On Thursday, the 19th, it still rained steadily, but with no violence — a fine, sweet, refreshing summer shower, made golden and beautiful at intervals by the momentary prophecy of the sun; yet he did not wholly reveal himself, though he smiled through the mist at us in friendly fashion.
I had been out fishing for trouts very early, the rain making it favourable for such pleasant sport, and my Indians and I had finished a breakfast of corn porridge and the sweet-fleshed fishes that I took from the brook where it falls into the Susquehanna.
It was still very early — near to five o’clock, I think — for the morning gun had not yet bellowed, and the camp lay very still in the gentle and fragrant rain.
A few moments before five I saw a company of Jersey troops march silently down to the river, hang their cartouche-boxes on their bayonets, and ford the stream, one holding to another, and belly deep in the swollen flood.
Thinks I to myself, they are going to protect our cattle-guards; and I turned and walked down to the ford to watch the crossing.
Then I saw why they had crossed: there were some people come down to the landing place on the other bank in two batteaux and an Oneida canoe — soldiers, boatmen, and two women; and our men were fording the river to protect the crossing of this small flotilla.
I seated myself, wondering what foolhardy people these might be, and trying to see more plainly the women in the two batteaux. As the boatmen poled nearer, it seemed to me that some of the people looked marvelously like the riflemen of my own corps; and a few moments later I sprang to my feet astounded, for of the two women in the nearest batteau one was Lois de Contrecoeur and the other Lana Helmer.
Suddenly the Oneida canoe shot out from the farther shore, passed both batteaux, paddles flashing, and came darting toward the landing where I stood. Two riflemen were in it; one rose as the canoe’s nose grated on the gravel, cast aside the bow-paddle, balanced himself toward the bow with both hands, and leaped ashore, waving at me a gay greeting.
“My God!” said I excitedly, as Boyd ran lightly up the slope. “Are you stark mad to bring ladies into this damnable place?”
“There are other women, too. Why, even that pretty jade, Dolly Glenn, is coming! What could I do? The General himself permitted it. Miss de Contrecoeur and Lana heard that a number of women were already here, and so come for a frolic they must.”
“Who accompanies them? I see no older woman yonder.”
“Mrs. Sabin, the lady of Captain Sabin, Staff Commissary of Issues.”
“Where is she, then?”
“We left her with the army at the Ouleout.”
“Where do you propose to quarter these ladies?”
“We understand that you have four block-forts mounting cannon. That would argue barracks. Therefore, I don’t think the danger is very considerable. Do you?”
“There is danger, of course,” I said. “The entire Seneca nation is here with Indian Butler and Brant.”
“Well, then, we’ll turn your Butler into a turn-spit, and make of your wild Brant a domestic gander!”
He spoke coolly, a slight smile on his eager, handsome features. And I wondered how he could make a jest of this business, and how he could have permitted so mad a prank if he truly entertained any very deep regard for Lana Helmer.
“Danger,” I repeated coldly. “Yes, there is a-plenty of that hereabouts, what with the Seneca scalping parties combing the woods around us, and the cattle-guard fired upon in plain sight of headquarters.”
“Well, there were and still are some few scalping parties hanging around Otsego. I myself see no real reason why the ladies should not pay us a visit here, have their frolic, and later return with the heavier artillery down the river to Easton. Or, if they choose, they shall await our return from Catharines-town.”
“And if we do not return? Have you thought of that, Boyd?”
“You shall not conjure me with any such forebodings!” he laughed. “This raid of ours will be no very great or fearsome affair. They’ll run — your Brants and Butlers — I warrant you. And we’ll follow and burn their towns. Then, like the French king of old, down hill we’ll all go strutting, you and I and the army, Loskiel; and no great harm done to anybody or anything, save to the Senecas’ squash harvest, and the sensitive feelings of Walter Butler!”
While he was speaking, I kept my eye on the slow batteau which led. Three boatmen poled it; Lois and Lana sat in the middle; behind them crouched two riflemen, long weapons ready, the ringed coon-tail floating in the breeze.
Neither of the ladies had yet recognized me; Lana leaned lightly against Lois, her cheek resting on her companion’s shoulder.
