The Little Red Foot

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXIV

  GREEN-COATS

  Nothing stirred on the Drowned Lands as we drove our canoe at top speedbetween tall bronzed stalks of rushes and dead water-weeds. Vlaie Waterwas intensely blue and patched with golden debris of floatingstuff--shreds of cranberry vine, rotting lily pads, and the like--and intwenty minutes we floated silently into the Spring Pool, opposite theStacking Ridge, where hard earth bordered both shores and where maplesand willows were now in lusty bud.

  Two miles away, against Maxon's sturdy bastion, a vast quantity of smokewas writhing upward in dark and cloudy convolutions. I could not seeFish House--that oblong, unpainted building a story and a half inheight, with its chimneys of stone and the painted fish weather vaneswimming in the sky. But I was convinced that it was afire.

  We beached our canoe and drew it under the shore-reeds, and so passedrapidly down the right bank of the stream along the quick water, holdingour guns cocked and primed, like hunters ready for a hazard shot atsight.

  There was no snow left; all frost was out of the ground along theDrowned Lands; and the earth was sopping wet. Everywhere frail greenspears of new grass pricked the dead and matted herbage; and insheltered places tiny green leaves embroidered stems and twigs; and Isaw wind-flowers, and violets both yellow and blue, and the amber shootsof skunk cabbage growing thickly in wet places. The shadbush, too, wasin exquisite white bloom along the stream, and I remember that I saw onetree in full flower, and a dozen bluejays sitting amid the snowyblossoms like so many lumps of sapphire.

  Now, on the mainland, a clearing showed in the sunshine; and beyond it Isaw a rail fence bounding a field still black and wet from last autumn'splowing.

  We took to the brush and bore to the right, where on firm ground a groveof ash and butternut forested the ridge, and a sandy path ran through.

  I knew this path. Sir William often used it when hunting, and his cows,kept at Fish House when his two daughters lived there, travelled thisway to and from pasture.

  Between us and the Sacandaga lay one of those grassy gulleys where, intime of flood, back-water from the Sacandaga spread deep.

  My Indian and I now lay down and drew our bodies very stealthily towardthe woods' edge, where the setback from the river divided us from FishHouse.

  Ahead of us, through the trees, dense volumes of smoke crowded upwardand unfolded into strange, cloudy shapes, and we could hear a loud andsteady crackling noise made by feeding flames.

  Presently, through the trees, I saw Fish House all afire, and now only aglowing skeleton in the sunshine. But the dense smoke came not now fromFish House, but from three barracks of marsh-hay burning, which vomitedthick smoke into the sky. Near the house some tall piles of hewn logswere blazing, also a corn-crib, a small barn, and a log farmhouse, whereI think that damned rascal, Wormwood, once lived. And it had been boughtby a tenant of Sir William,--one of the patriot Shews or Helmers, if Imistake not, who was given favourable advantages to undertake such asettlement, but now had fled to Johnstown.

  Godfrey Shew's own house, just over the knoll to the eastward, was alsoon fire: I could see the flames from it and a thin brownish smoke whichbelched out black cinders and shreds of charred bark.

  I did not see a living creature near these fires, but farther toward theeast clearing I heard voices and the sound of picks and axes; and mySaguenay and I crept thither along the bank of the flooded hollow.

  Very soon I perceived the new earthwork and log-stockade made theprevious summer by our Continentals; and there, to my astonishment, Isaw a motley company of white men and Indians, who were chopping downthe timbers of the palisades, levelling the earthwork with pick andshovel.

  So near were they across the flooded hollow that I recognized EliasBeacraft, brother to Benjy, who had gone off with McDonald. Also, I sawand knew Captain James Hare, brother to Lieutenant Henry Hare, ofButler's regiment; and Henry, also, was there; and Captain Nellis, ofthe forester service. Both the Hares and Nellis were dressed in greenuniforms, and there were two other green-coats whom I knew not, but allbusy with their work of destruction, and their axes flashing in thesunshine.

  The others I had, of course, taken for very savages, for they werefeathered and painted and wore Indian dress; but when one of these camedown to the flooded hollow to fill his tin cup and drink, to my horror Isaw that the eyes in that hideously-painted face were a _light blue_!

  "Nai! Yengese!" whispered the Yellow Leaf.

  The painted Tory was not ten yards from where we lay, and, as I gazedintently at those hideously daubed features, all at once I knew the man.

