Long before we came in sight of Johnstown I could hear the distant quaver of the tocsin, where, on the fort, the iron bell rang ceaselessly its melancholy warning.
And after a while I saw a spire above distant woods, and the setting sun brilliant on gilt weather-vanes.
I bent over Penelope: "We arrive," I whispered.
One little hand stole out and drew aside the collar of the cloak; and she turned her head and saw the roofs and chimneys shining red in the westering sun.
"Jack," she said faintly.
"I listen, beloved."
"Douw Fonda is dead."
"Hush! I know it, love."
"Douw Fonda is with G.o.d since sunrise," she whispered.
"Yes, I know.... And many others, too, Penelope."
She shook her head vaguely, looking up at me all the while.
"It came so swiftly.... I was still abed.... The guns awoke me.... And the blacks screaming. I ran to the window of my chamber.
"A Continental soldier was driving an army cart toward the Johnstown road. And I saw him jump out of his cart,[46] cut his traces, mount, turn his horse, and gallop down the valley.... That was the first real fear that a.s.sailed me, when I saw that soldier flee.... I went below immediately; and saw Indians near the Fisher place.... But I could not persuade Mr. Fonda to escape with me through the orchard.... He would not go, Jack--he would not listen to me or to the Bouw-Meester, who also had hold of him.
[Footnote 46: The gossipy, industrious, and diverting historian, Simms, whose account of this incident would seem to imply that Penelope Grant herself related it to him, gives a different version of her testimony.
The statement he offers is signed: "_Mrs. Penelope Fortes. Her maiden name was Grant._" So Simms may have had it first hand.]
"And when we went into the library somebody fired through the window and hit the Bouw-Meester.... I don"t know what happened to him or where he fell.... For the next moment the house was full of green-coats and savages.... They led Mr. Fonda out of the house.... An Indian killed him with a hatchet.... A green-coat took hold of me and said he meant to cut my throat for a d.a.m.ned rebel s.l.u.t! But an Indian pushed him away....
They disputed. An officer of the Indian Department came into the library and told me to go out to the orchard and escape if I was able.
"Then a Tory neighbour of ours, Joseph Clement, came in and shouted out in low Dutch: Laat de vervlukten rabble starven!"[47] ... A green-coat clubbed his musket to slay me, but the Indian officer caught the gun and called out to me: "Run! Run, you yellow-haired s.l.u.t!"
[Footnote 47: In Valley Dutch: "Let the accursed rebel die!"]
"But I dared not stir to pa.s.s by where Clement stood with his gun. I caught up a heavy silver candle-stick, broke the window with two blows, and leaped out into the orchard.... Clement ran around the house and I saw him enter the orchard, carrying a gun and looking for me; but I lay very still under the lilac hedge; and he must have thought I had run down to the river, for he went off that way.
"Then I got to my feet and crept up the hill.... And presently saw Mrs.
Romeyn and the children toiling up the hill; and helped her carry them.... All the morning we hid there and looked down at the burning houses.... And after a long while the firing grew more distant.
"And then--and then--_you_ came! My dear lord!--my lover.... My own lover who has come to me at last!"
AFTERMATH
I know not how it shall be with me and mine! In this year of our Lord, 1782, in which I write, here in the casemates at West Point, the war rages throughout the land, and there seems no end to it, nor none likely that I can see.
That horrid treason which, through G.o.d"s mercy, did not utterly confound us and deliver this fortress to our enemy, still seems to brood over this calm river and the frowning hills that b.u.t.tress it, like a low, dark cloud.
But I believe, under G.o.d, that our cause is now clean purged of all villainy, and all that is sordid, base, and contemptible.
I believe, under G.o.d, that we shall accomplish our freedom and recover our ancient and English liberties in the end.
That dull and German King, who sits yonder across the water, can never again stir in any American the faintest echo of that allegiance which once all offered simply and without question.
Nor can his fat jester, my Lord North, contrive any new pleasantry to seduce us, or any new and b.l.o.o.d.y deviltry to make us fear the wrath of G.o.d"s anointed or the monkey chatter of his clown.
For us, the last king has sat upon a throne; the last privilege has been accorded to the last and n.o.ble drone; the last slave"s tax has long been paid.
Yet--and it sounds strange--_England_ still seems _home_ to us.... We think of it as home.... It is in our blood; and I am not ashamed to say it. And I think a hundred years may pa.s.s, and, in our hearts, shall still remain deep, deep, a tenderness for that far, ocean-severed home our grandsires knew as England.
I say it spite o" the German King, spite of his mad ministers, spite o"
British wrath and scorn and jibes and cruelty. For, by G.o.d! I believe that we ourselves who stand in battle here are the true mind and heart and loins of England, fighting to slay her baser self!
Well, we are here in the Highlands, my sweetheart-wife and I.... I who now wear the regimentals of a Continental Colonel, and have a regiment as pretty as ever I see--though it be not over-strong in numbers. But, oh, the powder toughened line o" them in their patched blue-and-buff!
And their bright bayonets! Sir, I would not boast; and ask I pardon if it seems so....
Below us His Excellency, calm, imperturbable, holds in his hand our destinies, juggling now with Sir Henry Clinton, now with my Lord Cornwallis, as suits his temper and his purpose.
The traitor, Arnold, ravages where he may; the traitor, Lee, sulks in retreat; and Conway has confessed his shame; and the unhappy braggart, Gates, now mourns his laurels, wears his willows, and sits alone, a broken and preposterous man.
I think no day pa.s.ses but I thank G.o.d for my Lord Stirling, for our wise Generals Greene and Knox and Wayne, for the gallant young Marquis, so loved and trusted by His Excellency.
But war is long--oh, long and wearying!--and a dismal and vexing business for the most.
I, being in garrison at this fortress, which is the keystone of our very liberties, find that, in barracks as in the field, every hour brings its anxieties and its hara.s.sing duties.
Yet, thank G.o.d, I have some hours of leisure.... And we have leased a pretty cottage within our works--and our two children seem wondrous healthy and content.... Both have yellow hair. I wish they had their mother"s lovely eyes!... But, for the rest, they have her beauty and her health.
And shall, no doubt, inherit all the beauty of her mind and heart.
Comes a soldier servant where I sit writing:
"Sir: Colonel Forbes" lady; her compliments to Colonel Forbes, and desires to be informed how soon my Colonel will be free to drink a dish of tea with my lady?"
"Pray offer my compliments and profound respect to my lady, Billy, and say that I shall have the honour of drinking a dish of tea with my lady within no more than five amazing minutes!"
And so he salutes and off he goes; and I gather up the sheaf of memoirs I have writ and lock them in my desk against another day.
And so take leave of you, with every kindness, because Penelope should not sit waiting.