Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  To this day I do not know what were Francis Nicholson’s motives. He wished the mountains crossed, but he cannot have expected to meet a pathfinder among the youth of the Tidewater. I think it was the whim of the moment. He would endow Elspeth, and at the same time test her cavaliers. To the ordinary man it seemed the craziest folly. Studd had been a wild fellow, half Indian in blood and wholly Indian in habits, and for another to travel fifty miles into the heart of the desert was to embrace destruction. The company sat very silent. Elspeth, with a blushing cheek, turned troubled eyes on the speaker.

  As for me, I had found the chance I wanted. I was on my feet in a second. “I will go,” I said; and I had hardly spoken when Grey was beside me, crying, “And I.”

  Still the company sat silent. ‘Twas as if the shadow of a sterner life had come over their young gaiety. Elspeth did not look at me, but sat with cast-down eyes, plucking feverishly at a rose. The Governor laughed out loud.

  “Brave hearts!” he cried. “Will you travel together?”

  I looked at Grey. “That can hardly be,” he said.

  “Well, we must spin for it,” said Nicholson, taking a guinea from his pocket. “Royals for Mr. Garvald, quarters for Mr. Grey,” he cried as he spun it.

  It fell Royals. We had both been standing, and Grey now bowed to me and sat down. His face was very pale and his lips tightly shut.

  The Governor gave a last toast “Let us drink,” he called, “to Dulcinea’s champion and the fortunes of his journey.” At that there was such applause you might have thought me the best-liked man in the dominion. I looked at Elspeth, but she averted her eyes.

  As we left the table I stepped beside Grey. “You must come with me,” I whispered. “Nay, do not refuse. When you know all you will come gladly.” And I appointed a meeting on the next day at the Half-way Tavern.

  I got to my house at the darkening, and found Ringan waiting for me.

  This time he had not sought a disguise, but he kept his fiery head covered with a broad hat, and the collar of his seaman’s coat enveloped his lower face. To a passer-by in the dusk he must have seemed an ordinary ship’s captain stretching his legs on land.

  He asked for food and drink, and I observed that his manner was very grave.

  “Are things in train, Andrew?” he asked.

  I told him “to the last stirrup buckle.”

  “It’s as well,” said he, “for the trouble has begun.”

  Then he told me a horrid tale. The Rapidan is a stream in the north of the dominion, flowing into the Rappahannock on its south bank. Two years past a family of French folk — D’Aubigny was their name — had made a home in a meadow by that stream and built a house and a strong stockade, for they were in dangerous nearness to the hills, and had no neighbours within forty miles. They were gentlefolk of some substance, and had carved out of the wilderness a very pretty manor with orchards and flower gardens. I had never been to the place, but I had heard the praise of it from dwellers on the Rappahannock. No Indians came near them, and there they abode, happy in their solitude — a husband and wife, three little children, two French servants, and a dozen negroes.

  A week ago tragedy had come like a thunderbolt. At night the stockade was broke, and the family woke from sleep to hear the war-whoop and see by the light of their blazing byres a band of painted savages. It seems that no resistance was possible, and they were butchered like sheep. The babes were pierced with stakes, the grown folk were scalped and tortured, and by sunrise in that peaceful clearing there was nothing but blood-stained ashes.

  Word had come down the Rappahannock. Ringan said he had heard it in Accomac, and had sailed to Sabine to make sure. Men had ridden out from Stafford county, and found no more than a child’s toy and some bloody garments.

  “Who did it?” I asked, with fury rising in my heart.

  “It’s Cherokee work. There’s nothing strange in it, except that such a deed should have been dared. But it means the beginning of our business. D’you think the Stafford folk will sleep in their beds after that? And that’s precisely what perplexes me. The Governor will be bound to send an expedition against the murderers, and they’ll not be easy found. But while the militia are routing about on the Rapidan, what hinders the big invasion to come down the James or the Chickahominy or the Pamunkey or the Mattaponey and find a defenceless Tidewater? As I see it, there’s deep guile in this business. A Cherokee murder is nothing out of the way, but these blackguards were not killing for mere pleasure. As I’ve said before, I would give my right hand to have better information. It’s this land business that fickles one. If it were a matter of islands and ocean bays, I would have long ago riddled out the heart of it.”