  For this horrid and grotesque figure, all besmeared with ochre andindigo, and wearing Indian dress, was none other than an old neighbourof mine in Tryon County, one George Cuck, who lived near Jan Zuyler andhis two buxom daughters, and who had gone off with Sir John last May.

  As I stared at him in ever-rising astonishment and rage, comes another_blue-eyed Indian_--Barney Cane,--wearing Iroquois paint and feathers,and all gaudy in his beaded war-dress. And, at his belt, I saw a freshscalp hanging by its hair,--_the light brown hair of a white man_!

  I could hear Cane speaking with Cuck in English. Beacraft came down tothe water; and Billy Newberry[22] and Hare[22] also came down, bothwearing the uniform of the forester service. And I was astounded to seeHenry Hare back again after his narrow escape at Summer House lastautumn, the night I got my hurt.

  [Footnote 22: This same man, William Newberry, a sergeant in Butler'sregiment; and Henry Hare, lieutenant in the same regiment, were caughtinside the American lines, court-martialed, convicted of unspeakablecruelties, and Were hung as spies by order of General Clinton, July 6th,1779.]

  But he wore no Valley militia disguise now; all these men were ingreen-coats, openly flaunting the enemy uniform in County Tryon,--saveonly those painted beasts Cuck and Cane.

  It was a war party, and it had accomplished a clean job at Fish House;and now they all were coming down to the flooded hollow and lookingacross it where lay the short route west to Summer House.

  Presently I heard a great splashing to our left, and saw a skiff and twogreen-coats and two Mohawk Indians in it pulling across the back-water.

  And these latter were real Mohawks, stripped, oiled, their heads shaved,and in their battle-paint, who squatted there in the skiff, scanningwith glowing eyes the bank where my Saguenay and I lay concealed.

  It was perfectly plain, now, what they meant to do. Beacraft, Cane, andCuck went back to the ruined redoubt, and presently returned loaded withpacks. Baggage and rifles were laid in the skiff.

  I touched Yellow Leaf on the arm, and we wriggled backward out of sight.Then, rising, we turned and pulled foot for our canoe.

  Now my chiefest anxiety was whether Penelope and Nick had got clean awayand were already well on the road to the Mayfield Block House.

  We found our canoe where we had hid it, and we made the still water boilwith our two paddles, so that, although it seemed an age to me, we camevery swiftly to our landing at Summer House Point.

  Here we sprang out, seized the canoe, ran with it up the grassy slope,then continued over the uncut lawn and down the western slope, whereagain we launched it and let it swing on the water, held anchored by itsnose on shore.

  House, barn, orchard, all were deathly still there in the brilliantsunshine; I ran to the manger and found it empty of cattle. There wereno fowls to be seen or heard, either. Then I hastened to the sheep-fold.That, also, was empty.

  Perplexed, I ran down to the gates, found them open, and, in the mud ofthe Johnstown Road, discovered sheep and cattle tracks, the imprint ofKaya's sharp-shod hoofs, a waggon mark, and the plain imprint of Nick'smoccasins.

  So it was clear enough what he and Penelope had done. A terrible anxietyseized me, and I wondered how far they had got on the way to Mayfield,with cattle and sheep to drive ahead of a loaded waggon and one horse.

  And now, more than ever, it was certain that my Indian and I must make adesperate stand here to hold back these mar
auders until our people weresafe in Mayfield without a shadow of doubt.

  The Saguenay had gone to the veranda roof with his rifle, where he couldsee any movement by land or water.

  I called up to him that the destructives might come by both routes; thenI went to my room, gathered all the lead bars and bags of bullets,seized our powder keg, and dragged all down to the water, where I storedeverything in the canoe.

  That was all I could take, save a sack of ground corn mixed with maplesugar, a flask of rum, and a bag of dry meat.

  These articles, with our fur robes and blankets, a fish-spear, and aspontoon which I discovered, were all I dared attempt to save.

  I stood in the pretty house, gazing desperately about me, sad to leavethis place to flames, furious to realize that this little lodge mustperish, which once was endeared to me because Sir William loved it, andnow had become doubly dear because I had given it to a young girl whom Iloved--and tenderly--yet desired not to become enamoured with.

  Sunshine fell through the glazed windows, where chintz curtains stirredin the wind.

  I looked around at the Windsor chairs, the table where we had suppedtogether so often. I went into Penelope's room and looked at her maplebed, so white and fresh.

  There was a skein of wool yarn on the table. I took it; gazed at it withnew and strange emotions a-fiddling at my throat and twitching eyes andlips; and placed it in the breast of my hunting shirt.

