Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  At length the heat of expectancy began to give place to the chill of doubt. Had I mistaken, could I have mistaken the place? Or was there another path up the Knob and could she be waiting for me at the foot of the farther side. I hurried across the top, I descended some distance, I called, I whistled. I strove to pierce the thickets with my eyes. Then, harassed by the thought that while I lingered, she might be mounting by the proper track, I toiled again to the summit and looked abroad. She had not appeared, and my heart sank. Doubt in its turn began to give place to suspicion. Had I been tricked? And if so, to what end? Desperately I searched the trees with my eyes. She might still come, but the hour I had been told to wait was nearly up. Indeed in no long time the sun would set, and twilight in Carolina is brief. If I remained on the Knob until it was dark, I should have small chance of returning through the woods without a fall that in my crippled condition might be serious.

  I was now angry as well as suspicious. I had been duped — for some reason; duped by a trick too transparent to deceive a child. I had been sent out of the way; I had not a doubt of it now. I only wondered that I had been so easily gulled. Still I would not act in a hurry. They should not say that I had left the rendez-vous before the time. They should not have that excuse. So I waited fuming and fretting until the hour expired, and then reckoning that I should have no more daylight than would suffice for my return, I scrambled down the rocky slope, and in a state of cold anger very different from the heat of anticipation in which I had come, I made the best of my way towards home.

  A man, and a soldier, does not like to be tricked. He does not choose to be treated as a child even for his own good. And in this case the lure which they had used, the bait which I had swallowed so greedily, seemed to imply a knowledge of my feelings that made me hot only to think of it. Had the girl been amusing herself with me? Had she, cold and distant as she seemed, been laughing at me? Worst of all, had she taken that d — d grinning black woman into her confidence? No wonder that as I labored on I cursed the boggy piece that delayed me, the roots over which I stumbled, the thorns that snatched at my clothes?

  I did not consider what I should say. My one longing was to confront them. But I had not reckoned with the darkness that fell earlier in the woods than in the open, and soon I had to pick my way for fear of a fall which might injure my arm.

  When I came in sight of the cabins it was dusk and a light already shone from one of the windows of the house.

  I was making for this light, with angry words on my lips, when a figure rose suddenly in the path before me and barred my way. It was Mammy Jacks. Apparently she had been crouching on the ground on the look-out for my coming.

  “Fer de Lord’s sake, stop, honey!” she jibbered, bringing her ugly face close to mine, her eyeballs and her teeth shining in the gloom. “Der’s Cap’en Levi dar, en de udder rapscallions! Ef you go in, you no mo’ chance den a rooster in de pan! Der ain’t no Marse Marion ter ‘elp you loose de rope dis time! Ain’t you no eyes ter see de hosses?” And she clutched me by the arm and held me.

  I did see then — with a decided shock — a row of saddled horses standing beside the porch, thirty yards from us. With them were a couple of men lounging, as if on guard. The row extended round the corner of the house so that I could not count either men or horses and the dusk made all indistinct. The windows, now that I was nearer, showed more than one light, though these were darkened from time to time as a figure passed across them. A murmur of voices, a stir of feet, the clink of glass, and now and again a loud laugh issued from the windows and mingled with the jingle of bit and stirrup-iron.

  “See dat? W’at I tell you?” Mammy Jacks repeated in terror that was certainly not feigned; and she clung firmly to my sleeve. “You go in, en you sholy hang! Cap’en Levi, he mighty mad atter you en he make an eend dis time! Look like dey sarched de cabins, en you kin hide in dar! Hide in dar, Marse Craven! Fust thing you know de Cap’en’ll get up en go. He go fer sho’ in ten minutes.”

  I let her push me towards the door of the nearest hut; to hide there, as she said, seemed to be the wisest course for the present. But either the reek of the shack repelled me, or her insistence touched the wrong note. My pride rose and on the very threshold I turned. Why should I hide? I had Marion’s word and the girl’s word. And weeks had elapsed and nothing had happened since Levi’s last attempt. Was this some new trick for my good for if so, I would not stoop to it. The part I had played at the Bluff had been poor so far; I was not going to make it worse and disgrace myself by hiding in a nigger’s hut from a parcel of low rebels whom a single man with a pistol had put to flight.

