Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  “It is the Six Nations gathering,” said Mr. Duncan. “We expect important guests.”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Mr. Duncan, gravely. “Good-night, Mr. Cardigan.”

  “Good-night, sir,” I said, thoughtfully; then cried after him, “and my present, Mr. Duncan?”

  “To-morrow,” he answered, and passed on his way a-laughing.

  I walked quickly back to the Hall, where I encountered Esk and Peter, well bibbed, cleaning the last crumb from their bowls of porridge.

  “Did you see the soldiers?” cried Esk, tapping upon his bowl and marching up and down the hallway.

  “Look out of the back windows,” added Peter. “The Onondaga fires are burning on the hills.”

  “Oneidas,” corrected Esk.

  “Onondagas,” persisted Peter, smearing his face with his spoon to lick it.

  “Where is Silver Heels?” I asked.

  Mistress Molly came into the hall from the pantry, keys jingling at her girdle, and took Peter by his sticky fingers, bidding Esk follow.

  “Bed-time,” she said, with her pretty smile. “Michael, Felicity is being dressed by Betty. If Sir William does not return, you will dine with Felicity alone; and I expect you to conduct exactly like Sir William, and refrain from kicking under the table.”

  “Yes, Aunt Molly,” said I, delighted.

  Esk and Peter, being instantly hustled bedward, left lamenting and asserting that they too were old enough to imitate Sir William.

  Silver Heels, with her hair done by Betty, and a blue sash over her fresh-flowered cambric, passed them on the stairs coming down, pausing to wish Mistress Molly good-night, and to slyly pinch fat Peter.

  “Felicity,” said Mistress Molly, “will you conduct as befits your station?”

  “Oh la, Aunt Molly!” she answered, with that innocent, affected lisp which I knew was ever the forerunner of mischief.

  She made her reverence, waiting on the landing until she heard the nursery door close, then flung both legs astride the balustrade and slid down like a flash.

  “Have you seen the soldiers, Micky? — and the fires on the hills?” she cried. “To-morrow all the officers will be here, and I am to wear my hair curled, and my pink dress and tucker, with separate sleeves of silver gauze!”

  We sat down on the stairs together as friendly and polite as though we never quarrelled; and she chattered on, smoothing her bib-apron with those silky hands of hers: “Betty rolled up my hair till I feared she meant to scalp me, and so told her.

  “She coaxed me to endure, and called me her little Miss Honey-bee, but would not promise me a comfit; so I ran away before my cap was tied on. Micky, go and put on your silk breeches and lace cuffs and we will be gay and grand to dine!”

  I ran to my chamber, bathed and dressed in all my finery, meaning to lord it in the dining-hall should Sir William not return.

  And thus it fell out; for, when I descended the stairs, there was my lady Silver Heels parading before the pier-glass, and a gillie throwing open the doors of the dining-hall.

  So that night Silver Heels and I supped alone together in the great hall, Mr. Butler having hurriedly ridden to his home, and Sir William not yet returned, though two hours past candle-light.

  The hall was quiet and vast, and Silver Heels seemed exceedingly small, sitting in the big chair at the other end of the table. So I had the gillie lay her plate beside mine.

  A single pair of candles lighted our supper, and those not of the best, for they smoked as the wind stirred the curtains.

  “Do you not know what is due to quality?” said I, sternly, to the gillie — a raw yokel scented with whiffs of the stables.

  The kilted oaf gaped at me.

  “Do you not see it is dark here?” I said.

  “’Tis far lichter than ye wud expeck for sae big a room, sir,” said the gillie, with a foolish grin.

  “Young Bareshanks,” I retorted; “do you bring instantly a dozen wax candles and light them, idiot, in a seemly row! Also fetch Sir William’s sherry and Madeira, and take away those pot-house pewters!”

  The gillie made out to do as he was bidden, and I should have felt very grand and contented at being obeyed without questions had I not perceived him, through the buttery window, wink at the pantry-lad and put his mottled Scotch muzzle into my small-beer.

