Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  “May I have a word alone with you, Mr. Drogue?” she asked in her serious and graver way — a way as winning as her lighter mood, I thought.

  So we went out to the veranda and walked a little way among the apple trees, slowly, I waiting to hear what she had for my ear alone.

  Beyond, by the well, I saw my Rangers squatting cross-legged on the grass in a little circle, playing at stick-knife. Beyond them a Continental soldier paced his beat in front of the gate which closed the mainland road.

  Birds sang, sunshine glimmered on the water, the sky was softly blue.

  The girl had paused under a fruit tree. Now, she pulled down an apple branch and set her nose to the blossoms, breathing their fresh scent.

  “Well,” said I, quietly.

  Her level eyes met mine across the flowering branch.

  “I am sorry to disturb you,” said she.

  “How disturb me?”

  “By obliging you to take me to Caughnawaga. It inconveniences you.”

  “I promised to see you safely there, and that is all about it,” said I drily.

  “Yes, sir. But I ask your pardon for exacting your promise.... And — I ask pardon for — for stealing your horse.”

  There seemed to ensue a longer silence than I intended, and I realized that I had been looking at her without other thought than of her dark, young eyes under her yellow hair.

  “What did you say?” I asked absently.

  She hesitated, then: “You do not like me, Mr. Drogue.”

  “Did I say so?” said I, startled.

  “No.... I feel that you do not like me. Is it because I used you without decency when I stole your horse?”

  “Perhaps some trifling chagrin remains. But it is now over — because you say you are sorry.”

  “I am so.”

  “Then — I am friendly — if you so desire, Penelope Grant.”

  “Yes, sir, I do desire your countenance.”

  I smiled at her gravity, and saw, dawning in return, that lovely, child’s smile I already knew and waited for.

  “I wish to whisper to you,” said she, bending the flowering bough lower.

  So I inclined my ear across it, and felt her delicate breath against my cheek.

  “I wish to make known to you that I am of your party, Mr. Drogue,” she whispered.

  I nodded approval.

  “I wished you to know that I am a friend to liberty,” she continued. “My sentiment is very ardent, Mr. Drogue: I burn with desire to serve this land, to which my father’s wish has committed me. I am young, strong, not afraid. I can load and shoot a pistol — —”

  “Good Lord!” I exclaimed, laughing, “do you wish to enlist and go for a soldier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I drew back in amazement and looked at her, and she blushed but made me a firm countenance. And so sweetly solemn a face did this maid pull at me that I could not forbear to laugh again.

  “But how about Mr. Fonda?” I demanded, “if you don jack-boots and hanger and go for a dragoon?”

  “I shall ask his permission to serve my country.”

  “A-horse, Penelope? Or do you march with fire-lock and knapsack and a well-floured queue?” I had meant to turn it lightly but not to ridicule; but her lip quivered, though she still found courage to sustain my laughing gaze.

  “Come,” said I, “we Tryon County men have as yet no need to call upon our loyal women to shoulder rifle and fill out our ranks.”

  “No need of me, sir?”

  “Surely, surely, but not yet to such a pass that we strap a bayonet on your thigh. Sew for us. Knit for us — —”

  “Sir, for three years I have done so, foreseeing this hour. I have knitted many, many score o’ stockings; sewed many a shirt against this day that is now arrived. I have them in Mr. Fonda’s house, against my country’s needs. All, or a part, are at your requisition, Mr. Drogue.”

  But I remained mute, astonished that this girl had seen so clearly what so few saw at all — that war must one day come between us and our King. This foreseeing of hers amazed me even more than her practical provision for the day of wrath — now breaking red on our horizon — that she had seen so clearly what must happen — a poor refugee — a child.

  “Sir,” says she, “have you any use for the stockings and shirts among your men?”

  She stood resting both arms on the bent bough, her face among the flowers. And I don’t know how I thought of it, or remembered that in Scotland there are some who have the gift of clear vision and who see events before they arrive — nay, even foretell and forewarn.