  “We’re on the way to get news,” I said, and I told him of my wager that evening.

  “Man, Andrew!” he cried, “it’s providential. There’s nothing to hinder you and me and a few others to ride clear into the hills, with the Tidewater thinking it no more than a play of daft young men. You must see Nicholson, and get him to hold his hand till we send him word. In two days Lawrence will be here, and we can post our lads on each of the rivers, for it’s likely any Indian raid will take one of the valleys. You must see that Governor of yours first thing in the morning, and get him to promise to wait on your news. Then he can get out his militia, and stir up the Tidewater. Will he do it, think you?”

  I said I thought he would.

  “And there’s one other thing. Would he agree to turning a blind eye to Lawrence, if he comes back? He’ll not trouble them in James Town, but he’s the only man alive to direct our own lads.”

  I said I would try, but I was far from certain. It was hard to forecast the mind of Governor Francis.

  “Well, Lawrence will come whether or no. You can sound the man, and if he’s dour let the matter be. Lawrence is now on the Roanoke, and his plan is to send out the word to-morrow and gather in the posts. He’ll come to Frew’s place on the South Fork River, which is about the middle of the frontier line. To-day is Monday, to-morrow the word will go out, by Friday the men will be ready, and Lawrence will be in Virginia. The sooner you’re off the better, Andrew. What do you say to Wednesday?”

  “That day will suit me fine,” I said; “but what about my company?”

  “The fewer the better. Who were you thinking of?”

  “You for one,” I said, “and Shalah for a second.”

  He nodded.

  “I want two men from the Rappahannock — a hunter of the name of Donaldson and the Frenchman Bertrand.”

  “That makes five. Would you like to even the number?”

  “Yes,” I said. “There’s a gentleman of the Tidewater, Mr. Charles Grey, that I’ve bidden to the venture.”

  Ringan whistled. “Are you sure that’s wise? There’ll be little use for braw clothes and fine manners in the hills.”

  “All the same there’ll be a use for Mr. Grey. When will you join us?”

  “I’ve a bit of business to do hereaways, but I’ll catch you up. Look for me at Aird’s store on Thursday morning.”

  CHAPTER 15. I GATHER THE CLANS

  I was at the Governor’s house next day before he had breakfasted. He greeted me laughingly.

  “Has the champion come to cry forfeit?” he asked. “It is a long, sore road to the hills, Mr. Garvald.”

  “I’ve come to make confession,” I said, and I plunged into my story of the work of the last months.

  He heard me with lowering brows, “Who the devil made you Governor of this dominion, sir? You have been levying troops without His Majesty’s permission. Your offence is no less than high treason. I’ve a pretty mind to send you to the guard-house.”

  “I implore you to hear me patiently,” I cried. Then I told him what I had learned in the Carolinas and at the outland farms. “You yourself told me it was hopeless to look for a guinea from the Council. I was but carrying out your desires. Can you blame me if I’ve toiled for the public weal and neglected my own fortunes?”

&n
bsp; He was scarcely appeased. “You’re a damnable kind of busybody, sir, the breed of fellow that plunges states into revolutions. Why, in Heaven’s name, did you not consult me?”

  “Because it was wiser not to,” I said stoutly. “Half my recruits are old soldiers of Bacon. If the trouble blows past, they go back to their steadings and nothing more is heard of it. If trouble comes, who are such natural defenders of the dominion as the frontier dwellers? All I have done is to give them the sinews of war. But if Governor Nicholson had taken up the business, and it were known that he had leaned on old rebels, what would the Council say? What would have been the view of my lord Howard and the wiseacres in London?”

  He said nothing, but knit his brows. My words were too much in tune with his declared opinions for him to gainsay them.