  “No!” I cried; and I resisted the woman’s thrust.

  “I’ll be hanged if I do, Mammy! I’ll see Levi and all his crew with their father the devil first!”

  “Den you’ll hatter hang!” she gibbered, struggling to detain me. “Fer de Lord’s sake, honey, ‘tend ter me! Don’t go in dar!” she protested, her voice rising to a shriek. “Don’t go in dar! Dey’ll hang you fer sho! Dey’ll — Marse Craven — fer de Lord’s sake—”

  But I wrested myself from her hands, I flung out of the hut. As I did so, some one in the house laughed aloud, a pair of hands clapped applause, a glass shivered on the floor. I was being tricked, I was sure of it now; and I bounded across the short space to the door, Mammy Jacks’ wail of despair in my ears. I evaded a second figure that slipped out of the gloom and tried to stop me, I thrust open the door that was already ajar, and a pace inside the room I stood, confounded.

  The table was spread for a meal and spread as I had never seen it laid at the Bluff, with glass and silverware and all that was rarest in the house. On it were meat and drink and whisky and even wine. At the head of the table staring at me with laughter frozen on her lips — aye, and with terror in her eyes — sat Constantia. At the foot was Aunt Lyddy, I believe, but I did not take her in at a first glance. For between them, seated at the table were three men in regimentals that glittered with gold lace. Two of them wore the green of Tarleton’s British Legion, one was in the King’s scarlet. And my amazement may be imagined when I saw that the one in scarlet, was young Paton, my own particular friend on the Staff! While of the others the nearer to me was Haybittle, a grim, hard-bitten veteran, who had never risen beyond a pair of colors in the regular service, but now ranked in the Legion as a Captain. I knew him well.

  On both sides there was a moment of silence and astonishment. I glared at them.

  The first to recover from his surprise and to find his voice was Paton. He pushed back his chair, and sprang to his feet. “Who-hoop!” he shouted. “Who-hoop! Run to earth, by Gad! Look at him, Haybittle! You’d think he saw a ghost instead of the King’s uniform. Here’s his health!” He swung his glass round his head. “A bumper! A bumper!”

  I stood stock still. “But how — how do you come here?” I stammered at last. I stared at Paton in his scarlet, at the glittering table, at the candles that shed a soft light upon it, but it was only the girl’s stricken face that I apprehended with my mind. And even while I put the question to Paton, my brain asked another — what did her look of horror, of despair mean? “How do you come here?” I repeated. “You are not prisoners?”

  “Prisoners!” Haybittle answered in his harsher tones. “Good G — d, no! We’ve come for you, Major, and a deuce of a ride we’ve had to fetch you! We’d pretty well given you up too!”

  “Thanks to this young lady who lied to us!” the third man struck in. I knew him slightly — a New York Tory holding a commission in Tarleton’s horse and like many loyalists more bitter than the regulars. “It would serve Madam right,” he continued rudely, “if we burned the roof over her head! And for my part I’m for doing it!”

  “Hold your tongue, Carroll!” Paton cried angrily. “You’re always for burning some poor devil’s house or playing some silly trick of that sort! Don’t be afraid, Miss Wilmer,” he continued, “You played your hand, and had a right to play it, and played it well! And by jove,
such a face as yours, if you will allow me to say so, knows no laws. But I can tell you,” he went on, addressing me, “my lady came pretty near to bamboozling us, Major! We were just toasting her in a last glass when you came in looking like Banquo’s ghost — and damme, almost as pale! Five minutes more and we should have been off and away!”

  “And we ought to be away now!” Haybittle said, rising to his feet. “Sergeant! Get ‘em to horse. Don’t lose a minute!”

  “I’m on parole,” I said.

  “Parole be hanged!” Haybittle answered bluntly. “We retake you! Hit in the arm, eh, Major? Well, you can ride and we’ve a horse for you. And ride we must as if the devil were behind us. I’m not for doing anything to this young lady,” with an awkward look at her, “because she fibbed to us! But I don’t trust her for that reason, and—”

  “Steady, Captain Haybittle,” I said, regaining my voice and my faculties — the girl continued to sit and look before her with the same stricken face. “This lady’s father saved my life when I was wounded and helpless. He has sheltered me and treated me more than well, and more than humanely. Not a dog must be injured here, or a truss taken, or you will have to reckon with me. I am the senior officer here—”

  “No, by G — d, you’re not, Major,” Haybittle retorted bluntly. “Not till your name’s replaced on the active list, and that can’t be till you have reported yourself at Headquarters as returned to duty. General Tarleton put me in charge of the expedition, and I’ll give up the lead to no one — with all respect to you.”