  Then I listened; but my Indian overhead remained silent. So I went onthrough the house, and then down to the kitchen, where I saw all sweetlyin order, and pan and china bright; and soupaan still simmering wherePenelope had left it.

  There was a bowl of milk there, and the cream thick on it. And she hadset a dozen red apples handy, with flour and spices and a crock of lardfor to fashion a pie, I think.

  Slowly I went up stairs and then out the kitchen door, across the grass.The Saguenay saw me from above and made a sign that all was still quieton the Drowned Lands.

  So I went to the manger again, and thence to the barn and around thehouse.

  The lilacs had bursted their buds, and I could see tiny bunches pushingout on every naked stem where the fragrant, grape-like bunches of bloomshould hang in May.

  Then I looked down, and remembered where I had lain in the snow underthese same lilacs, and how there Penelope had bullied me and thenconsented to kiss me on the mouth.... And, as I was thinking sadly ofthese things,--bang! went my Indian's rifle from the veranda roof.

  I sprang out upon the west lawn and saw the powder cloud drifting overthe house, and my Indian, sheltered by the roof, reloading his piece onone knee.

  "By water!" he called out softly, when he saw me.

  At that I ran into the house by the front door, which faced south;closed and bolted the four heavy green shutters in the two rooms on theground floor, barred the south door and the west, or kitchen door below;and sprang up the ladder to the low loft chamber, from whence, stooping,I crept out of the south-gable window upon the veranda.

  This piazza promenade was nearly as high as the eaves. The gable ends ofthe roof, in which were windows, faced north and south, but thepromenade ran all around the east end and sides, which, supported bycolumns, afforded a fine rifle-platform for defense against a waterattack, and gave us a wide view out over the mysterious Drowned Lands.

  It was a vast panorama that lay around us--a great misty amphitheatremore than a hundred miles in circumference. At our feet lay that immensemarsh of fifteen thousand acres, called the Great Vlaie; mountainswalled the Drowned Lands north, east, west; and to the south stretched awilderness of pine and spectral tamaracks.

  Lying flat on the roof, and peering cautiously between the spindles ofthe railing, I saw, below on the Vlaie Water, the same skiff I had seenat Fish House.

  In the heavy skiff, the gunwales of which were barricaded with theirmilitary packs, lay six green-coats,--Captains Hare and Nellis, SergeantNewberry, Beacraft, and two strangers in private's uniform.

  They had a white flag set in the prow.

  But the two blue-eyed Indians, Barney Cane and George Cuck, were notwith them, nor were the two Mohawks. And in a whisper I bade my Saguenaygo around to the south gable and keep his eye on the gate and theJohnstown Road on the mainland.

  Hare took the white flag from the prow and waved it, the two rowerscontinuing up creek and heading toward our landing.

  Then I called out to them to halt and back water; and, as they paid noheed, I fired at their white flag, and knocked the staff and rag out ofHare's hand without wounding him.

  At that two or three cried out angrily, but their rowers ceased andbegan to back water hastily; and I, reloading, kept an eye on them.

  Then Hare stood up in the skiff and bawled through his hollowed hand:

  "Will you parley? Or do you wish to violate a flag?"

  "Keep your interval, Henry Hare!" I retorted. "If you have anything tosay, say it from where you are or I'll drill you clean!"

  "Is that John Drogue, the Brent-Meester?" he shouted.

  "None other," said I. "What brings you to Summer House in such fairweather, Harry Hare?"

  "I wish to land and parley," he replied. "You may blindfold me if youlike."

  "When I put out your lights," said I, "it will be a quicker job thanthat. What do you wish to do--count our garrison?"

  Captain Nellis got up from his seat and replied that he knew how manypeople occupied Summer House, and that, desiring to prevent the uselesseffusion of blood, he demanded our surrender under promise of kindtreatment.

  I laughed at him. "No," said I, "my hair suits my head and I like itthere rather than swinging all red and wet at the girdle of yourblue-eyed Indians."

  As I spoke I saw Newberry and Beacraft bring the butts of their riflesto their shoulders, and I shrank aside as their pieces cracked outsharply across the water.

  Splinters flew from the painted column on the corner of the house; thegreen-coats all fell flat in their skiff and lay snug there, hidden bytheir packs.

  Presently, as I watched, I saw an oar poked out.

  Very cautiously somebody was sculling the skiff down stream and acrossin the direction of the reeds.