  “It comes to this, then,” he said at length. “You have raised a body of men who are waiting marching orders. What next, Mr. Garvald?”

  “The next thing is to march. After what befell on the Rapidan, we cannot sit still.”

  He started. “I have heard nothing of it.”

  Then I told him the horrid tale. He got to his feet and strode up and down the room, with his dark face working.

  “God’s mercy, what a calamity! I knew the folk. They came here with letters from his Grace of Shrewsbury. Are you certain your news is true?”

  “Alas! there is no doubt. Stafford county is in a ferment, and the next post from the York will bring you word.”

  “Then, by God, it is for me to move. No Council or Assembly will dare gainsay me. I can order a levy by virtue of His Majesty’s commission.”

  “I have come to pray you to hold your hand till I send you better intelligence,” I said.

  His brows knit again. “But this is too much. Am I to refrain from doing my duty till I get your gracious consent, sir?”

  “Nay, nay,” I cried. “Do not misunderstand me. This thing is far graver than you think, sir. If you send your levies to the Rapidan, you leave the Tidewater defenceless, and while you are hunting a Cherokee party in the north, the enemy will be hammering at your gates.”

  “What enemy?” he asked.

  “I do not know, and that is what I go to find out.” Then I told him all I had gathered about the unknown force in the hills, and the apparent strategy of a campaign which was beyond an Indian’s wits. “There is a white man at the back of it,” I said, “a white man who talks in Bible words and is mad for devastation.”

  His face had grown very solemn. He went to a bureau, unlocked it, and took from a drawer a bit of paper, which he tossed to me.

  “I had that a week past to-morrow. My servant got it from an Indian in the woods.”

  It was a dirty scrap, folded like a letter, and bearing the superscription, “To the man Francis Nicholson, presently Governor in Virginia.” I opened it and read:

  “Thou comest to me with a sword and with a spear and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.”

  “There,” I cried, “there is proof of my fears. What kind of Indian sends a message like that? Trust me, sir, there is a far more hellish mischief brewing than any man wots of.”

  “It looks not unlike it,” he said grimly. “Now let’s hear what you propose.”

  “I can have my men at their posts by the week end. We will string them out along the frontier, and hold especially the river valleys. If invasion comes, then at any rate the Tidewater will get early news of it. Meantime I and my friends, looking for Studd’s powder-horn, with a mind to confirm your birthday gift to Miss Elspeth Blair, will push on to the hills and learn what is to be learned there.”

  “You will never come back,” he said tartly. “An Indian stake and a bloody head will be the end of all of you.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “though I have men with me that can play the Indian game. But if in ten days’ time from now you get no word, then you can fear the worst, and set your militia going. I have a service of posts which will carry news to you as quick as a carrier pigeon. Whatever we learn you shall hear of without delay, and you can make your dispositions accordingly. If the devils find us first, then get in touch with my men at Frew’s homestead on the South Fork River, for that will be the headquarters of the frontier army.”

  “Who will be in command there when you are gallivanting in the hills?” he asked.

  “One whose name had better not be spoken. He lies under sentence of death by Virginian law; but, believe me, he is an honest soul and a good patriot, and he is the one man born to lead these outland troops.”

  He smiled, “His Christian name is Richard, maybe? I think I know your outlaw. But let it pass. I ask no names. In these bad times we cannot afford to despise any man’s aid.”

  He pulled out a chart of Virginia, and I marked for him our posts, and indicated the line of my own journey.

  “Have you ever been in the wars, Mr. Garvald?” he asked.

  I told him no.

  “Well, you have a very pretty natural gift for the military art. Your men will screen the frontier line, and behind that screen I will get our militia force in order, while meantime you are reconnoitring the enemy. It’s a very fair piece of strategy. But I am mortally certain you yourself will never come back.”

