoo-hoolo--o!"
And now we passed the slow-moving baggage waggons of ColonelLivingston's regiment, toiling up from Caughnawaga, the sleepy teamstersnodding, and armed soldiers drowsing behind, who scarce opened one eyeas we trotted by them and out into the darkness of the Mayfield road.
Now, in this dim and starlit land, we moved more slowly, for the roadlay often through woods where all was dark; and among us none hadfetched any lantern.
It was close to midnight, I think, when we were challenged; and I knewwe were near the new Block House, because I heard the creek, very noisyin the dark, and smelled English grass.
The sentinel held us very firmly and bawled to his fellow, who arrivedpresently with a lantern; and we saw the grist-mill close to us, withits dripping wheel and the high flume belching water.
When they were satisfied, I asked for news and they told us they hadseen none of Sir John's people, but that a carriage carrying two ladieshad nigh driven over them, refusing to halt, and that they had beenashamed to fire on women.
He informed us, further, that a sergeant and five men of ColonelDayton's regiment had arrived at the Block House and would remain thenight.
"Also," said one of the men, "we caught a girl riding a fine horse thismorning, who gave an account that she came from Fonda's Bush and wasservant to Douw Fonda at Caughnawaga."
"Where is the horse?" I asked.
"Safe stabled in the new fort."
"Where is the girl?"
"Well," said he, "she sits yonder eating soupaan in the fort, and allthe Continentals making moon-eyes at her."
"That's my horse," said I shortly. "Take your lantern and show her tome."
One of the militia men picked up the lantern, which had been burning onthe grass between us, and I followed along the bank of the creek.
Presently I saw the Block House against the stars, but all loops wereshuttered and no light came from them.
There was a ditch, a bridge of three logs, a stockade not finished; andwe passed in between the palings where a gateway was to be made, andwhere another militia-man sat guard on a chopping block, cradling hisfire-lock between his knees, fast asleep.
The stable was but a shed. Kaya turned her head as I went to her andmade a soft little noise of welcome, and fell a-lipping me and rubbingher velvet nose against me.
"The Scotch girl cared for your mare and fed her, paying four pence,"said the militia-man. "But we were ashamed to take pay."
I examined Kaya. She had been well cared for. Then I lifted her harnessfrom the wooden peg where it hung and saddled her by the lantern light.
And when all was snug I passed the bridle over my arm and led her to thedoor of the Block House.
Before I entered, I could hear from within the strains of a fiddle; andthen opened the door and went in.
The girl, Penelope, sat on
a block of wood eating soupaan with a pewterspoon out of a glazed bowl upon her knees.
Ten soldiers stood in a ring around her, every man jack o' thema-courting as hard as he could court and ogle--which all was as plain tome as the nose on your face!--and seemed to me a most silly sight.
For the sergeant, a dapper man smelling rank of pomatum and his queuesmartly floured, was a-wooing her with his fiddle and rolling big eyesat her to kill at twenty paces; and a tall, thin corporal was tying anosegay made of swamp marigolds for her, which, now and again, hepretended to match against her yellow hair and smirked when she liftedher eyes to see what he was about.
Every man jack o' them was up to something, one with a jug o' milk todouse her soupaan withal, another busy with his Barlow carving a basketout of a walnut to please her;--this fellow making pictures onbirch-bark; that one scraping her name on his powder-horn and pricking aheart about it.
As for the girl, Penelope, she sat upon her chopping block with downcasteyes and very leisurely eating of her porridge; but I saw her lipstraced with that faint smile which I remembered.
What with the noise of the fiddle and the chatter all about her, neithershe nor the soldiers heard the door open, nor, indeed, noticed us at alluntil my militia-men sings out: "Lieutenant Drogue, boys, on duty fromJohnstown!"
At that the Continentals jumped up very lively, I warrant you, beingtroops of some little discipline already; and I spoke civilly to theirsergeant and went over to the girl, Penelope, who had risen, bowl in onehand, spoon in t'other, and looking upon me very hard out of her browneyes.
"Come," said I pleasantly, "you have kept your word to me and I mean tokeep mine to you. My mare is saddled for you."
"You take me to Caughnawaga, sir!" she exclaimed, setting bowl and spoonaside.
"Tomorrow. Tonight you shall ride with us to the Summer House, where Ipromise you a bed."
I held out my hand. She placed hers within it, looked shyly at theContinentals where they stood, dropped a curtsey to all, and went outbeside me.
"Is there news?" she asked as I lifted her to the saddle.
"Sir John is gone."
"I meant news from Caughnawaga."
"Why, yes. All is safe there. A regiment of Continentals passed throughCaughnawaga today with their waggons. So, for the time at least, all isquite secure along the Mohawk."
"Thank you," she said in a low voice.
I led the horse back to the road, where my little squad of men waswaiting me, and who fell in behind me, astonished, I think, as I startedeast by north once more along the Mayfield road.
Presently Nick stole to my side through the darkness, not a whitembarrassed by my new military rank.
"Why, John," says he in a guarded voice, "is this not the Scotch girl ofCaughnawaga who rides your mare, Kaya?"
I told him how she had come to the Bowmans the night before, and how,having stolen my mare, I bargained with her and must send her or guideher myself on the morrow to Cayadutta.
I was conscious of his stifled mirth but paid no heed, for we wereentering the pineries now, where all was inky dark, and the trail to befollowed only by touch of foot.
"Drop your bridle; Kaya will follow me," I called back softly to thegirl, Penelope. "Hold to the saddle and be not afraid."