  When the dozen waxen candles stood in a ring, all twinkling, and the decanters flanked me right and left, I bade the gillie leave us, mistrusting he might bear tales to Sir William touching our behaviour at table. But the dunce loitered, trimming wicks, and casting sidewise looks at me.

  “Will you be gone?” said I, in a passion.

  “Maister Michael,” he whined; “ye’ll no be soopin’ till the blessing’s said? Sir William gave us a grand discoorse this noon dinner, sir, verra suitable words, sir.”

  Mortified at my forgetfulness, I rose; so did Silver Heels, the candle-light sparkling under her half-closed lashes, for she ever kept one eye on duty.

  In a rage I said grace before meat, then glared at the gillie.

  “Aave heerd waur, sir,” quoth he; “but aa never sleep the nicht without ma blessing, and aa’l no begin noo!”

  “Get out, you Scotch loon,” said I, “or I’ll let this bottle fly with my blessing!”

  He ran for it, at which Silver Heels and I laughed heartily until she spilled her wine on her knees, which spoiled her temper.

  When the echoing of our laughter had died away in the dark corners of the room, an unaccustomed depression fell upon me. I peered up at the stags’ shaggy heads, set around the wall; their dark glazed eyes reflected the little candle flames like fiery eyeballs of living bucks. The stillness in the familiar room troubled me.

  Something of this Silver Heels also experienced, but the novelty of playing the grand lady with her sherry and her tea set her tongue a-swinging, clip-clap! She shrugged her shoulders and tossed her chin, pretending to trifle with a dish of cakes, vowing she had no appetite; but her hunger could not long withstand the pastry, and she ate all the suckets and cakes before I either perceived or prevented it.

  Distressed at her greediness, I removed the caraways from the plate and pouched them to eat at my pleasure, whereupon she kicked my shins under the table.

  But she would still play my Lady Languish, sighing and protesting she could not touch another morsel, and her cheeks full the while. Too, she drank of both sherry and Madeira, which was forbidden by Sir William, and became over-loud in speech until her humour changed to a fit of upbraiding me, and ended in the sulks.

  I remember we had a brandied syrup, of which she also took too much, it making her pettish and sleepy; and after supper, when we sat together on the stairs, she harped ever on the same string, reproaching me for playing the high and mighty, whereas all could plainly see I was nothing but a boy like Esk and Peter and need give myself no plumes.

  “My legs,” she said, drowsily, “can touch the floor from the third stair as well as yours;” and she stretched them down to prove it, falling short an inch.

  “If you are no longer a child,” said I, “why do they harness you to the back-board and make you wear pack-thread stays?”

  This madded her.

  “You shall see,” she said, in a temper, “you shall see me in flowered caushets, silk stockings, and shoes of Paddington’s make, which befit my station and rank! You shall see me in padusoy and ribbons and a hat of gauze! I shall wear pompadour gloves and shall take no notice of you, with your big hands and feet, pardieu!”

  “Nor I of you,” said I, “tricked out in your silly flummery.” And I drew a caraway from my pocket and bit deep.

  “Yes, you will,” said Silver Heels; “give me a caraway, piggy.”

  Sitting there in the dark, nibbling in silence, I could hear the distant stir of the convoy at the barracks, and wondered why the soldiers had come. Surely not because of danger to us at the Hall, for we had our Mohawks, our militia, and yeoman tena
ntry at beck and call. Besides, who would dare threaten Sir William Johnson, the greatest man in the colonies, and very dearly esteemed by our King?

  “They say,” said Silver Heels, “that there are men in Boston who have even defied the King himself.”

  “Never fear,” said I, “they’ll all hang for it.”

  “Would you like to fight for the King?” she asked, civilly, and without a trace of that mockery which left a sting, much as I pretended to despise it.

  I said I should like to very much; that my father had died for his King, and that I should one day avenge him.

  I would have said more, perhaps boasted, for Silver Heels was inclined to listen; but black Betty came down-stairs, her double ear-rings a-jingle, calling her “li’l Miss Honey-bee” to come to bed.

  Silver Heels stood up, rubbing her eyes and stretching. I could not help noticing that she seemed to be growing very tall.

