CHAPTER XIV
I had learned from our host of the "Virginia Arms" that the so-called"Governor's Hall," which stood within the limits of thefortifications, had been built by the French in 1755. Poor Braddock'sbrief debut before Fort Duquesne in that same year interrupted thebuilding of "Governor's Hall," which was called by the French "LaFortresse de la Reine," and which, with the exception of our stonefort at Johnstown, was the only formidable and solidly fortifiededifice of stone west of the Hudson.
When in '58 our troops seized Fort Duquesne and razed it, they notonly spared La Fortresse de la Reine, but completed it--in exceedingpoor taste--set the arms of Virginia over the portal, ran up theirred, powder-stained flag, and saluted "Governor's Hall" with hurrahsof satisfaction, drums and fifes playing "The White Cockade."
Now the hall served sometimes as a court-house, sometimes as atemporary jail, often as a ballroom, occasionally as the Governor'sresidence when he came to Fort Pitt from Williamsburg.
In it he gave audiences to all plaintiffs, white or Indian; in it hereceived deputies from other colonies or from England.
The Governor of Virginia lived on the second floor while sojourning atPittsburg; under his white and gold apartments stretched a long,blank, stone hall, around the walls of which ran a wooden balcony halfway between the stone flagging and the ceiling of massive buckeyebeams.
It was in this naked and gloomy hall, damp and rank with thepenetrating odour of mortar and dropping, mouldy plaster, that my LordDunmore consented to receive the old Cayuga chief, Logan, of the clanof the Wolf, and by right of birth--which counts not with chiefsunless they be sachems, too--the chief also of the Oquacho of theOneida nation.
Towards dusk a company of red-coated British infantry, with drummersleading, left the barracks opposite our inn, the "Virginia Arms," andmarched away towards "Governor's Hall," drummers beating "The Huron."A crowd of men and boys trailed along on either flank of the column,drawn by curiosity to catch a glimpse of Logan, "The White Man'sFriend," who was to ask justice this night of the most noble Governorof Virginia, the great Earl of Dunmore.
When the distant batter of the drums, echo and beat, had died awaydown the dark vista of the King's Road, I left my window in the"Virginia Arms" and descended the stairway into the street below,where Jack Mount and the Weasel ruffled it bravely and swaggered toand fro, awaiting my coming.
Mulled wine and sundry cups of cider, mixed rashly with long libationsof James Rolfe's humming ale, had set their heads and tonguesa-buzzing. They were glorious in their dingy buckskins, coon-skin capscocked over their left ears, thumbs hooked jauntily under theirarm-pits. They now occupied the middle of the street and patrolled itgayly, singing and shouting and interrupting traffic, returning a jestfor a gibe, a laugh for a smile, or a terrible threat for any wayfarerwho dared complain of being hustled or trodden on.
Men instinctively accorded them the room they seemed to desire; womenunderstood them better, and took right of way, smiling the reproofwhich always brought the swaggerers up, cap-tails sweeping the streetin extravagant salute. For there appeared, in those two gracelessbibbers of wines, that gravity and politeness of intoxication which sogrotesquely parodies the dignity of gallantry, and with which it isalmost hopeless for sober people to contend.
However, I spoke to them so cuttingly that they relapsed into injuredsilence and ambled along on either side of me without serious offenceto passing citizens.
We soon found ourselves in a crowd, the current of which swept downthe King's Road towards the fortress; and we followed in the wake,while past us rode companies of officers, gentlemen, and sometimessquads of the Governor's horse--those same gay, flame-colouredVirginians whom I had so admired at Johnstown a month ago.
Coaches passed us, too, rolling towards the fortress, and through theglass windows we caught glimpses of ladies in cloaks of swan's-down,with their plumes and jewels shining in the rays of the coach-lamps.Gilded sedan-chairs began to appear, gayer and more painted andpolished than our chairs in Johnstown, and the bearers often inhandsome liveries, with a major-domo leading the way and footmen toheel, and my lady peeping out at us shabby foot-farers plodding alongin the street beside her.
Cresap's men were plentiful among the crowd, some of them sullen andmuttering, others loud in their demands for Cresap's release,threatening trouble for those who had jailed their leader, andcareless who heard them. There were a few forest-runners dressed as wewere, numbers of riflemen in green capes and gray wool shirts, andrangers in brown and yellow deer-skins, with thrums dyed scarlet orpurple.