  The odd thing was that at that moment I did not fear for myself. I had lived so long with my scheme that I had come to look upon it almost like a trading venture, in which one calculates risks and gains on paper, and thinks no more of it. I had none of the black fright which I had suffered before my meeting with Grey. Happily, though a young man’s thoughts may be long, his fancy takes short views. I was far more concerned with what might happen in my absence in the Tidewater than with our fate in the hills.

  “It is a gamble,” I said, “but the stakes are noble, and I have a private pride in its success.”

  “Also the goad of certain bright eyes,” he said, smiling. “Little I thought, when I made that offer last night, I was setting so desperate a business in train. There was a good Providence in that. For now we can give out that you are gone on a madcap ploy, and there will be no sleepless nights in the Tidewater. I must keep their souls easy, for once they are scared there will be such a spate of letters to New York as will weaken the courage of our Northern brethren. For the militia I will give the excuse of the French menace. The good folk will laugh at me for it, but they will not take fright. God’s truth, but it is a devilish tangle. I could wish I had your part, sir, and be free to ride out on a gallant venture. Here I have none of the zest of war, but only a thousand cares and the carking task of soothing fools.”

  We spoke of many things, and I gave him a full account of the composition and strength of our levies. When I left he paid me a compliment, which, coming from so sardonic a soul, gave me peculiar comfort.

  “I have seen something of men and cities, sir,” he said, “and I know well the foibles and the strength of my countrymen; but I have never met your equal for cold persistence. You are a trader, and have turned war into a trading venture. I do believe that when you are at your last gasp you will be found calmly casting up your accounts with life. And I think you will find a balance on the right side. God speed you, Mr. Garvald. I love your sober folly.”

  * * * * *

  I had scarcely left him when I met a servant of the Blairs, who handed me a letter. ‘Twas from Elspeth — the first she had ever written me. I tore it open, and found a very disquieting epistle. Clearly she had written it in a white heat of feeling.

  “You spoke finely of reverence,” she wrote, “and how you had never named my name to a mortal soul. But to-night you have put me to open shame. You have offered yourself for a service which I did not seek. What care I for his Excellency’s gifts? Shall it be said that I was the means of sending a man into deadly danger to secure me a foolish estate? You have offended me grossly, and I pray you spare me further offence, I command you to give up this journey. I will not have my name band
ied about in this land as a wanton who sets silly youth by the ears to gratify her pride. If you desire to retain a shred of my friendship, go to his Excellency and tell him that by my orders you withdraw from the wager.”

  This letter did not cloud my spirits as it should. For one thing, she signed it “Elspeth,” and for another, I had the conceited notion that what moved her most was the thought that I was running into danger. I longed to have speech with her, but I found from the servant that Doctor Blair had left that morning on a journey of pastoral visitation, and had taken her with him. The man did not know their destination, but believed it to be somewhere in the north. The thought vaguely disquieted me. In these perilous times I wished to think of her as safe in the coastlands, where a ship would give a sure refuge.

  I met Grey that afternoon at the Half-way Tavern. In the last week he seemed to have aged and grown graver. There was now no hint of the light arrogance of old. He regarded me curiously, but without hostility.

  “We have been enemies,” I said, “and now, though there may be no friendship, at any rate there is a truce to strife. Last night I begged of you to come with me on this matter of the Governor’s wager, but ‘twas not the wager I thought of.”

  Then I told him the whole tale. “The stake is the safety of this land, of which you are a notable citizen. I ask you, because I know you are a brave man. Will you leave your comfort and your games for a season, and play for higher stakes at a more desperate hazard?”

  I told him everything, even down to my talk with the Governor. I did not lessen the risks and hardships, and I gave him to know that his companions would be rough folk, whom he may well have despised. He heard me out with his eyes fixed on the ground. Then suddenly he raised a shining face.

  “You are a generous enemy, Mr. Garvald. I behaved to you like a peevish child, and you retaliate by offering me the bravest venture that man ever conceived. I am with you with all my heart. By God, sir, I am sick of my cushioned life. This is what I have been longing for in my soul since I was born... “