  “Good-night, Micky,” she said, with her mechanical curtsey, and took Betty’s black hand.

  Although there was now nobody to bid me retire, I went to my chamber gladly, for, what with the excitement of the morning, the arrival of the Cayuga, and, later, the soldiers — and also, I think, Sir William’s sherry — my head was tired and confused.

  I slept none too soundly. Dreams came crowding around 43 my pillow; visions of Mr. Butler chasing Silver Heels awoke me.

  I sat up in my bed and parted the curtains. Through the window I could see the watchful eyes of Indian fires glimmering from hill and hollow, and over all the little stars, all awake, watching the sleeping world.

  A cock began crowing somewhere down in the village, although no tint of dawn appeared. But the crickets had ceased, and the stars grew paler, and that silence which is the dawn’s true herald warned me to sleep again ere the red sun should steal over the edge of the world and catch me waking.

  Then I slept soundly, and the sly sun had painted many a figure on my walls ere I waked to hear the bugle playing at the barracks, and Sir William’s hounds baying in their kennels.

  Dub! dub! rub-a-dub-dub! Dub! dub! rub-a-dub-dub!

  The guard was changing at the block-house, while I, all shivers, dashed cold water over me from head to foot and rubbed my limbs into a tingle.

  How sweetly came the matins of the robins! A kennel-lad, standing in the sunshine by the stables, wound his hunting-horn till the deep-jowled hounds drowned all with their baying.

  In breeches and shirt I leaned from the open window to smell the young year, and saw Silver Heels’s head at the next window, her hair in her eyes, and bare arms propping her chin.

  She put out her tongue at me, but I bade her good-morning so civilly that she smiled and asked me if I had slept well.

  “No,” said I; “dreams disturbed me.”

  “It was the cakes and sherry,” she observed, with a grimace.

  “I also dreamed, and screamed until Betty came and rocked me in her arms. Which proves,” she added, “that we are both too young to dine and wine imprudently. I am coming in to tell you what I dreamed. Open the door.”

  She entered, bundled in a wool blanket, and sat cross-legged on the bed, chattering of her dreams, how, in her sleep, she saw me mammocked by savages, among them 44 Peter, who had grown big and sly and fierce like a fat bear cub in December.

  Meanwhile I made of my hair a neat queue and tied it; then put on my buckskin vest with flaps, and my short hunting-shirt over it.

  “Are you going to fish?” asked Silver Heels, enviously.

  “If Sir William does,” said I. “He sent me a present from Castle Cumberland last night. I doubt not that it may be a new fish-rod for salmon.”

  Presently she went away to be dressed by Betty, and I hastened down the stairs, impatient to find Mr. Duncan and have my present; nay, so fast and blindly did I speed that, swinging around the balustrade, I plumped clean into Sir William, coming up.

  “What’s to do! What’s to do!” he exclaimed, testily. “Is there no gout in the world, then, wooden feet!”

  “Oh, Sir William! My present from Castle Cumberland!” I stammered. “Is it a salmon-rod?”

  “Now the wraith of old Isaac pinch ye!” said Sir William, half laughing, half angry. “What the devil have I to do with your presents and your fish-rods? Presents! Gad! It’s a new algebra you need!”

  “You promised not to,” said I, stoutly.

  “Did I?” said Sir William, with a twinkle in his eyes. “So I did, lad; so I did! Well, perhaps it is not an algebra book after all.”

  “Then let us go to Mr. Duncan and get it now,” I replied, promptly.

  “You may not want my present when you see it,” argued Sir William, who did ever enjoy to plague those whom he loved best.

  But I pulled him by the hand, and he pretended to go with reluctance and many misgivings.

  At the door of the north block-house, Mr. Duncan rendered Sir William the officer’s salute, which Sir William returned.

  “Mr. Duncan,” said he, “have you knowledge hereabouts of a certain present sent in your care for Mr. Cardigan here?”

  “Now that you mention it, sir,” replied Mr. Duncan, gravely, “I do dimly recall something of the sort.”

  “Was it not a school-book?” inquired Sir William.

  “It was a parcel,” replied Mr. Duncan, dubiously; “belike it hid a dozen good stout Latin books, sir.”