A short, thick-set fellow, wearing a baldrick fringed with scalps, waspointed out by people as one of Boone's and Harrod's dare-devils; andtruly he looked his part, though the scalp-belt pleased me not.
I heard him boasting that the trophies were Wyandotte scalps, whichnews, if true, meant one more ally for the Cayuga and one more enemyfor the colonies when the breach with England came. It sickened me tohear the great fool boast.
The bulk of the throng, however, was made up of sober, peacefulcitizens, men of the quiet classes, in homespun and snuffy hats,guiltless of the silver buckle on knee or shoe, silent, reserved,thoughtful men of moderate gesture and earnest eyes, whose rare voicesdisturbed no one and whose inoffensive conduct rebuked the rufflers asno words could do.
Jack Mount, who at first appeared inclined to play the role of amarching orator and distribute morsels of his wit and learning to allwho would pay him the fee of their attention, subsided of his ownaccord among the quiet company wherein we now found ourselves andcontented himself and the Weasel with a series of prodigious yawns,at which they both never seemed to tire of laughing.
They also sang in a subdued chorus:
"Quak'ress, Quak'ress, whither away? Pray thee stay thee, Quak'ress gray. I thy Quaker fain would be, Yet dare not swear I care for thee!"
However, the few Quakers in the throng took no offence, and Ipresently nudged my mannerless comrades into a snickering silence.
The people ahead of us had now stopped, and, looking over their heads,I saw the dark shape of the "Governor's Hall," partly illuminated bytwo great lanthorns set in iron sockets flanking the portal. Shiningin the feeble light moved the bayonets of the guards above the darklymassed crowd, while coach after coach rolled up and chair after chairdeposited its burden of bejewelled beauty at the gateway. And allthese people, all these dainty dames and gallants, had come to see thefamous Logan--to hear the great Cayuga orator, "The Friend of theWhite Man," ask why his little children had been slain by the whitemen, whose faithful friend he had been so long. Truly, there might behere something newer than the stale play at the Theatre Royal. It wasnot every day that my lady might hear and see an old man asking whyhis children had been murdered.
The crowd in front of us was compact, yet when Mount set his broadchest against it, the people hastily made a lane for him. The Weaseland I followed our big companion, elbowing our way to the portal,where Mr. Patrick Henry awaited us and passed us through the sentriesand guards and pompous big-bellied tip-staves who turned up theirvinous noses at the three shabby men from the forest.
Candle-light softened the bare walls and benches; candle-light setsilks and jewels in a blaze where the ladies, banked up like beds ofrustling roses, choked the wooden balcony above our heads, murmuring,whispering, fluttering fans and scarfs till the perfumed breeze fromtheir stirrings fanned my cheeks. And more of them were arriving everymoment; the wooden stairway leading to the gallery was ablaze withstarred sashes and petticoats, and twinkling satin shoon, with now andthen the sparkle of a hilt as some scented gallant ascended with hisfluttering and gorgeous convoy.
The scarlet coats of colonial and British officers spotted thegalleries; here and there a silver gorget caught the light, blindingthe eyes with brilliancy, only to turn and sink to a cinder as thewearer moved.
I looked for Silver Heels, but, from the floor below, all faces werevague and delicate as massed blossoms in a garden, and eyes spa
rkledas faintly as dew on velvet petals all unfolded.
At the end of the hall two carpeted steps led to a stone platform hungwith a flag and the arms of Virginia. This was the Governor'saudience-seat; the gilded chair in the centre was for him; the tablesthat flanked it for his secretaries.
For envoys, deputies, and for all plaintiffs, red benches faced theplatform; behind these stretched rank on rank of plain, unpaintedseats for the public, or as much of it as the soldiers and tip-stavesthought proper to admit.
This same public was now clamouring at the gate for right of entrancewithout favour or discrimination, and I could hear them protesting andshuffling at the portal behind us, while the soldiers disputed and thetip-staves tapped furiously on the stones with their long, tasselledwands.
"Why should not the public enter freely a public place?" I asked ofPatrick Henry.
"They will, one day," he said, with his grave smile.
"Drums beating," added Mount, loudly, but withered at once under thesharp stare of displeasure with which Mr. Henry favoured him.