  As the craft turned to enter the marsh, I had a fleeting view of thesculler--only his head and arm--and saw it was Eli Beacraft.

  I was perfectly cool when I fired on him. He let go his oar and fellflat on the bottom of the boat. The echo of my shot died away inwavering cadences among the shoreward woods; an intense stillnesspossessed the place.

  Then, of a sudden, Beacraft fell to kicking his legs and screeching, andso flopped about in the bottom of the boat, like a stranded fish allover blood.

  The boat nosed in between the marsh-grasses and tall sedge, and I couldnot see it clearly any more.

  But the green-coats in it were no sooner hid than they began firing atSummer House, and the storm of lead ripped and splintered the galleryand eaves, tore off shingles, shattered chimney bricks, and rang outloud on the iron hinges of door and shutter.

  I fired a few shots into their rifle-smoke, then lay watching andwaiting, and listening ever for the loud explosion of my Indian's piece,which would mean that the painted Tories and the Mohawks were stealingupon us from the mainland.

  Every twenty minutes or so the men in the batteau-skiff let off a rifleshot at Summer House, and the powder-cloud rising among the dead weeds,pinxters, and button-ball bushes, discovered the location of theircraft.

  Sometimes, as I say, I took a shot at the smoke; but time was theessence of my contract, and God knows it contented me to stand siegewhilst Penelope and Nick, with waggon and cattle, were plodding westwardtoward Mayfield.

  * * * * *

  About four o'clock in the afternoon I was hungry and went to get me apiece in the pantry.

  Then I took Yellow Leaf's place whilst he descended to appease hishunger.

  We ate our bread and meat together on the roof, our rifles lying cockedacross our knees.


  "Brother," said I, munching away, "if, indeed, you be, as they say, atree-eater, and live on bark and buds when there is no game to kill,then I think your stomach suffers nothing by such diet, for I want nobetter comrade in a pinch, and shall always be ready to bear witness toyour bravery and fidelity."

  He continued to eat in silence, scraping away at his hot soupaan with apewter spoon. After he had licked both spoon and pannikin as clean as acat licks a saucer, he pulled a piece of jerked deer meat in two andgravely chewed the morsel, his small, brilliant eyes ever roving fromthe water to the mainland.

  Presently, without looking at me, he said quietly:

  "When I was only a poor hunter of the Montagnais, I said to myself, 'Iam a man, yet hardly one.'[23] I learned that a Saguenay was a real manwhen my brother told me.

  [Footnote 23: Kon-kwe-ha. Literally, "I am a little of a real man."]

  "My brother cleared my eyes and wiped away the ancient mist of tears. Ilooked; and lo! I found that I was a real man. I was made like other menand not like a beast to be kicked at and stoned and driven with sticksflung at me in the forest."

  "The Yellow Leaf is a warrior," I said. "The Oneida Anowara[24] bearwitness to scalps taken in battle by the Yellow Leaf. Tahioni, the Wolf,took no more."

  [Footnote 24: "Tortoise," or Noble Clan.]

  "Ni-ha-ron-ta-kowa,"[25] said the Saguenay proudly, "onkwe honwe![26]Yet it was my _white_ brother who cleared my eyes of mist. Therefore,let him give me a new name--a warrior's name--meaning that my vision isnow clear."

  [Footnote 25: He is an Oneida.]

  [Footnote 26: "A real man," in Canienga dialect. The Saguenay's Iroquoisis mixed and imperfect.]

  "Very well," said I, "your war name shall be Sak-yen-haton!"[27]--whichwas as good Iroquois as I could pronounce, and good enough for theMontagnais to comprehend, it seemed, for a gleam shot from his eyes, andI heard him say to himself in a low voice: "Haiah-ya! I am a realwarrior now!... Onenh! at last!"

  [Footnote 27: "Disappearing Mist"--Sakayen-gwaration.]

  A shot came from the water; he looked around contemptuously and smiled.

  "My elder brother," said he, "shall we two strip and set our knivesbetween our teeth, and swim out to scalp those muskrats yonder?"

  "And if they fire at us in the water?" said I, amused at his madcourage, who had once been "hardly a man."

  "Then we dive like Tchurako, the mink, and swim beneath the water, asswims old 'long face' the great wolf-pike![28] Shall we rush upon themthus, O my elder brother?"

  [Footnote 28: Che-go-sis--pickerel. In the Oneida dialect, Ska-ka-lux or_Bad-eye_.]