  I endured their plaguing with rising excitement. What could my present be?

  “Take him in, Mr. Duncan,” said Sir William at last. “And,” to me, “remember, sir, that you forget not your manners when you return to me, for I shall await you here at the door.”

  Cramping with curiosity, I followed Mr. Duncan into his own private chamber, which connected with the guard-room. But I saw no parcels anywhere; in fact, there was nothing to be noticed save an officer’s valise at the foot of Mr. Duncan’s bed.

  “It is for you,” he said; “open it.”

  At the same moment I perceived my own name painted on the leather side, and the next instant I had stripped the lid back. Buff and gold and scarlet swam the colours of the clothing before my amazed eyes; I put out a trembling hand and drew an officer’s vest from the valise.

  “Here are the boots, Mr. Cardigan,” said the lieutenant, lifting a pair of dress boots from behind a curtain. “Here is the hat and sword, too, and a holster with pistols.”

  “Mine!” I gasped.

  “By this commission of our Governor,” said Mr. Duncan, solemnly, drawing from his breast a parchment with seal and tape. “Mr. Cardigan, let me be the first to welcome you as a brother officer.”

  I had gone so blind with happy tears that I scarce could find his kind, warm hand outstretched, nor could I decipher the commission as cornet of horse in the Royal Border Regiment of irregulars.

  He mercifully left me then, and I stood with head pinched in my fingers, striving to realize what had arrived to me.

  But I did not tarry long to gape and devour my uniform with my eyes. One after another my hunting-shirt, vest, leggings, shoon, flew from me. I pulled on the buff breeches, and laced them tight, drew on the boots, set the vest close and buttoned it, then put on coat and hat, and lastly tied my silver gorget.

  What I could see of myself in Mr. Duncan’s glass left me dazed with admiration. I set my sword belt, hung the sword with one glove in the hilt, and so, walking on air, I passed the guard-room with all the soldiers at stiff attention, and came to Sir William.

  He looked up sharply, without the familiar smile. But my wits were at work and I stopped short at three paces, heels together, and gave the officer’s salute.

  Sir William’s lips twitched as he rendered the salute, then, casting his ivory cane on the grass, he stepped forward with arms outstretched, and I fell into them like a blubbering schoolboy.

  To those contented and peaceful people who have never known that gnawing desire for the noblest of all professions, the soldier’s, I can only say that I was contented. To those w
ho themselves have known the longing it is needless to describe my happiness and pride, my gratitude to those who had honoured me, my impetuous thirst for service, my resolve to set heart and soul towards high ideals and thoughts, my solemn boyish prayers that I might conduct nobly in the eyes of all men, for God and King and country.

  Something of my thoughts may have disclosed themselves in my face as Sir William laid both hands on my shoulders, for he looked at me a long while with kindly, steady eyes. His countenance was serene and benign when he spoke in that clear voice whose harmony and perfect cadence has charmed a thousand council fires, and turned feverish spleen and hatred into forbearance and reconciliation.

  “My boy,” he said, “the key to it all is faith. Keep faith with all men; keep faith with thyself. This wins all battles, even the greatest and last!”

  Very soberly we returned to the Hall, where a small company were assembled for breakfast — Mistress Molly, Major Wilkes of the battalion which arrived the night before, Captains Priestly, Borrow, and McNeil, of the same regiment, my friend Lieutenant Duncan of the militia, and Silver Heels.

  When Sir William and I entered the Hall the officers came to pay their respects to the Baronet, and I, red as a Dutch pippin, crossed the room to where Mistress Molly stood with Silver Heels.

  Bending to salute her hand, cocked hat crushed under one arm, I discharged my duties with what composure I could command; but Mistress Molly put both arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks.

  “I knew all about it,” she whispered. “We are very proud, Sir William and I. Be tender and faithful. It is all we ask.”

  Dear, dear Aunt Molly! While life lasts can I ever forget those sweet, grave words of love, spoken to a boy who stood alone on the threshold of life?

  Slowly I turned to look at Silver Heels, all my vanity, conceit, and condescension vanished.