We now took seats on the last of the red benches, which stood near thecentre of the hall, and in one corner of which I perceived Logansitting bolt upright, eyes fixed on space, brooding, unconscious ofthe thronged beauty in the galleries above him or of the restlesspublic now pouring into the hall behind his back.
Mr. Henry took his seat beside the stricken chief; next followed JackMount, lumbering to his place; and I heard a stir pass around thegallery with whispers of wonder and admiration for the giant,followed by a titter as the little Weasel trotted to his seat next toMount. I sat down beside the Weasel, closing the row on our bench, andturned around to watch the people filling up the hall behind me. Theywere serious, sober-eyed people, and, unlike the gay world in thegalleries, had apparently not come to seek amusement in the clothes ofthree shabby rangers or in the dumb grief of a savage.
"They are mostly patriots," whispered the Weasel, "peppered withTories and sprinkled with Dunmore's spies. But they don't blab whatthey know--trust them for that, Mr. Cardigan."
"I can see Paul Cloud and Timothy Boyd sitting together, and our hostof the 'Virginia Arms,' Rolfe," I said, leaning to search theaudience. Then I caught a glimpse of a face I knew better, thescarred, patched-up visage of the man whom I had made to taste his ownhatchet. Startled, and realizing for the first time the proximity ofWalter Butler, I hunted the hall for him with hopeful eyes, for Imeant to seek him and kill him without ceremony when the first chancecame. I could not find him, however, but in a corner near the door,whispering together and peeping about, I discovered his other twocreatures, Wraxall, the Johnstown barber, and Toby Tice, thetreacherous tenant of Sir William. Where the cubs were the old wolfwas not far away, that was certain. But search as I might I could findnothing but the wolf's stale trail.
One circumstance impressed me: behind Wraxall and Tice sat SaulShemuel, hands folded on his stomach, apparently dozing while waitingfor the spectacle to begin. But he was not asleep, for now and again,between his lids, I caught a sparkle of open eyes, and I knew that hislarge, soft ears were listening hard.
While I was still watching Shemuel, the Weasel nudged me, and I turnedto see the platform before me alive with gentlemen, moving about andchatting, seating themselves in groups, while behind them half a dozenBritish officers in full uniform lounged or stared curiously up at thepacked balconies.
Some of the gentlemen on the platform exchanged salutes with ladiesin the balconies, some smiled or waved their hands to friends. Butthat soon ceased, and the commotion on the platform was stilled as agorgeous tip-staff advanced, banging his great stave on the stones andannouncing the coming of his Lordship the Earl of Dunmore, RoyalGovernor of his Majesty's colony of Virginia. God save the King!
Swish! swish! went the silken petticoats as the gallery rose; thepeople on the floor rose too, with clatter and shuffle and scrape ofbenches shoved over the stones.
Ah! There he was!--painted cheeks, pale eyes, smirk, laces, bird-clawsand all--with a splendid order blazing on his flame-coloured sash andhis fleshless legs mincing towards the gilded chair under the canopywhich bore the arms of Virginia and the British flag.
Before he was pleased to seat himself, he peered up into the balconyand kissed his finger-tips; and I, following his eyes by instinct, sawSilver Heels sitting in the candle-flare, scarlet and silent, with hersad eyes fixed, not on my Lord Dunmore, but on me.
Before I met her eyes I had been sullenly frightened, dreading tospeak aloud in such a company, scarcely hoping to find my tongue whenthe time came to voice my demands so that the whole town could hear.Now, with her deep, steady eyes meeting mine, fear fell from me like acloak, and the blood began to race through every limb and my heartbeat "To arms!" so fearlessly and so gayly that I smiled up at her;and she smiled at me in turn.
Again the Weasel began twitching at my sleeve, and I bent beside him,listening and watching the gentlemen on the platform.
"That's John Gibson, Dunmore's secretary--the man in black on theGovernor's left! That loud, bustling fellow on his right is DoctorConnolly, Dunmore's deputy for Indian affairs. He arrested Cresap toclear his own skirts of blame for the war. Behind him sits Connolly'sagent, Captain Murdy. Murdy's agent was Greathouse. You see the linksin the chain?"
"Perfectly," I replied, calmly; "and I mean to shatter them if myvoice is not scared out of my body."
"Scourge me that ramshackle Dunmore!" whispered Mount, thickly,leaning across the Weasel. "Give him hell-fire and a--hic!--blackeye--"
Mr. Henry jerked the giant's arm and he relapsed into a wise silence,nodding his thanks as though Mr. Henry had imparted to him anacceptable secret instead of a reproof.
