"I am no angler," said Mr. Butler, in his deadened voice.
"That is true," observed Sir William, as though condoling with Mr.
Butler for a misfortune not his fault. "Perhaps some day the fever may scorch you--like our young kinsman Micky--eh, lad?"
I said, "Perhaps, sir," with eyes on the smoking joint before me. It was Sir William"s pleasure that I learn to carve; and, in truth, I found it easy, save for the carving of a goose or of those wild-ducks we shot on the great Vlaie.
We were but four to dine that day: Sir William, Mr. Butler, Silver Heels, and myself. Mistress Molly remained in the nursery, where were also Peter and Esk, inasmuch as they s...o...b..red and fouled the cloth, and so fed in the play-room.
Colonel Guy Johnson remained at Detroit, Captain John Johnson was on a mission to Albany, Thayendanegea in Quebec, and Colonel Claus, with his lady, had gone to Castle c.u.mberland. There were no visiting officers or Indians at Johnson Hall that week, and our small company seemed lost in the great dining-hall.
Having carved the juicy joint, the gilly served Sir William, then Mr.
Butler, then Silver Heels, whom I had scarcely noticed, so full was I of my quarrel with Mr. Butler. Now, as Saunders laid her plate, I gave her a look which meant, "I did not tell Sir William," whereupon she smiled at her plate and clipped a spoonful from a dish of potatoes.
"Good appet.i.te and good health, sir," said I, raising my wine-gla.s.s to Sir William.
"Good health, my lad!" said Sir William, heartily.
Gla.s.ses were raised again and compliments said, though my face was sufficient to sour the Madeira in Mr. Butler"s gla.s.s.
"Your good health, Michael," said Silver Heels, sweetly.
I pledged her with a patronizing amiability which made her hazel-gray eyes open wide.
Now, c.o.xcomb that I was, I sat there, dizzied by my new dignity, yet carefully watching Sir William to imitate him, thinking that, as I was now a man, I must observe the carriage, deportment, and tastes of men.
When Sir William declined a dish of jelly, I also waved it away, though G.o.d knew I loved jellies.
When Sir William drank the last of the winter"s ale, I shoved aside my small-beer and sent for a mug.
"It will make a humming-top of your head," said Sir William. "Stick to small-beer, Micky."
Mortified, I tossed off my portion, and was very careful not to look at Silver Heels, being hot in the face.
Mr. Butler and Sir William spoke gravely of the discontent now rampant in the town of Boston, and of Captain John Johnson"s mission to Albany. I listened greedily, sniffing for news of war, but understood little of their discourse save what pertained to the Indians.
Some mention, indeed, was made of rangers, but, having always a.s.sociated militia and rangers with war on the Indians, I thought little of what they discussed. I even forgot my new dignity, and secretly pinched a bread crumb into the shape of a little pig which I showed to Silver Heels. She thereupon pinched out a dog with hound"s ears for me to admire.
I was roused by Sir William"s voice in solemn tones to Mr. Butler: "Now, G.o.d forbid I should live to see that, Captain Butler!" and I p.r.i.c.ked up my ears once more, but made nothing of what followed, save that there were certain disloyal men in Ma.s.sachusetts and New York who might rise against our King and that our Governor Tryon meant to take some measures concerning tea.
"Well, well," burst out Sir William at length; "in evil days let us thank G.o.d that the fish still swim! Eh, Micky? I wish the ice were out."
"The anchor-ice is afloat, and the Kennyetto is free, sir," I said, quickly.
"How do you know?" asked Sir William, laughing.
I had, the day previous, run across to the Kennyetto to see, and I told him so.
He was pleased to praise my zeal and to say I ran like a Mohawk, which praise sounded sweet until I saw Silver Heels"s sly smile, and I remembered the foot-race and the jack-knife.
But I was above foot-races now. Others might run to amuse me; I would look on--perhaps distribute prizes.
"Some day, Sir William, will you not make me one of your deputies?" I asked, eagerly.
"Hear the lad!" cried Sir William, pushing back his chair. "On my soul, Captain Butler, it is time for old weather-worn Indian commissioners like me to resign and make way for younger blood! And his Majesty might be worse served than by Micky here; eh, Captain Butler?"
"Perhaps," said Mr. Butler, in his dead voice.
Sir William rose and we all stood up. The Baronet, brushing Silver Heels on his way to the door, pa.s.sed his arm around her and tilted her chin up.
"Now do you go to Mistress Mary and beg her to place you in the stocks for an hour; and stay there in patience for your body"s grace. Will you promise me, Felicity?"