  And, looking at her, I asked her if that were true of her. And saw the tint of pink apple bloom stain her face; and her dark eyes grow shy and troubled.

  “Is it that way with you?” I repeated. “Do you see more clearly than ordinary folk?”

  “Yes, sir — sometimes.”

  “Not always?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But if you desire to penetrate the future and strive to do so — —”

  “No, sir, I can not if I try. Visions come unsought — even undesired.”

  “Is effort useless?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then this strange knowledge of the future comes of itself unbidden?”

  “Unbidden — when it comes at all. It is like a flash — then darkness. But the glimpse has convinced me, and I am forewarned.”

  I pondered this for a space, then:

  “Could you tell me anything concerning how this war is to end?”

  “I do not know, Mr. Drogue.”

  I considered. Then, again: “Have you any knowledge of what Fate intends concerning yourself?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nothing regarding your own future? That is strange.”

  She shook her head, watching me. And then I laughed lightly:

  “Nothing, by any chance, concerning me, Penelope?”

  “Yes.”

  I was so startled that I found no word to question her.

  “There is to be a battle,” she said in a low voice. “Men will fight in the North. I do not know when. But there will be strange uniforms in the woods — not British red-coats.... And I know you, also, are to be there.” Her voice sank to a whisper.... “And there,” she breathed, “you shall meet Death ... or Love.”

  When presently my composure returned to me, and I saw her still regarding me across the apple-bough, I felt inclined to laugh.

  “When did this strange knowledge come to you?” I asked, smiling my unbelief.

  “The day I first heard your voice at my cousin Bowman’s — waking me in my bed — and I came out and saw you in the eye of the rising sun. And you were not alone. And instantly I saw a strange battle that is not yet fought — and I saw you — the way you stood — there — dark and straight in a blinding sheet of yellow light made by cannon!... The world was aflame, and I saw you, tall and dark, shadowed against the blaze — but you did not fall.

  “Then I came to my senses, and heard the bell ringing, and asked you what it meant. Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  She released the apple-bough and came under it toward me, through a snow of falling blossoms.

  “It will surely happen — this battle,” she said. “I knew it when I saw you, and that other figure near you, where I sat your stolen horse and heard you shout at me in anger, and turned to look at you — then, also, I caught a glimpse of that other figure near you.”

  “What other figure?”

  “The one which was wrapped in white — like a winding sheet — and veiled.... Like Death.... Or a bride, perhaps.”

  A slight chill went over me, even in the warmth of the sun. But I laughed and said I knew not which would be the less welcome, having no stomach for Master Death, and even less, perhaps, for Mistress Bride.

  “Doubtless,” said I, “you saw some ghost of the morning mist afloat from the wet earth where I stood.”

  She made no answer.

 
; Now, as the carriage still tarried, though I had seen Colas taking out the horses, I asked her indulgence for a few moments, and walked over to the well, where my men still sat at stick-knife. And here I called Nick aside and laid one hand on his shoulder:

  “There was Indian smoke on Maxon an hour ago,” said I. “Take Johnny Silver and travel the war trail north, but do not cross the creek to the east. I go as armed escort for a traveller to Caughnawaga, and shall return as soon as may be. Learn what you can and meet me here by sunrise tomorrow.”

  Nick grinned and cast a sidelong glance at Penelope Grant, where she stood in the orchard, watching us.

  “Scotched by the Scotch,” said he. “Adam fell; and so I knew you’d fall one day, John — in an apple orchard! Lord Harry! but she’s a pretty baggage, too! Only take care, John! for she’s soft and young and likes to be courted, and there’s plenty to oblige her when you’re away!”

  “Let them oblige her then,” said I, vexed, though I knew not why. “She stole my horse and would not surrender him until I pledged my word to give her escort back to Caughnawaga. And that is all my story — if it interests you.”

  “It does so,” said he, his tongue in his cheek. At which I turned away in a temper, and encountered an officer, in militia regimentals of the Caughnawaga Regiment, coming through the orchard toward me.