We were near enough to the platform to hear the Governor chatteringwith Gibson and Doctor Connolly, and sniffing his snuff as he peepedabout with his lack-lustre eyes.
"Que dieu me damne!" he said, spitefully. "But you have a mauvaisquart d'heure ahead, Connolly!--curse me if you have not! Faith, Iwash my hands of you, and you had best make your sulky savage yondersome good excuse for the war."
Connolly's deep voice replied evasively, but Dunmore clipped himshort:
"Oh no! Oh no! The people won't have that, Connolly!--skewer me ifthey will! Body o' Judas, Connolly, you can't make them believe Cresapstarted this war!"
Connolly whispered something.
"Eh? What? I say I wash my hands o' ye! Didn't you hear me say Iwashed my hands? And mind you clear me when you answer your filthysavage. I'll none of it, d'ye hear?"
Connolly flushed darkly and leaned back. Gibson appeared nervous anddispirited, but Captain Murdy smiled cheerfully on everybody and tooksnuff with a zest.
"And, Connolly," observed Dunmore, settling himself in his gildedchair, "you had best announce the restoration to rank and command ofCresap. Ged!--that ought to put the clodhoppers yonder in good humour,to keep them from snivelling while your dirty savage speaks."
Presently Connolly arose, and, making a motion for silence, brieflyannounced the restoration of Cresap to command. There was no sound, nodemonstration. Those in the balconies cared nothing for Cresap, thoseon the floor cared too much to compromise him with applause.
I heard Dunmore complaining to Gibson that the first part ofConnolly's programme had fallen flat and that he, Dunmore, wanted toknow what Gibson thought of refusing Logan the right of speech.
Gibson nervously shook his head and signalled to the interpreter, agrizzled sergeant of the Virginia militia, to take his station; andwhen the interpreter advanced, announcing in English and in the Cayugalanguage that the Governor of Virginia welcomed his brother, Logan,chief of the Cayugas, warrior of the clan of the Wolf, and "The WhiteMan's Friend," I saw Patrick Henry touch Logan on the shoulder.
Slowly the Indian looked up, then rose like a spectre from his sombreblanket and fixed his sad eyes on Dunmore.
There was a faint movement, a rustle from the throng on floor andgallery, then dead silence, as from the old warrior's throat bur
st thefirst hollow, heart-sick word:
"_Brother!_"
Oh, the grim sadness of that word!--the mockery of itsbitterness!--the desolate irony of despair ringing through it!_Brother!_ That single word cursed the silence with an accusation somerciless that I saw Connolly's heavy visage grow purple, and Gibsonturn his eyes away. Only my Lord Dunmore sat immovable, with theshadow of a sneer freezing on his painted face.
Logan slowly raised his arm:--
"Through that thick night which darkens the history of oursubjugation, through all the degradation and reproach which has beenheaped upon us, there runs one thread of light revealing our formergreatness, pleading the causes of our decay, illuminating the pit ofour downfall, promising that our dead shall live again! Not in theendless darkness whither priests and men consign us is that thread oflight to be lost; but from the shadowy past it shall break out inbrilliancy, redeeming a people's downfall, and wringing from you, oursubjugators, the greeting--_Brothers!_
"_Fathers_: For Logan, that light comes too late. Death darkens mylodge; my door is closed to sun and moon and stars. Death darkens mylodge. All within lie dead. Logan is alone. He, too, is blind andsightless; like the quiet dead his ears are stopped, he hears not; norcan he see darkness or light.
"For Logan, light or darkness comes too late."
The old man paused; the silence was dreadful.
Suddenly he turned and looked straight at Dunmore.
"I appeal to any white man if he ever entered Logan's lodge hungry andhe gave him not meat; if he ever came cold and naked and he clothedhim not!"
The visage of the Earl of Dunmore seemed to be growing smaller andmore corpse-like. Not a feature on his ghastly mask moved, yet theface was dwindling.
Logan's voice grew gentler.
"Such was my love," he said, slowly. "Such was my great love for thewhite men! My brothers pointed at me as they passed, and said, 'He isthe friend of white men.' And I had even thought to live with you, butfor the injuries of my brothers, the white men.