  Absurd as it was, the wild idea began to inflame me, and I was seriouslyconsidering our chances at twilight to accomplish such a business, when,of a sudden, I saw on the mainland an officer of the Indian Department,who bore a white rag on the point of his hanger and waved it toward thehouse.

  He came across the Johnstown Road to our gate, but made no motion toopen it, and stood there slowly waving his white flag and waiting to benoticed and hailed.

  "Keep your rifle on that man," I whispered to my Indian, "for I shall godown to the orchard and learn what are the true intentions of thesegreen-coats and blue-eyed Indians. Find a rest for your piece, holdsteadily, and kill that flag if I am fired on."

  I saw him stretch out flat on his belly and rest his rifle on theveranda rail. Then I crawled into the garret, descended through thedarkened house, and, unbolting the door, went out and down across thegrass to the orchard.

  "What is your errand?" I called out, "you flag there outside our gate?"

  "Is that you, John Drogue?" came a familiar voice.

  I took a long look at him from behind my apple tree, and saw it was JockCampbell, one of Sir John's Highland brood and late a subaltern in theRoyal Provincials.

  And that he should come here in a green coat with these murderousvagabonds incensed me.

  "What do you want, Jock Campbell!" I demanded, controlling my temper.

  "I want a word with you under a flag!"

  "Say what you have to say, but keep outside that gate!" I retorted.

  "John Drogue," says he, "we came here to burn Summer House, and mean todo it. We know how many you have to defend the place----"

  "Oh, do you know that? Then tell me, Jock, if you truly possess theinformation."

  "Very well," said he calmly. "You are two white men, a Montagnais dog,and a girl. And pray tell me, sir, how long do you think you can hold usoff?"

  "Well," said I, "if you are as thrifty with your skins as you have beenall day, then we should keep this place a week or two against you."

  "What folly!" he exclaimed hotly. "Do you think to prevail against us?"

  "Why, I don't know, Jock. Ask Beacraft yonder, who hath a bullet in hisbelly. He's wiser than he was and should offer you good counsel."

  "I offer you safe conduct if you march out at once!" he shouted.

  "I offer you one of Beacraft's pills if you do not instantly about faceand march into the bush yonder!" I replied.

  At that he dashed the flag upon the road and shook his naked sword atme.

  "Your blood be on your heads!" he bawled. "I can not hold my Indians ifyou defy them longer!"

  "Well, then, Jock," said I, "I'll hold 'em for you, never fear!"

  He strode to the fence and grasped it.

  "Will you march out? Shame on you, Stormont, who are seduced by thisYankee rabble o' rebels when your place is with Sir John and with theloyal gentlemen of Tryon!

  "For the last time, then, will you parley and march out? Or shall I giveyou and your Caughnawaga wench to my Indians?"

  I walked out from behind my tree and drew near the fence, where he wasstanding, his sword hanging from one wrist by the leather knot.

  "Jock Campbell," said I, "you are a great villain. Do you lay aside yourhanger and your pistols, and I will set my rifle here, and we shall soonsee what your bragging words are worth."

  At that he drove his sword into the earth, but, as I set my rifleagainst a tree, he lifted his pistol and fired at me, and I felt thewind of the bullet on my right cheek.

  Then he snatched his sword and was already vaulting the gate, when mySaguenay's bullet caught him in mid-air, and he fell across the top railand slid down on the muddy road outside.

  Then, for the first time, I saw the two real Mohawks where they lay inambush in the bush. One of them had risen to a kneeling position, and Isaw the red flash of his piece and saw the smoke blot out thetree-trunk.

  For a second I held my fire; then saw them both on the ground under thealders across the road, and fired very carefully at the nearest one.

  He dropped his gun and let out a startling screech, tried to get up offthe ground, screeching all the while; then lay scrabbling on the deadleaves.

  I stepped behind an apple tree, primed and reloaded in desperate haste,and presently drew the fire of the other Indian with my cap on myramrod.

  Then, as I ran to the gate, my Saguenay rushed by me, leaping the fenceat a great bound, and I saw his up-flung hatchet sparkle, and heard itcrash through bone.

  I shouted for him to come back, but when he obeyed he had two Mohawkscalps,[29] and came reluctantly, glancing down at Campbell where he laystill breathing on the muddy road, and darting an uncertain glance atme.

  [Footnote 29: In October, 1919, the author talked to a farmer and hisson, who, a few days previously, while digging sand to mend theJohnstown road at this point, had disinterred two skeletons which hadbeen buried there. From the shape of the skulls, it is presumed that theremains were Indian.]