  “Hallo, Jack!” he called out to me, and I saw he was a friend of mine, Major Jelles Fonda, and hastened to offer him his officer’s salute.

  When he had rendered it, he gave me his honest hand, and we linked arms and walked together toward the house, exchanging gossip concerning how it went with our cause in Johnstown and Caughnawaga. For the Fonda clan was respectable and strong among the landed gentry of Tryon, and it meant much to the cause of liberty that all the Fondas, I think without exception, had stood sturdily for their own people at a time when the vast majority of the influential and well-to-do had stood for their King.

  When we drew near the house, Major Fonda perceived Penelope and went at once to her.

  She dropped him a curtsey, but he took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “I heard you were here,” said he. “We sent old Douw Fonda to Albany for safety, not knowing what is like to come upon us out o’ that damned Canada. And, knowing you had gone to your cousin Bowman’s, I rode over to my Bush, got news of you through a Mayfield militia man, and trailed you here. And now, my girl, you may take your choice; go to Albany and sit snug with the Patroon until this tempest breaks and blows over, or go to Johnstown Fort with me.”

  “Does not Douw Fonda need me?” she asked.

  “Only your pretty face and sweet presence to amuse him. But, until we are certain that Sir John and Guy Johnson do not mean to return and murder us in our beds, Douw Fonda will not live in Caughnawaga, and so needs no housekeeper.”

  “Why not remain here with Lady Johnson and Mistress Swift,” said I, “until we learn what to expect from Sir John and his friends in Canada? These ladies are alone and in great anxiety and sorrow. And you could be of aid and service and comfort.”

  What made me say this I do not know. But, somehow, I did not seem to wish this girl to go to Albany, where there were many gay young men and much profligacy.

  To sit on Douw Fonda’s porch with her knitting was one thing, and the sap-pan gallants had little opportunity to turn the head of this inexperienced girl; but Albany was a very different matter; and this maid, who said that she liked men, alone there with only an aged man to stand between her and idle, fashionable youth, might very easily be led into indiscretions. The mere thought of which caused me so lively a vexation that I was surprised at myself.

  And now I perceived the carriage, with horses harnessed, and Colas in a red waistcoat and a red and green cockade on his beaver.

  We walked together to the Summer House. Lady Johnson came out on the veranda, and Claudia followed her.

  When they saw Major Fonda, they bowed to him very coolly, and he made them both a stately salute, shrugged his epaulettes, and took snuff.

  Lady Johnson said to Penelope: “Are you decided on abandoning two lonely women to their own devices, Penelope?”

  “Do you really mean to leave me, who could love you very dearly?” demanded Claudia, coming down and taking the girl by both hands.

  “If you wish it, I am now at liberty to remain with you till Mr. Fonda sends for me,” replied Penelope. “But I have no clothes.”

  Claudia embraced her with rapture. “Come to my room, darling!” she cried, “and you shall divide with me every stitch I own! And then we shall dress each other’s hair! Shall we not? And we shall be very fine to drink a dish of tea with our friends, the enemy, yonder!”

  She flung her arm around Penelope. Going, the girl looked around at me. “Thank you for great kindness, my lord,” she called back softly.

  Lady Johnson said in a cold voice to Major Fonda: “If our misfortunes have not made us contemptible to you, sir, we are at home to receive any enemy officer who, like yourself, Major, chances to be also a gentleman.”

  “Damnation, Polly!” says he with a short laugh, “don’t treat an old beau to such stiff-neck language! You know cursed well I’d go down on both knees and kiss your shoes, though I’d kick the King’s shins if I met him!”

  He passed his arm through mine; we both bowed very low, then went away together, arm in arm, the Major fuming under his breath.

  “Silly baggage,” he muttered, “to treat an old friend so high and mighty. Dash it, what’s come over these Johnstown gentlemen and ladies. Can’t we fight one another politely but they must affect to treat us as dirt beneath their feet, who once were welcome at their tables?”

