"DEAR LAD,--By runners from the Cayuga, I know how gallantly you have conducted. Dearer than son you are to me, prouder am I than any parent. If what we had hoped and prayed for has failed--as I can no longer doubt--it is so ordained, and we struggle in vain. _Nitor in adversum; nisi Dominus, frustra!_
"I am holding the Mohawks back by their very throats, but mischief brews at the Upper Castle, whither Joseph (Thayendanegea) has gone with the belts from me.
"Red Jacket"s conduct condemns me to uneasiness. He is an orator; the foul murder of Logan is his text. I need say no more, save that I still hold the Mohawks back.
"Colonel John Butler, his conduct concerns me, and I needs must view it with grief and alarm. His dishonoured son, Walter Butler, is still absent; the elder Butler has retired to the lakes, where I am informed he is gathering Tory malecontents and foolish young Onondagas, for what ultimate purpose I can only imagine.
"A most deadly and bitter feeling runs flood in Johnstown; nightly outrages are reported to me, and I fear that the so-called patriots are quite as blameworthy as are the loyalists. Whig and Tory hate and wait.
"Dear lad, the sands of my life are running very swiftly. I am so tired, so tired! Come when you can; I have much to talk over ere these same sands run out, leaving a voided gla.s.s in the sunlight. If you, by hazard, pa.s.s through Fort Pitt, you will accompany Felicity on her return hither, which return I have instantly commanded her by this express. I have received a singular letter from my Lord Dunmore, which has astonished me. My answer to him I delay until Felicity returns.
Doubtless she will travel hither by way of Richmond. The escort, which Lord Dunmore must furnish, will, on their return journey, take with them my reply to his Lordship.
"If this letter reaches you in time, come back with Felicity; if not, come by the safe route through Richmond. Overtake her if you can do so.
"Your Aunt Molly is well and sweetly anxious to see you safe home. Esk and Peter do flourish--yet I like not Peter"s haunting the public houses where things are uttered to poison young minds. I have trounced him soundly seven times, and mean to continue.
"The news from Boston is ominous. More ships are about to sail, bearing more troops and cannon. I know not how it will end! Ay--but I _do_ know, and so must every thinking man.
_Praemonitus praemunitus!_
"Michael, I have had a most strange and unpleasant letter from Sir Peter Warren, who encloses with it certain amazing doc.u.ments which he has carefully perused, to his great mortification and discontent. These papers were lately sent to him from Chatham dockyard, having been discovered under the cabin flooring of the war-ship _Leda_, which his brother lately commanded and which is now repairing at Chatham.
"The doc.u.ments concern Felicity--and us all--and I wish you to know that I no longer approve of your union with her, at least not until both she and you are fully acquainted with the contents of these doc.u.ments.
"And now, dear son, I can but wait for you to come. The house is dull without you. I have sometimes sought to drown care in the river, whither I go with gillie Bareshanks to fly-fish for trouts. But I am growing sad and old, and nothing pleases, though I do throw my flies as I did at thirty, looping each cast without a splash.
"Always y"r affectionate "WM. JOHNSON, BART.
"Post Scriptum.--On y"r return I have planned a fishing-trip to the Kennyetto at Fonda"s Bush, where, report is, a monstrous trout hath been seen to jump frequently in that bend of the stream due east from the sugar bush on the hill.
"W. J."
My eyes were swimming when I lifted them from the sheets of paper, now damp with dew. For a moment I rested my head on my hands, feeling the rising tide of homesickness choking me. Then that subtle courage, which a word from Sir William ever infused, warmed my blood and calmed my beating heart.
I rose serenely, and laid the letter to the candle"s flame, watching it burn and crisp and fall in flakes which no prying spy might decipher. Then I looked at my new watch, and was amazed to find that it lacked but a few moments to the time set for our departure from the "Virginia Arms."
Rolfe had already lighted the chaise-lamps; Shemuel had crawled inside with our weapons, and Renard sat his post-saddle, adjusting the stirrups; while Mount was preparing to climb into the saddle of the nigh leader.
"Is it dark out there in the square?" I asked of Rolfe.
"I guess the lanthorns swing a-light on every seventh," he said. "I darkened mine, but the watchman came battering and bawling tew the door and made me light up again."
Mount was now in his saddle; I held my ticking time-piece under the coach-lamp, eyes following the slow pointers travelling towards the hour.
And, as I stood there, there came creeping a woman into the alley, cloaked and bareheaded, halting and crouching to scan our chaise-lamps under her inverted hand. Ere Rolfe or I could stop her she ran to the horse on which Mount was sitting and caught the forest-runner by the fringe on his sleeve. Then, in the rays of the chaise-lamp, I knew her for the thief-taker"s child.
"Hoity-toity, what the devil"s tew pay?" said Rolfe. "Darn the ruddled vixens who come a-drabbing into my mews, with a hussy tew hail you afoot and a baggage tew boot on the boot--"
"Keep quiet!" I said, sharply. "There"s trouble abroad somewhere!"