  But I told him with an oath that it would be an insult to me if hetouched a white man's hair in my presence; and he opened the gate andcame inside like a great, sullen dog from whom I had snatched a bone ofhis own digging.

  Very cautiously we retreated through the orchard to the house, entered,and climbed again to the roof.

  And from there we saw that, in our absence, the boat had been rowed toour landing, an
d that its occupants were now somewhere on the mainland,doubtless preparing to assault the place as soon as dusk offered themsufficient cover.

  Well, the game was nearly up now. Our people should have arrived by thistime at Mayfield with sheep, cattle, and waggon. We had remained here tothe limit of safety, and there was no hope of aid in time to save ourskins or this house from destruction.

  The sun was low over the forest when, at length, we crept out of thehouse and stole down to our canoe.

  We made no sound when we embarked, and our craft glided away under therushes, driven by cautiously-dipped paddles which left only silentlittle swirls on the dark and glassy stream.

  Up Mayfield Creek we turned, which, above, is not fair canoe-water saveat flood; but now the spring melting filled it brimfull, and a heavycurrent set into Vlaie Water so that there was labour ahead for us; andwe bent to it as dusk fell over the Drowned Lands.

  * * * * *

  It was not yet full dark when, over my shoulder, I saw a faint roselight in the north. And I knew that Summer House was on fire.

  Then, swiftly the rosy light grew to a red glow, and, as we watched, agreat conflagration flared in the darkness, mounting higher, burningredder, fiercer, till, around us, vague smouldering shadows moved, andthe water was touched with ashy glimmerings.

  Summer House was all afire, and the infernal light touched us even here,painting our features and the paddle-blades, and staining the dark waterwith a prophecy of blood.

  * * * * *

  It was a long and irksome paddle, what with floating trees weencountered and the stream over its banks and washing us into sedge andbrush and rafts of weed in the darkness. Again and again, checked bysome high dam of drifted windfall, we were forced to make a swampycarry, waist high through bog and water.

  Often, so, we were forced to rest; and we sat silent, panting,skin-soaked in the chilly night air, gazing at the distant fire, which,though now miles away, seemed so near. And I could even see trees blackagainst the blaze, and smoke rolling turbulently, and a great whirl ofsparks mounting skyward.

  It was long past midnight when I hailed the picket at the grist-mill anddrove our canoe shoreward into the light of a lifted lantern.

  "Is Nick Stoner in?" I called out.

  "All safe!" replied somebody on shore.

  A dark figure came down to the water and took hold of our bow to steadyus.

  "Summer House and Fish House are burned," said I, climbing out stiffly.

  "Aye," said the soldier, "and what of Fonda's Bush, Mr. Drogue?"

  "What!" I exclaimed, startled.

  "Look yonder," said he.

  I scarce know how I managed to stumble up the bushy bank. And then, whenI came out on level land near the block house, I saw fire to thesoutheast, and the sky crimson above the forest.

  "My God!" I stammered, "Fonda's Bush is all afire!"

  There was a red light toward Frenchman's Creek, too, but where Fonda'sBush should lie a vast sea of fire rose and ebbed and waxed and fadedabove the forest.

  "Were any people left there?" I asked.

  "None, sir."

  "Thank God," I said. But my heart was desolate, for now my house of logsthat I had builded and loved was gone; my glebe destroyed; all my toilcome to naught in the distant mockery of those shaking flames. All I hadin the world was gone save for my slender funds in Albany.

  "Where are my friends?" said I to a soldier.

  "At the Block House, sir, and very anxious concerning you. They have notlong been in, but Nick Stoner is all for going back to Summer House todiscover your whereabouts, and has been beating up recruits for a flyingscout."

  Even as he spoke, I saw Nick come up the road with a torch, and calledout to him.

  "Where have you been, John Drogue?" said he, coming to me and laying ahand on my shoulder.

  "Is Penelope safe?" I asked.

  "She is as safe as are any here in Mayfield. Is it Summer House thatburns in the north, or only the marsh hay?"

  "The whole place is afire," said I. "A dozen green-coats, blue-eyedIndians, and two real ones, burnt Fish House and attacked us at SummerHouse. I saw and knew Jock Campbell, Henry Hare, Billy Newberry, BarneyCane, Eli Beacraft, and George Cuck. My Saguenay mortally wounded Jock.He's lying on the road. He tomahawked a Canienga, too, and took hisscalp and another's."

  "Did _you_ mark any of the dirty crew?" demanded Nick.