  At the well I called to my men, who got up from the grass and greeted Major Fonda with unmilitary familiarity.

  “Major,” said I, “we’re off to scout the Sacandaga trail and learn what we can. It’s cold sniffing, now, on Sir John’s heels, but there was Iroquois smoke on old Maxon this morning, and I should like at least to poke the dead ashes of that same fire before moonrise.”

  “Certainly,” said the Major, gravely; and we shook hands.

  “Now, Nick,” said I briskly.

  “Ready,” said he; and “Ready!” repeated every man.

  So, rifle a-trail, I led the way out into the Fish House road.

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE DROWNED LANDS

  For two weeks my small patrol of six remained in the vicinity of the Sacandaga, scouting even as far as Stony Creek, Silver Lake, and West River, covering Maxon, too, and the Drowned Lands, but ever hovering about the Sacandaga, where the great Iroquois War Trail runs through the dusk of primeval woods.

  But never a glimpse of Sir John did we obtain. Which was scarcely strange, inasmuch as the scent was already stone cold when we first struck it. And though we could trace the Baronet’s headlong flight for three days’ journey, by his dead fires and stinking camp débris, and, plainer still, by the trampled path made by his men and horses and by the wheel-marks of at least one cannon, our orders, which were to stop the War Trail from Northern enemies, permitted no further pursuit.

  Yet, given permission, I think I could have come up with him and his motley forces, though what my six scouts could have accomplished against nearly two hundred people is but idle surmise. And whether, indeed, we could have contrived to surprise and capture Sir John, and bring him back to justice, is a matter now fit only for idlest speculation.

  At the end of the first week I sent Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew into Johnstown to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what we had seen and what we guessed concerning Sir John’s probable route. De Luysnes and Johnny Silver I stationed on Maxon’s honest nose, where the valley of the Sacandaga and the Drowned Lands lay like a vast map at their feet, while Nick Stoner and I prowled the silent Iroquois trail or slid like a pair of otters through the immense desolation of the Drowned Lands, from the jungle-like recesses of which we could see the distant glitter of muskets where our garrison wa
s drilling at Fish House, and a white speck to the southward, which marked the little white and green lodge at Summer House Point.

  We had found a damaged birch canoe near the Stacking Ridge, and I think it was the property of John Howell, who lived on the opposite side of the creek a mile above. But his log house stood bolted and empty; and, as he was a very rabid Tory, we helped ourselves to his old canoe, and Nick patched it with gum and made two paddles.

  In this leaky craft we threaded the spectral Drowned Lands, penetrating every hidden water-lead, every concealed creek, every lost pond which glimmered unseen amid cranberry bogs, vast wastes of stunted willow, pinxter shrubs in bloom, and the endless wilderness of reeds. Nesting black-ducks rose on clattering wings in scores and scores at our stealthy invasion; herons and bitterns flapped heavily skyward; great chain-pike, as long as a young boy, slid like shadows under our dipping paddles. But we saw no Indians.

  Nor was there a sign of any canoe amid the Drowned Lands; not a moccasin print in swamp-moss or mud; no trace of Iroquois on the Stacking Ridge, where already wild pigeons were flying among the beech and oak trees, busy with courtship and nesting.

  It was now near the middle of June, but Nick thought that Sir John had not yet reached Canada, nor was like to accomplish that terrible journey through a pathless wilderness under a full month.

  We know now that he did accomplish it in nineteen days, and arrived with his starving people in a terrible plight. But nobody then supposed it possible that he could travel so quickly. Even his own Mohawks never dreamed he was already so far advanced on his flight; and this was their vital mistake; for there had been sent from Canada a war party to meet and aid Sir John; and, by hazard, I was to learn of this alarming business in a manner I had neither expected nor desired.

  I was sitting on a great, smooth bowlder, where the little trout stream, which tumbles down Maxon from the east, falls into Hans Creek. It was a still afternoon and very warm in the sun, but pleasant there, where the confluence of the waters made a cool and silvery clashing-noise among the trees in full new leaf.