Silver Heels began to pout and tease, hooking her fingers in Sir William"s belt, but the Baronet packed her off with his message to Mistress Molly, and went out to the portico where one of his d.a.m.ned Scotch gillies attended with gaff, spear, and net-sack.
"Oho," thought I, "so it"s salmon in the Sacondaga!" And I fell to teasing that he might take me, too.
"No, Micky," he said, soberly; "it"s less for sport than for quiet reflection that I go. Don"t sulk, lad. To-morrow, perhaps."
"Is it a promise, sir?" I cried.
"Perhaps," he laughed, "if the cards turn up right."
That meant he had some Indian affair on hand, and I fell back, satisfied that his rod was a ruse, and that he was really bound for one of the council fires at the upper castle.
So he went away, the sentry at the south block-house presenting his firelock, and I back into the hall, whistling, enchanted with my new liberty, yet somewhat concerned as to the disposal of so vast an amount of time, now all my own.
I had now been enfranchised nearly three hours, and had already used these first moments of liberty in picking a mortal quarrel with Mr.
Butler. I had begun rashly; I admitted that; yet I could not regret the defiance. Soon or late I felt that Mr. Butler and I would meet; I had believed it for years. Now that at last our tryst was in sight, it neither surprised nor disturbed me, nor, now that he was out of my sight, did I feel impatient to settle it, so accustomed had I become to waiting for the inevitable hour.
I strolled through the hallway, hands in pockets, whistling "Amaryllis," a tune that smacked on my lips; and so came to the south cas.e.m.e.nt. Pressing my nose to the pane, I looked into the young orchard where the robins ran in the new gra.s.s; and I found it delicious to linger in-doors, knowing I was free to go out when I chose, and none to cry, "Come back!"
In the first flush of surprise and pleasure, I have noticed that the liberated seldom venture instantly into that freedom so dearly desired. Open the cage of a thrush that has sung all winter of freedom, and lo! the little thing, creeping out under the sky, runs back to the cage, fearing the sweet freedom of its heart"s desire.
So I; and mounted the stairway, seeking my own little chamber. Here I found Esk and Peter at play, letting down a string from the open window, baited with corn, and the pullets jumping for it with great outcry and flapping of wings.
So I played with them for a while, then put them out, and bolted the door despite their cries and kicks.
Sitting there on my cot I surveyed my domain serenely, proud as though it had been a mansion and all mine.
There were my books, not much thumbed save _Roderick Random_ and the prints of Le Brun"s _Battles of Alexander_. Still I cherished the others because gifts of Sir William or relics of my honoured father--the two volumes called _An Introduction to Sir Isaac Newton"s Philosophy_; two volumes of _Chambers"s Dictionary_; all the volumes of _The Gentleman"s Magazine_ from 1748; t.i.tan"s _Loves of the G.o.ds_--an immodest print which I hated; my beloved "Amaryllis," called _A New Musical Design_, and well bound; and last a ma.n.u.script much faded and eaten by mice, yet readable, and it was a most lovely song composed long since by a Mr. Pepys, the name of which was "Gaze not on Swans!"
My chamber was small, yet pleasing. Upon the walls I had placed, by favour of Sir William, pictures of the best running-horses at Newmarket, also four prints of a camp by Watteau, well executed, though French. Also, there hung above the door a fox"s mask, my whip, my hunting-horn, my spurs, and two fish-rods made for me by Joseph Brant, who is called Thayendanegea, chief of the Mohawk and of the Six Nations, and brother to Aunt Molly, who is no kin of mine, though her children are Sir William"s, and he is my kinsman.
In this room also I kept my black lead-pencil made by Faber, a ream of paper from England, and a lump of red sealing-wax.
I had written, in my life, but two letters: one three years since I wrote to Sir Peter Warren to thank him for a sum of money sent for my use; the other to a little girl named Marie Livingston, whom I knew in Albany when Sir William took me for the probating of papers which I do not yet understand.
She wrote me a letter, which was delivered by chance, the express having been scalped below Fonda"s Bush, and signed "your cozzen Marie," Mr. Livingston being kin to Sir William. I had not yet written again to her, though I had meant to do so these twelve months past.
She had yellow hair which was pleasing, and she did not resemble Silver Heels in complexion or manner, having never flouted me. Her father gave me two peaches, some Salem sweets called Black Jacks, and a Delaware basket to take home with me, heaped with macaroons, crisp almonds, rock-candy, caraways, and suckets. These I prudently finished before coming again to Johnson Hall, and I remember I forgot to save a sucket for Silver Heels; and her anger when I gave her the Delaware basket all sticky inside; and how Peter licked it and blubbered while still a-licking.