  "I shot Beacraft and one Mohawk. How many are we at the Block House?"

  "A full company to hold it safe," said he, gloomily. "Do you know thatFonda's Bush is burning?"

  "Yes."

  After a silence I said: "Who commands here? I think we ought to movetoward Johnstown this night. I don't know how many green-coats have cometo the Sacandaga, but it must have been another detachment that isburning Fonda's Bush."

  As I spoke a Continental Captain followed by a Lieutenant came up in thetorch-light; and I gave him his salute and rendered an account of whathad happened on the Drowned Lands.

  He seemed deeply disturbed but told me he had orders to defend theMayfield Fort. He added, however, that if I must report at Johnstown hewould give me a squad of musket-men as escort thither.

  "Yes, sir," said I, "my report should not be delayed. But I have NickStoner and an Indian, and apprehend no danger. So if I may beg a dish ofporridge for my little company, and dry my clothing by your block-housefire-place, I shall set out within the hour."

  He was very civil,--a tall, haggard, careworn man, whose wife andchildren lived at Torloch, and their undefended situation caused himdeep anxiety.

  So I walked to the Fort, Nick and my Indian following; and presently sawPenelope on the rifle-platform of the stockade, among the soldiers.

  She was gazing at the fiery sky in the north when I caught sight of herand called her name.

  For a moment she bent swiftly down over the pickets as though to piercethe dark where my voice came from; then she turned, and was descendingthe ladder when I entered by the postern.

  As I came up she took my shoulders between both hands, but said nothing,and I saw she had trouble to speak.

  "Yes," said I, "there is bad news for you. Your pretty Summer House isno more, Penelope."

  "Oh," she stammered, "did you--did you suppose it was the loss of ahouse that has driven me out o' my five senses?"

  "Are your sheep and cattle safe?" I asked in sudden alarm.

  "My God," she breathed, and stood with her face in both hands, there atthe foot of the ladder under the April stars.

  "What is it frightens you?" I asked.

  Her hands fell to her side and she looked at me: "Nothing, sir....Unless it be myself," she said calmly. "Your clothing is wet and you areshivering. Will you come into the fort?"

  We went in. I remembered how I had seen her there that night, nearly ayear ago, and all the soldiers gathered around to entertain her, whilstshe supped on porridge and smiled upon them over her yellow bowl's edge,like a very child.

  The few soldiers inside rose respectfully. A sergeant drew a settle tothe blazing fire; a soldier brought us soupaan and a gill of rum. Nickcame in with the Saguenay, and they both squatted down in their blanketsbefore the fire, grave as a pair o' cats; and there they ate their fillof porridge at our feet, and blinked at the blaze and smoked their claysin silence.

  I told Penelope that we must travel this night to Johnstown, it being myduty to give an account of what had happened, without delay.

  "There can be no danger to us on the road," said I, "but the thought ofleaving you here in this fort disturbs me."

  "What would I do here alone?" she asked.

  "What will you do alone in Johnstown?" I inquired in turn.

  At the same time I realized that we both were utterly homeless; and thatin Johnstown our shelter must be a tavern, or, if danger threatened, thefortified jail called Johnstown Fort.

  "You will not abandon me, will you, sir?" she asked, touching my sleevewith
the pretty confidence of a child.

  "Why, no," said I. "We can lodge at Jimmy Burke's Tavern. And there isNick to give us countenance--and a most respectable Indian."

  "Is it scandalous for me to go thither in your company?"

  "What else is there for us to do?"

  "I should go to Albany," said she, "as soon as may be. And I am resolvedto do so and to seek out Mr. Fonda and disembarrass you of any furthercare for me."

  "It is no burden," said I; "but I do not know where I shall be sent, nowthat the war is come to Tryon County. And--I can not bear to think ofyou alone and unprotected, living the miserable life of a refugee in thewomen's quarters at Johnstown Fort."

  "Does solicitude for my welfare truly occupy your thoughts, sir?"

  "Why, yes, and naturally. Are we not close friends and comrades inmisfortune, Penelope?"

  "I counted it no misfortune to live at Summer House."

  "No, nor I.... I was very happy there.... Alas for your prettycottage!--poor little chatelaine of Summer House!"

  "John Drogue?"

  "I hear you."

  "Did you suppose I ever meant to take that gift of you?"