"Unprovoked, in cold blood, they have slain my kin--all!--all!--notsparing woman or child. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veinsof any living creature!
"Hearken, _Brothers_! I have withstood the storms of many winters.Leaves and branches have been stripped from me. My eyes are dim, mylimbs totter, I must soon fall. I, who could make the dry leaf turngreen again; I, who could take the rattlesnake in my palm; I, who hadcommunion with the dead, dreaming and waking; I am powerless. The windblows hard! The old tree trembles! Its branches are gone! Its sap isfrozen! It bends! It falls! Peace! Peace!
"Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one!"
The old man bent his withered head and covered his face with hisblanket. Through the frightful stillness the painful breathing of thepeople swept like a smothered cry; women in the balcony were sobbing;somewhere a child wept uncomforted.
Patrick Henry leaned across to me; his eyes were dim, his voice chokedin his throat.
"The great orator!" he whispered. "Oh, the great man!--greatest ofall! The last word has been said for Logan! I shall not speak, Mr.Cardigan--it were sacrilege--now."
He rose and laid one arm about the motionless chief, then very gentlyhe drew him out into the aisle. There was not a sound in the hall asthey passed slowly out together, those great men who had both struckto the hilt for the honour of their kindred and of their native land.
* * * * *
Now, when at last he had disappeared, a living spectre of reproach,which the guilt of men had raised to confound the lords of the NewWorld, those gathered there to listen breathed again, and hastened toforget that glimpse which they had caught of the raw heart of alltragedy--man's inhumanity to man.
Dunmore came slowly from his trance, mechanically preening his silkenplumage and ruffling like a meagre bird; Connolly rose from his seatand shook himself, and, finding nothing better to do, went about theplatform, snuffing the candles, a duty pertaining to servants, butwhich he was doubtless thankful to perform as it brought his back tothe spectators and gave his heavy, burning face a respite from thepillory of eyes. Gibson leaned heavily on his writing-table, wan,loose-jawed, and vacant-eyed. As for Captain Murdy, he sat serenely inhis chair, shapely legs crossed, examining the lid of his snuff-boxwith ever-freshening interest.
Above us in the galleries some people had risen and were about toleave. The rustle of silks and satins seemed to break the heavy quiet;people breathed deeply, shifted in their seats, and turned around.Some stood up to go; chairs and benches grated on the stones; shoesshuffled and tapped sharply.
I had already determined to defer my interview with Lord Dunmore,because, after the great chief's speech, my poor words must fall staleon ears attuned to the majestic music of a mighty soul. So, in thestir and noise around us, I rose and touched Jack Mount, motioning himto follow. But before he could find his feet and summon his wits toset them in motion, and ere I myself had edged half-way to the aisle,I heard Doctor Connolly speaking in that loud, hectoring tone, and Icaught the name of Sir William Johnson shouted from the platform.
"If the messenger from Johnstown be present," continued DoctorConnolly, "let him be assured of a warm welcome from his Lordship, theEarl of Dunmore, Governor of Virginia."
So the infatuated Dunmore, grasping at a straw to dam the current ofpublic sentiment, thought to fill empty minds with the news of hisbetrothal, trusting that as all the world loves a lover, this sameplanet might find an opportunity to take him to its sentimental bosom.
His purpose was plain to me and perfectly loathsome; and as I stoodthere, watching him, I could see the rouge crack when he simpered. ButI would not speak now.
Presently, looking around, I found that all those who had risen hadagain seated themselves, and that I, fascinated by the repulsivevisage of Dunmore, stood there all alone.
My first impulse was to sit down hastily; my next to keep my feet, forit was too late to seek cover now, and Connolly was smiling at me, andGibson nodded like a dazed mandarin. Dunmore, too, was peering at meand tapping his snuff-box complacently, and the sight of him broughtthe blood to my head and opened my mouth. But no sound issued. A womanin the gallery laughed outright.
"Are you not a messenger from Sir William Johnson?" prompted Connolly,with his domineering smile of patronage.
"Yes, Doctor Connolly," I replied, slowly. As I spoke, frightvanished.
There was a pause. Dunmore tapped on his box and moistened his slittedmouth with a tongue which looked perfectly blue to me, and he fella-smirking and bridling, with sly, rheumy glances at the gallery.
"Lord Dunmore," I said, steadily, "ere I inform you why I am here, youshall know me better than you think you do.