  “And I’m for doing something! I’m for teaching these rebels a lesson!” Carroll protested, encouraged by Haybittle’s action.

  “You’ll learn a lesson yourself, Lieutenant,” Haybittle rejoined, “and that pretty quickly if you don’t see the men to horse. While we’re mounting, throw forward vedettes as far as the smithy we passed. Off, man, and see to it!” Then to me, “We’re thirty miles from Fishing Creek, where our supports are, and seventy miles from our lines. Green is at Charlotte, a deal too near us for my taste, and has thrown forward Sumter’s men. I’ll give you three minutes, Major, by my watch to get your things together — not a second more. We’re only twenty, all told, and before we are ten miles from here we shall have the country swarming on our backs.”

  He hurried out. Carroll had already gone. Paton with a sly look at me and a glance at the girl — who still sat silent in her chair — went after him.

  I approached her diffidently, “Miss Wilmer,” I said, “have you nothing to say to me before I go?” She awoke as from a dream. She met my eyes. “You are going then?” she said.

  “I have no choice.”

  “And your parole — is nothing?”

  “It is put an end to by my re-capture,” I said. “Colonel Marion will understand that. But I want you to understand something more; that nothing — nothing can put an end to the gratitude which I owe to your father and to you. When it shall be safe for me to return—”

  “To the Bluff?”

  “Yes — for I shall return, Miss Wilmer, be sure of that. And when I do return to the Bluff I shall be free to tell you, and to prove to you—”

  “How great is your gratitude!” she cried, rising to her feet and substituting other words for mine — for indeed it was of something more than gratitude I was going to speak. “Your gratitude?” she repeated, with a look and in a voice that cut me to the heart. “Will it be worth more than your word? Will it sever one of the meshes that bind you? Will it evade one of your cruel laws? Will it save one life? No, Major Craven! If the day comes for me to ask a return, to crave a favor, to plead to you, aye, even on my knees, I know that the law that frees you to-day will bind you then! And I shall find your gratitude no better than your word! For me, you can take it, sir — where it may mean more!” | She pointed scornfully to the old lady who sat, wondering and bemused, at the farther end of the table. And yet I doubt if Aunt Lyddy was more bemused at that moment than I was. The girl’s outbreak was to me beyond all understanding. I was astonished, indignant, nay, sorely hurt! For what had I done. What beyond that which I was doing, could I do? “You are cruel, and unjust!” I cried. “What have I done that you should wound me, at this moment? Believe me, if you could read my heart, Miss Wilmer—”

  “I do not wish to read it!” she answered passionately. “Take it there with your gratitude! I value both at their true worth!” Again she pointed to poor Aunt Lyddy who gazed at us, understanding nothing of the debate. And that was the end, for before, hurt and angry, I could find words with which to answer the girl or to reproach her, the opportunity was past. Haybittle bustled in, his sword clanking on the floor.

  “Time! Time!” he cried. “You must come, Major. Not another moment!” He took me by the sound arm and forced me towards the door. “You are playing with lives,” he continued, “and I don’t choose to hazard mine for the sake of a girl’s eyes. No offence to you, Miss,” he flung over his shoulder. “You’d make a fine tragedy queen, be hanged if you wouldn’t. To look at you one would think that we’d done God knows what to you, and a good many would! There’s temptation and to spare. Now boot and saddle, Major! We’ve risked more than enough to get hold of you! Let us be going!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE MAN WITH TWO FACES

  This outward sainted Deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word

  Nips youth i’ the head and follies doth emmew

  As falcon doth the fowl — is yet a Devil!

  SHAKESPEARE.