A black rage against Boyd rose suddenly in my breast; and so savage and abrupt was the emotion that I could scarce stifle and subdue it.
“It is wrong for them to come,” I said with an effort to speak calmly, “ —— utterly and wickedly wrong. Our block-forts are not finished. And when they are they will be more or less vulnerable. I can not understand why you did not make every effort to prevent their coming here.”
“I made every proper effort,” he said carelessly. “What man is vain enough to believe he can influence a determined woman?”
I did not like what he said, and so made him no answer.
“Is your camp still asleep?” he asked, yawning.
“Yes. The morning gun is usually fired at six.”
“Can you lodge us and bait us until I make my report?”
“I can lodge the ladies and give breakfast to you all. How near is our main army?”
“Between twenty and thirty miles above — one can scarce tell the way this accursed river winds about. Our men are exhausted. They’ll not arrive tonight. General Poor’s men from this camp met us last night. Clinton desired me to take a few riflemen and push forward; and the ladies — except the fat one — begged so prettily to go with us that he consented. So we took two empty batteaux and a canoe and came on in advance, with no effort whatever.”
“That was a rash business!” I said, controlling my anger. “The river woods along the Ouleout swarm with Seneca scouts. Didn’t you understand that?”
“So I told ‘em,” he said, laughing, “but do you know, Loskiel, between you and me I believe that your pretty inamorata really loves the thrill of danger. And I know damned well that Lana Helmer loves it. For when we came through without so much as sighting a muskrat, ‘What!’ says she, ‘Not a savage to be seen and not a shot fired! Lord,’ says she, ‘I had as lief take the air on Bowling Green — there being some real peril of beaux and macaronis!’”
Everything this man said now conspired to enrage me; and it was a struggle for me to restrain the bitter affront ever twitching at my lips for utterance. Perhaps I might not have restrained it any longer had I not seen Lois lean suddenly forward in her seat, shade her eyes with her hands, then stand up beside one of the boatmen. And I knew she recognized me.
Instantly within me all anger, rancour, and even dread melted in the warmer and more generous emotion which nigh overwhelmed me, so that for an instant I could scarce see her for the glimmering of my eyes.
But that passed; I went down to the shore and stood there while the clumsy boat swung inshore, the misty waves slapping at the bow and side. The landing planks lay on the gravel. Boyd and I laid them. Lana, wrapped in her camblet, crossed them first, giving me her hand with a pale smile. I laid my lips to it; she passed, Boyd moving forward beside her.
Then came Lois in her scarlet capuchin, eager and shy at the same time, smiling, yet with fearfulness and tenderness so strangely blended that ever her laughing eyes seemed close to tears and the lips that smiled were tremulous.
“I came — you see.... Are you angry?” she asked as I bent low over her little hand. “You will not chide me — will you, Euan?”
“No. What is done is done. Are you well, Lois?”
“Perfect in health, my friend. And if you truly are glad to see me, then I am content. But I am also very wet, Euan, spi
te of my capuchin. Lana and I have a common box. It belongs to her. May our boatmen carry it ashore?”
I gave brief directions to the men, returned the smiling salute of my wet riflemen from the other boat now drawing heavily inshore, and climbed the grassy bank with Lois to where Lana and Boyd stood under the trees awaiting us.
“I have but one bush-hut to offer you at present,” I said. “Proper provision in barracks will be made, no doubt, as soon as the General learns who it is who has honoured him so unexpectedly with a visit.”
“That’s why we came, Euan — to honour General Sullivan,” said Lois demurely. “Did we not, Lanette?”
Then again I noticed that the old fire, the old gaiety in Lana Helmer had been almost quenched. For instead of a saucy reply she only smiled; and even her eyes seemed spiritless as they rested on me a moment, then turned wearily elsewhere.
“You are much fatigued,” I said to Lois.
“I? No. But my poor Lana slept very badly in the boat. Before dawn we went ashore for an hour’s rest. That seemed sufficient for me, but Lana, poor dove, did not profit, I fear. Did you, dearest?”
“Very little,” said Lana, forcing a gaiety she surely did not inspire in others with her haunted eyes that looked at everything, yet saw nothing — or so it seemed to me.