  "Why--why, yes! I gave it! Even now I have the deed to the land andshall convey it to you. And one day, God willing, a new cottage shall bebuilt----"

  "Then you must build it, John Drogue, for the land is yours and I nevermeant to take it of you, and never shall.... And I thank you,--and amdeeply beholden--and touched in my heart's deep depths--that you haveoffered this to me.... Because you desired me to be respectable, andwell considered by men.... And you wished me to possess substance whichI lacked--so that none could dare use me lightly and withoutconsideration.... And I promise you that I have learned my lesson. Youhave schooled me well, Mr. Drogue.... And if for no other reason saverespect for you, and gratitude, I promise you I shall so conducthereafter that you shall have no reason to think contemptuously of me."

  "I never held you in contempt."

  "Yes; when I stole your horse; and when you deemed me easy--and provedme so----"

  "I meant it not that way!" said I, reddening.

  "Yet it was so, John Drogue. I was not difficult. I meant no harm, buthad not sense enough to know harm when it approached me!... And so Ithank you for schooling me. But I never could have taken any gift fromyou."

  After a silence I rose and went into the officer's quarters.

  The Continental Captain was lying on his trundle-bed, but got up andsent two men to harness Kaya to our waggon.

  I told him I should leave all stores and provisions with him, and askedif he would look after our sheep and cattle and fowls until they couldbe fetched to Johnstown and cared for there.

  He was a most kindly man, and promised to care for our creatures, sayingthat the eggs and milk would be welcome to his garrison, and that if hetook a lamb or two he would pay for it on demand.

  So when our waggon drove up in the darkness outside, he came and tookleave of us all very kindly, saying he hoped that Penelope would be safein Johnstown, and that the raiders would soon be driven out of theSacandaga.

  I gave him our canoe, for which he seemed grateful.

  Then I helped Penelope into the waggon, got in myself and took thereins. Nick and the Saguenay vaulted into the box and lay down on ourpile of furs and blankets.

  And so we drove out of the stockade and onto the Johnstown Road,Penelope in a wolf-robe beside me, and both her hands clasped around myleft arm.

  "Are you a-chill?" I asked.

  "I do not know what ails me," she murmured, "but--the world is so vastand dark.... and God is so far--so far----"

  "You are unhappy."

  "No."

  "You grieve for somebody?"

  "No, I do not grieve."

  "Are you lonesome?"

  "I do not know if I am.... I do not know why I tremble so.... The worldis so dark and vast.... I am so small a thing to be alone in it.... Itis the war, perhaps, that awes me. It seems so near now. Alas for thebattles to be fought!--the battles in the North.... Where you shall be,John Drogue."

  "You said that once before."

  "Yes. I saw you there against a cannon's rising cloud.... And a whiteshape near you."

  "You said it was Death," I reminded her.

  "Death or a bride.... I did not wish to see that vision. I never desireto see such things."

  "Pooh! Do you really believe in dreams, Penelope?"

  "There were strange uniforms there," she murmured, "--not red-coats."

  "Oh; green-coats!"

  "No. I never saw the like. I never saw such soldiery in England or inFrance or in America."

  "They were only dream soldiers," said I gaily. "So now you must laugh alittle, and take heart, Penelope, because if we two have been madehomeless this night by fire, still we are young, and in health, and haveall life before us. Come, then! Shall we be melancholy? And if there areto be battles in the North, why, there will be battles, and some mustdie and some survive.

  "So, in the meanwhile, shall we be merry?"

  "If you wish, sir."

  "Excellent! Sing me a pretty French song--low voiced--in my ear,Penelope, whilst I guide my horse."

  "What song, sir?"

  "What you will."

  So, holding my arm with both her hands, she leaned close to me on thejolting seat and placed her lips at my ear; and sang "Malbrook," as wedrove toward Johnstown through the dark forest under the April stars.

  Something hot touched my cheek.

  "Why, Penelope!" said I, "are you weeping?"

  She shook her head, rested her forehead a moment against my shoulder,and, sitting so, strove to continue--

  "Il ne--ne reviendra--"

  Her voice sank to a tremulous whisper and she bowed her face in her twohands and rested so in silence, her slender form swaying with theswaying waggon.

  It was plain to me that the child was afeard. The shock of flight, thelurid tokens of catastrophe in the heavens, the alarming rumours inthose darkening hours, anxiety, suspense, all had contributed to shake aheart both gentle and courageous.

  For in the thickening gloom around us a very murk of murder seemed tobrood over this dark and threatened land, seeming to grow more sinisterand more imminent as the fading crimson in the northern heavens paled toa sickly hue in the first faint pallor of the coming dawn.