  Haybittle dragged me out. From the porch I had a last view of the room. It showed me the table set for a feast, as I had left it, the old lady seated in her chair, Constantia on her feet, motionless, and gazing after us. Was it fancy or did I read something besides scorn and defiance in the girl’s eyes as they followed me; a shadow of fear, of appeal, of unutterable sorrow? I could not tell, and I had no time to dwell on the fancy. In a twinkling I was half-lifted and half pushed into the saddle of a troop-horse, the reins were thrust into my hand, the word was given, we moved off, the lighted windows faded as by magic. I had one glimpse of Mammy Jacks’ face amid a knot of staring negroes, a moment in which to press my purse — once before given and returned — into her hand, and we had left all behind, and were filing down the field road, amid the jingle of bits, the trampling of hoofs, the curt orders, all the familiar sounds of a troop of horse on the march.

  I was among my own people, Paton’s cheery tones cried, “Hark Forrard!” in my ears, his kind hand had knotted my spare rein to his saddle. I was free, with friendly hands and voices round me, and a good horse between my knees. I should have been jubilant, I should have been happy, I should have been content at least; and Heaven knows I was wretched. It was not only that we were parted, but in the moment of parting the girl had judged me unfairly and hurt me wantonly, God only knew why! She had flung my thanks in my face and poured scorn on the affection of which — for she was a woman — she must at least have had some suspicion.

  Sore with the pain of parting, I cried out passionately against her injustice: that injustice which, had I been indifferent to her, must still have been cruel. As it was I loved her; and at this our last interview, when I had been on the point of telling her, hurried and ill-timed as the moment was, something of what I felt, she had — oh, but it was cruel! For I might never — I might never see her again. This might be my last memory of her.

  Yet at this moment her stricken face, her eyes, wells of grief and appeal, rose up before me, and gave me a strange bewildering certainty that I was loved. That I was loved! She might pour contempt on me, she might insult me; but the very violence of her language proved that there was something in her heart akin to that which swelled in mine. There was a bond between us. Miles might part us, but her eyes followed me, and her heart. For, here was the old mystery, the old puzzle. But of pain is born knowledge; and with her reproaches in my ears, and every pace of my horse carrying me farther from her — and never perhaps should I see her agai
n! — I was sure at last that I had touched her heart.

  Yes, out of my wretchedness I came suddenly to that knowledge. The eyes that had followed me had given the lie to the eyes that accused me. There was a mystery still, but — at this point Paton broke in upon my thoughts.

  “Major, rouse yourself!” he cried in my ear. “Come, you’ve cheated the Jews and bilked the sponging house, and you’re as mum as one of these confounded trimmers who are neither on one side nor the other! Cheer up! Your heart will be whole as soon as your arm, Though now they are moaning on ilka green loaning The flowers of the Forest are all wede away!

  There I’ll say no more! But you’ve never asked how we came to find you? It was due to me, my lad, due to me! One of Ferguson’s men came in a week ago. He’d been hiding by day and walking by night. He heard from some loyalists — few enough in this part! — who sheltered him, that there was a wounded officer lying at a plantation not far from King’s Mountain. Greene had let us know you were alive — quite a courteous message it was — and putting two and two together with the help of a man who knew the district we fixed upon the place where we found you. But we did not say a word — far too much has crept out lately. I saw Tarleton and he consented to push ten miles up Fishing Creek, and to lie there thirty hours. He gave me Carroll and twenty men, but — in your ear, Major — Carroll’s too much given to burning and harrying for my taste, and I insisted on having Haybittle as well, who’s a good fellow, though not thorough-bred. And here we are!”

  “How’s my lord?” I asked, forcing myself — it was no small effort — to take an interest in things.

  “He has gone down the country for his health for ten days; he has left my other lord in charge.”

  “Rawdon?”

  “The same — and gallant old Webster to nurse him. Poor Ferguson’s death has set us back damnably. You left us at Charlotte — Gates was then at Hillsborough a long way north. Now we’re back at Winnsboro’ and Greene, in Gates’s place, and worth six of him, the devil take him! is at Charlotte. Sumter is out on the Broad, west of us, and Davy is across the Catawba east of us, and it was no small feat, Major, to slip in between them; they’re no fools at the business. And we’re not out of the trap yet. However, if you can ride through the night in spite of your bad arm, we shall be with Tarleton by daybreak. He’s lying, as I said, on Fishing Creek where he defeated Sumter a couple of months ago, but he has a party out watching the fords of the Catawba and Davy will be clever if he surprises him.