"I am not afraid," said she.
We were now moving directly toward Fonda's Bush, and not three milesfrom my own house, but presently we crossed the brook, ascended a hill,and so came out of the pinery and took a wide and starlit waggon-pathwhich bore to the left, running between fields where great stumps stood.
This was Sir William's carriage road to the Point; and twice we crossedthe Kennyetto by shallow fords.
Close beside this carriage path on the north, and following all the way,ran the Iroquois war trail, hard and clean as a sheep walk, worn morethan a foot deep by the innumerable moccasined feet that had trodden itthrough the ages.
Very soon we passed Nine-Mile Tree, a landmark of Sir William's, whichwas a giant pine left by the road to tower in melancholy majesty allalone.
When I rode the hills as Brent-Meester, this pine was like a guide postto me, visible for miles.
Now, as I passed, I looked at it in the silvery dusk of the stars andsaw some strange object shining on the bark.
"What is that shining on Nine-Mile Tree?" said I to Nick. He ran acrossthe road; we marched on, I leading, then the Scotch girl on my mare,then my handful of men trudging doggedly with pieces a-trail.
A moment later Nick same swiftly to my side and nudged me; and lookingaround I saw an Indian hatchet in his hand, the blade freshlybrightened.
"It was sticking in the tree," he breathed. "My God, John, the Iroquoisare out!"
Chill after chill crawled up my back as I began to understand thesignificance of that freshly polished little war-axe with its limberhelve of hickory worn slippery by long usage, and its loop of braideddeer-hide blackened by age.
"Was there aught else?" I whispered.
"Nothing except this Mohawk hatchet struck deep into the bark ofNine-Mile Tree, and sticking there."
"Do you know what it means, Nick?"
"Aye. Also, it is an _old_ war-axe _newly_ polished. And struck deepinto the tallest pine in Tryon. Any fool must know what all this means.Shall you speak of this to the others, John?"
"Yes," said I, "they must know at once."
I waited for Kaya to come up, laid my hand on the bridle and called backin a low voice to my men: "Boys, an Indian war-axe was left sticking inNine-Mile Tree. Nick drew it out. The hatchet is an old one, but _it isnewly polished_!"
"Sacre garce!" whispered Silver fiercely. "Now, grace a dieu, shall Ireckon with those dirtee trap-robbers who take my pelts like thecarcajou! Ha! So is it war? A la bonheur! Let them come for my hairthen! And if they get Johnny Silver's hair they may paint the Little RedFoot on the hoop, nom de dieu!"
"Get along forward, boys," said I. "Some of you keep an eye on themountains lest they begin calling to Sir John with fire----"
"A flame on Maxon!" whispered Nick at my elbow.
I jerked my head around as though I had been shot. There it rose, a thinred streak above the blunt headland that towered over the Drowned Lands.Steadily as a candle's flame in a still room, it burned for a fewmoments, then was shattered into crimson jets.
Far to the North, on some invisible mountain, a faint crimson flarereplied.
Nobody spoke, but I knew that every eye was fixed on those Indiansignal-fires as we moved rapidly forward into the swale country whereswampy willows spread away on either hand and little pools of watercaught the starlight.
The road, too, had become wet, and water stood in the ruts; and everyfew minutes we crossed corduroy.
"Yonder stands the Summer House," whispered Nick.
A ridge of hard land ran out into the reed-set water. A hinged gatebarred the neck. Nick swung it wide; I led my mare and her rider throughit; posted Godfrey and Silver there; posted Luysnes and De Golyer ahundred paces inland near the apple trees; left Nick by the well, and,walking beside my mare, continued on to the little green and whitehunting lodge where, through the crescents of closed shutters, rays oflight streamed out into the night.
Here I lifted the Scotch girl from her saddle, walked with her to thekitchen porch, and knocked softly on the kitchen door.
After a while I could hear a stirring within, voices, steps.
"Nicholas! Pontioch! Flora!" I called in guarded tones.
Presently I heard Flora's voice inquiring timidly who I might be.
"Mr. Drogue is arrived to await her ladyship's commands," said I.
At that the bolts slid and the door creaked open. Black Flora stoodthere in her yellow night shift, rolling enormous eyes at me, and behindher I saw Colas with a lighted dip, gaping to see me enter with astrange woman.
"Is your mistress here?" I demanded.
"Yassuh," answered Flora, "mah lady done gone to baid, suh."
"Who else is here? Mistress Swift?"
"Is there a spare bed?"
Flora rolled suspicious eyes at the Scotch girl, but thought there was abed in Sir William's old gun room.
I waited until the black wench had made sure, then bade Colas look to mymare, said a curt good-night to Penelope Grant, and went out to unrollmy blanket on the front porch.
When I whistled softly Nick came across the garden from the well.
"Lady Johnson is here," said I. "Yonder lies my blanket. I stand firstwatch. Go you and sleep now while you can----"
"Sleep first, John. I am not weary----"
"Remember I am your officer, Nick!"
"Oh, hell!" quoth he. "That does not awe me, John. What awes me in youis your kindness--and to remember that your ancestors wore their goldrings upon their fingers."
I passed my arm about his shoulders, then released him and went slowlyover to the well. And here I primed my rifle with bright, dry powder,shouldered it, and began to walk my post at a brisk pace to cheat thesleep which meddled with my heavy eyes and set me yawning till my youngjaws crackled.
The Little Red Foot Page 10