As we came to our bush-huts, Lois caught sight of the Sagamore for the first time, and held out both hands with a pretty cry of recognition:
“Nai, Mayaro!”
The Sagamore turned in silent astonishment; though when he saw Boyd there also his features became smooth and blank again. But he came forward with stately grace to welcome her; and, bending his crested head, took her hands and laid them lightly over his heart.
“Nai, Lois!” he exclaimed emphatically.
“Itoh, Mayaro!” she replied gaily, pressing his hands in hers. “I am that contented to see you! Are you not amazed to see me here?” she insisted, mischievously amused at his unaltered features.
The Sagamore said smilingly:
“When she wills it, who can follow the Rosy-throated Pigeon in her swift flight? Not the Enchantress in the moon. Tharon alone, O Rosy-throated One!”
“The wild pigeon has outwitted you all, has she not, Mayaro, my friend?”
“Nakwah! Let my brother Loskiel deny it, then. I, a Sagamore, know better than to deny a fire its ashes, or a wild pigeon its magic flight.”
Boyd now spoke to the Mohican, who returned his greeting courteously, but very gravely. I then made the Mohican known to Lana, who gave him a lifeless hand from the green folds of her camblet. My Oneidas, who had finished their somewhat ominous painting, came from the other hut in company with the Yellow Moth, the latter now painted for the first time in a brilliant and poisonous yellow. All these people I made acquainted one with another. Lois was very gracious to them all, using what Indian words she knew in her winning greetings — and using them quite wrongly — God bless her!
Then the Yellow Moth hung my new blue blanket, which I had lately drawn from our Commissary of Issues, across the door of my hut; two huge boatmen came up with Lana’s box, swung between them, and deposited it within the hut.
“By the time you are ready,” said I, “we will have a breakfast for you such as only the streams of this country can afford.”
The six o’clock gun awoke the camp and found me already at the General’s tent, awaiting permission to see him.
He seemed surprised that Clinton had allowed any ladies to accompany the Otsego army, but it was evident that the happiness and relief he experienced at learning that Clinton was on the Ouleout had put him into a most excellent humour. And he straightway sent an officer with orders to remove Lana’s box to Block-Fort No. 2 in the new fort, where were already domiciled the wives of two sergeants and a corporal, and gave me an order assigning to Lois and Lana a rough loft there.
But the General’s chief concern and curiosity was for Boyd and the eight riflemen who had come through from the Ouleout as the first advanced guard of that impatiently awaited Otsego army; and I heard Boyd telling him very gaily that they were bringing more than two hundred batteaux, loaded with provisions. And, this, I think, was the best news any man could have brought to our Commander at that moment. One thing I do know; from that time Boyd was an indulged favourite of our General, who admired his many admirable qualities, his gay spirits, his dashing enterprise, his utter fearlessness; and who overlooked his military failings, which were rashness to the point of folly, and a tendency to obey orders in a manner which best suited his own ideas. Captain Cummings was a far safer man.
I say this with nothing in my heart but kindness for Boyd. God knows I desire to do him justice — would wish it for him even more than for myself. And I not only was not envious of his good fortune in so pleasing our General, but was glad of it, hoping that this honour might carry with it a new and graver responsibility sufficiently heavy to curb in him what was least admirable and bring out in him those nobler qualities so desirable in officer and man.
When I returned to my hut there were any fish smoking hot on their bark plates, and Lana and Lois in dry woollen dresses, worsted stockings, and stout, buckled shoon, already at porridge.
So I sat down with them and ate, and it was, or seemed to be, a happy company there before our little hut, with officers and troops passing to and fro and glancing curiously at us, and our Indians squatted behind us all a-row, and shining up knife and hatchet and rifle; and the bugle-horns of the various regiments sounding prettily at intervals, and the fifers and drummers down by the river at distant morning practice.
“You love best the bellowing conch-horn of the rifles,” observed Lana to Lois, with a touch of her old-time impudence.
“I?” exclaimed Lois.
“You once told me that every blast of it sets you a-trembling,” insisted Lana. “Naturally I take it that you quiver with delight — having some friend in that corps — —”
“Lana! Have done, you little baggage!”