"I am not here to tell you of that chain which links the Governor ofVirginia with the corpse of Logan's youngest child!--nor to count thelinks of that chain backward, from Greathouse to Murdy, to Gibson, toConnolly, to--"
"Stop!" burst out Connolly, springing to his feet. "Who are you? Whatare you? How dare you address such language to the Earl of Dunmore?"
Astonished, furious, eyes injected with blood, he stood shaking hismottled red fists at me; Dunmore sat in a heap, horrified, with thesimper on his face stamped into a grin of terror. The interruptionstirred up my blood to the boiling; I clutched the back of the benchin front of me, and fixed my eyes on Connolly.
"I do not reply to servants," I said; "my business here is not withLord Dunmore's lackeys. If the Earl of Dunmore knows not my name andtitle, he shall know it now! I am Michael Cardigan, cornet in theBorder Horse, and deputy of Sir William Johnson, Baronet, hisMajesty's Superintendent of Indian Affairs for North America!
"Who dares deny me right of speech?"
Dunmore lay in his chair, a shrunken mess of lace and ribbon; Connollyappeared paralyzed; Gibson stared at me over his table.
"I am not here," I said, coolly, "to ask your Lordship why this war,falsely called Cresap's war, should be known to honest men as'Dunmore's war.' Nor
do I come to ask you why England should seek thesavage allies of the Six Nations, which this war, so cunninglydevised, has given her--"
"Treason! Treason!" bawled a voice behind me. It was Wraxall; Irecognized his whine.
"But," I resumed, pointing my finger straight at the staring Governor,"I am here to demand an account of your stewardship! Where are thoseCayugas whom you have sworn to protect from the greed of white men?Where are they? Answer, sir! Where are Sir William Johnson's wards ofthe Long House? Where are the Shawanese, the Wyandottes, the Lenape,the Senecas, who keep the western portals of the Long House? Answer,sir! for this is my mission from Sir William Johnson. Answer! lest theKing say to him, 'O thou unfaithful steward!"
Hubbub and outcry and tumult rose around me. Dunmore was getting onhis feet; Connolly flew to his aid, but the Governor snarled at himand pushed him, and went shambling out of the door behind theplatform, while, in the hall, the uproar swelled into an angry shout:"Shame on Dunmore! God save Virginia!"
An officer in the gallery leaned over the edge, waving his gold-lacedhat.
"God save the King!" he roared, and many answered, "God save theKing!" but that shout was drowned by a thundering outburst of cheers:"God save our country! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
"Three cheers for Boston!" bawled Jack Mount, jumping up on his bench;and the rolling cheers echoed from balcony to pavement till the throngwent wild and even the sober Quakers flung up their broad-brimmedhats. In the gallery ladies were cheering, waving scarfs and mantles;the British soldiers at the door looked in at the astounding scene,some with sheepish grins, some gaping, some scowling under theirmitred head-gear.
Mount had caught me up in his arms and was shouldering his way towardsthe door, yelping like a Mohawk at a corn feast; and presently otherscrowded around, patting my legs and cheering, bearing me onward andout past the sentinels, where, for a moment, I thought soldiers andpeople would come to blows.
But Mount waved his cap and shouted an ear-splitting watchword: "Theladies! Honour the ladies!" and the crowd fell back as the exciteddames and maidens from the balcony issued in silken procession fromthe hall, filing between the soldiers and the crowd, to enter coachesand chairs and disappear into the depths of the starlight.
I could not find Silver Heels, and presently I gave up that hope, forthe throng, hustled by the soldiers, began shoving and scuffling andpressing, now forward, now backward, until the breath was nearsqueezed from my body and I made out to slip back with Mount andRenard to the open air.
Mount was enthusiastic. "Look sharp!" he said eagerly. "There will beheads to break anon. Ha! See them running yonder! Hark! Do you nothear that, Cade? Clink--whack! Bayonet against cudgel! They're at it,lad! Come on! Come on! Give it to the damned Tories!"
The next instant we were enveloped in the crowd, buffeted, pushed,trodden, hurled about like shuttle-cocks, yet ever retreating beforethe line of gun-stocks which rose and fell along the outer edge of themob.
The fight was desperate and silent, save for the whipping swish oframrods whistling, the dull shocks of blows, or the ringing crack of acudgel on some luckless pate. Under foot our moccasins moved andtrampled among fallen hats and wigs, and sometimes we stumbled over aninsensible form, victim of gun-stock or club or a buffet from someswinging fist.