"Oh, Mr. Cardigan," called Mount, softly, "Sir Timerson and a gang o"
cudgels is coming up Pitt Street and Bully Bishop"s with them!"
The girl turned her frightened face to me:
"They came for father to take Jack Mount; I ran out the back door, sir. Oh, hasten! hasten!" she wailed, looking at Mount and wringing her hands.
The big fellow stooped from his saddle and deliberately kissed her.
"Thank you, my dear," he said; "I"ll come back for another before I die. Au large, Jimmy! Up with you, Mr. Cardigan!"
"Turn those horses! Take their heads!" whispered Rolfe. "There"s one back way tew every mews, and half a dozen to this!"
The next moment I had wheeled the chaise-and-four back into the darkness and around a rambling row of sheds and stables, following Rolfe, then to the left, then a demi-tour to the right, which brought us up against a heavy stockade. But already Rolfe had set a creaking gate swinging loosely, and we b.u.mped out into a field, hub-deep in b.u.t.tercups.
"I"ll keep the scratch-wigs amused," whispered Rolfe, as I climbed to the forward seat and picked up my rifle; and away we jolted across the star-lit pasture and out into a narrow, unlighted cattle lane, which we followed to the bars. These Shemuel let down, popping back into the chaise like a jack-o"-box, and Mount rode our horses out into the dark Boundary Road.
There was not a soul to be seen, not a light, not a sound but the hum of our turning wheels and the slapping trot of our horses.
Presently, on a dark hillock to our right, I saw lighted windows glimmering among trees, and I called in a low voice to Mount and sprang noiselessly to the road. A lane led around the hillock to the right; up this dim path I conducted the chaise-and-four until I found room to turn them back, facing the Boundary Road again. Here our chaise might lie concealed from pa.s.sing folk on the highway, and here I quietly bade Mount and Renard await me, while Shemuel held the horses" heads.
The night was warm and fragrant under the great June stars as I pa.s.sed silently along the lane, climbed the hillock and entered the orchard.
Through the dim trees I stole towards the house, where two windows on the ground floor were lighted up.
Then, as I leaned breathless against a tree, in the distant gloom the fortress bell struck slowly, eleven times.
Second after second pa.s.sed, minute followed minute, and my eyes never left the closed door under the pillared porch. Presently I looked at my watch; a quarter of an hour had pa.s.sed. The seconds began to drag, the minutes loitered. Time seemed to stand still in the world.
Far away in the fortress the bell struck the half-hour, and on the west breeze came the dull cry of sentinels calling from post to post under the summer stars.
Suddenly the dark door opened; a heavy figure appeared in silhouette against the light. My heart stood still; it was Black Betty.
The negress peered out into the darkness, north, west, south, and finally looked up at the stars. Then, as though summoned from within, she turned quickly and entered the house, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Impatience was racking me now; I waited until I could wait no longer; then, in the shadow of the trellis-vines, I stole up to the porch. The hallway was empty; I stepped to the sill, crossed it, and surveyed the empty stairway and the gallery above. There was not a soul in sight.
Now alarm seized me, a swift, overpowering dread which drove me on to seek and face whatever was in store for me. A door on my right stood open; I looked in, then entered the smaller of two rooms, which were partly separated from each other by folding doors. Candles burned in gilt sconces; gla.s.s cabinets glittered; mirrors reflected my full length so abruptly that I started at the apparitions and clutched my hunting-knife.
Treading on the velvet carpet I pa.s.sed into the farther apartment which, by a little gallery and waxed floor, I knew to be the ballroom.
Not a soul to be seen anywhere. Glancing hurriedly at the empty ranks of gilded chairs, I strove to crush out the fear which was laying icy fingers on my breast, and I had already turned to re-enter the smaller room when I heard the front door close and voices sounding along the outer hallway. I stepped behind a gilt cabinet and drew my heavy knife, perfectly aware that I was trapped like a fox in a snap-box.
Through the carved foliage of the cabinet I saw three people enter the room. The skin all over my body roughened at the sight of them; and what held me back I do not know--perhaps that kind Providence which watches over fools--for I began to tremble in every contracting muscle as do cats in ambush when their quarry pa.s.ses unsuspecting.
There they stood in low-voiced consultation--Lady Shelton, my Lord Dunmore, and my mortal enemy, Walter Butler, tricked out in lace and velvet. He stood so near to me that my hot hand could have fastened on his throat-strings where I crouched. He turned towards Dunmore with a gesture.
"Sir Timerson should find them to-night," he said; "your thief-taker, Bully Bishop, is with them, I understand."
"They are to search every rebel rat-hole in town," cried Dunmore, eagerly; "they should claw them ere dawn, Captain Butler. _Vive Dieu, nous allons les clouer en terrain bouche!_"
Lord Dunmore leered at Lady Shelton, and then contemplated his small French hat as though seeking countenance for his halting tongue.