“Lord!” said Lana. “’Twas Major Parr I meant. What does an infant Ensign concern such aged dames as you and I?”
Lois, lovely under her mounting colour, continued busy with her porridge. Lana said in my ear:
“She is a wild thing, Euan, and endures neither plaguing nor wooing easily. How I have gained her I do not know.... Perhaps because I am aging very fast these days, and she hath a heart as tender as a forest dove’s.”
Lois looked up, seeing us whispering together.
“Uncouth manners!” said she. “I am greatly ashamed of you both.”
I thought to myself, wondering, how utter a change had come over the characters of these two in twice as many weeks! Lois had now something of that quick and mischievous gaiety that once was Lana’s; and the troubled eyes that once belonged to Lois now were hers no longer, but Lana’s. It seemed very strange and sad to me.
“Had I a dozen beaux,” quoth Lois airily, “I might ask of one o’ them another bit of trout.” And, “Oh!” she exclaimed, in affected surprise, as I aided her. “It would seem that I have at least one young man who aspires to that ridiculous title. Do you covet it, Euan? And humbly?”
“Do I merit it?” I asked, laughing.
“Upon my honour,” she exclaimed, turning to Lana, “I believe the poor young gentleman thinks he does merit the title. Did you ever hear of such insufferable conceit? And merely because he offers me a bit of trout.”
“I caught them, too,” said I. “That should secure me in my title.”
“Oh! You caught them too, did you! And so you deem yourself entitled to be a beau of mine? Lana, do you very kindly explain to the unfortunate Ensign that you and I were accustomed at Otsego to a popularity and an adulation of which he has no conception. Colonels and majors were at our feet. Inform him very gently, Lana.”
“Yes,” said Lana, “you behaved very indiscreetly at Otsego Camp, dear one — sitting alone for hours and hours over this young gentleman’s letters — —”
“Traitor!” exclaimed Lois, blushing. “It was a letter from his solicitor, Mr. Hake, that you found me doting on!”
“Did you then hear from Mr. Hake?” I asked, laughing and very happy.
“Indeed I did, by every post! That respectable Albany gentleman seemed to feel it his duty to write me by every batteau and inquire concerning my health, happiness, and pleasure, and if I lacked anything on earth to please me. Was it not most extraordinary behaviour, Euan?”
She was laughing when she spoke, and for a moment her eyes grew strangely tender, but they brightened immediately and she tossed her head.
“Oh, Lana!” said she. “I think I may seriously consider Mr. Hake and his very evident intentions. So I shall require no more beaux, Euan, and thank you kindly for volunteering. Besides, if I want ‘em, this camp seems moderately furnished with handsome and gallant young officers,” she added airily, glancing around her. “Lana! Do you please observe that tall captain with the red facings! And the other staff-major yonder in blue and buff! Is he not beautiful as Apollo? And I make no doubt that this agreeable young Ensign of ours will presently make them known to us for our proper diversion.”
Somehow, now, with the prospect of all these officers besetting her with their civilities and polite assiduities, nothing of the old and silly jealousy seemed to stir within me. Perhaps because, although for days I had not seen her, I knew her better. And also I had begun to know myself. Even though she loved not me in the manner I desired, yet the lesser, cruder, and more unworthy solicitude which at first seemed to have possessed me in her regard was now gone. And if inexperience and youth had inspired me with unworthy jealousies I do not know; but I do know that I now felt myself older — years older than when first I knew Lois; and perhaps my being so honestly in love with her wrought the respectable change in me. For real love ages the mind, even when it makes more youthful the body, and so controls both body and mind. And I think it was something that way with me.
Presently, as we sat chattering there, came men to take away Lana’s box to Block-House No. 2 on the peninsula. So Lana went into the bush-hut and refilled and locked the box, and then we all walked together to the military works which were being erected on a cleared knoll overlooking both rivers, and upon which artillerymen were now mounting the three-pounder and the cohorn, or “grasshopper,” as our men had named it, because our artillery officers had taken it from its wooden carriage and had mounted it on a tripod. And at every discharge it jumped into the air and kicked over backward.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 722