Once, forced to the front where the soldiers were jabbing and lashingthe mob with gun-butt, ramrod, and leather belt, a drummer boy ran atme and fell to thumping me with his drum, while a soldier cuffed myears till I reeled. Astonished and enraged by such scurvy treatment Imade out to wrest the drum from the boy and jam it violently upon thehead of the soldier, so that his head and mitre-cap stuck out throughthe bursted parchment.
A roar of laughter greeted the unfortunate man, who backed away,distracted, clawing at the drum like a cat with its head in a bag.Then the battle was renewed with fury afresh; a citizen wrested afirelock from a soldier, drove the butt into the pit of his stomach,and struck out sturdily in all directions, shouting, "Long live ourcountry!" Another knocked a soldier senseless and tore off his whiteleggings for trophies--an operation that savoured of barbarism.
"Scalp their legs! Skin 'em!" bawled the man, waving the leggings intriumph; and I saw he was that same ranger of Boone and Harrod whowore a baldrick of Wyandotte scalps.
It began to go hard with the King's soldiers, but they stuck to themob like bulldogs, giving blow for blow so stanchly and so heartilythat my blood tingled with pleasure and pride, and I called out toJack Mount: "Look at them, Jack! What very gluttons for punishment!Nobody but British could stand up to us like that!"
A crack on the sconce from a belt transformed my admiration into fury,and I drove my right fist into the eye of one of these same Britishsoldiers, and followed it with a swinging blow which sent himspinning, receiving at the same moment such a jolt in the body that I,too, went sprawling and gasping about until Mount pulled me out of thecrush.
When I had found my breath again, and had mastered that sick faintnesswhich comes from a blow in the stomach, I prepared to return to thefray, which had now taken on a more sinister aspect. Bayonets hadalready been used, not as clubs but as daggers; a man was leaningagainst a tree near me, bleeding from a wound in the neck, and anotherreeled past, tugging at a bayonet which had transfixed his shoulder.But the end came suddenly now; horsemen were galloping up behind thejaded soldiers; I saw Shemuel dart out of the swaying throng and taketo his heels, not even stopping to gather up hats, handkerchiefs, andwigs, of which the sack on his back was full to the top.
When Shemuel left a stricken field it was time for others to think offlight; this I perceived at once when the Weasel came scurrying pastand called out to me. Mount followed, lumbering on at full speed; thethrong melted and scattered in every direction, and I with them. Trustme, there was fine running done that night in Pittsburg streets, andmany a tall fellow worked his legs as legs are seldom worked, for thegentlemen of the Governor's horse-guards were riding us hard, and welegged it for cover, each fox to his own spinny, each rabbit to thefirst unstopped earth. Tally-ho! Stole away! Faith, it was merryhunting that night in Pittsburg town, with the towns-people at everywindow and the town-watch bawling at our heels, and the gentlemenriders pelting down the King's Road till those who could double backdoubled, and walked panting to cover, with as innocent mien as theycould muster.
Mount, Renard, Shemuel, and I had crossed the Boundary at respectablespeed, and were now headed for the dirty alley which conducted to therear door of Shemuel's den, the "Bear and Cubs." We were about toenter this lane, no longer fearing pursuit--and I remember that Mountwas laughing, poking the Weasel in his short-ribs--when, withoutwarning, five men rushed at us in a body, overturning us all save JackMount. The next moment we were locked in a struggle; there was not acry, not an oath, not a sound but the strained gasp and heavybreathing, at first; but presently a piercing yell echoed through thealley, and Shemuel ran squattering into the inn. He had stuck ahandful of needles into his assailant's leg, and the man bounded madlyabout, while the alley re-echoed with his howls of dismay.
As for me, I found myself clutched by that villain, Wraxall, and Iwould have shouted with joy had he not held me by the windpipe until Iwas nigh past all shouting. The creature was powerful; he held mewhile Toby Tice tried to tie my wrists; but the Weasel fell upon themboth and kicked them so heartily that they left me and took to theirheels perdu.
And now came the host of the "Bear and Cubs," lanthorn in one hand, ameat-knife in the other, and after him a tap-boy, an hostler, a frowzymaid, and finally Shemuel, white with fear. But reinforcements hadarrived too late--too late to help us take the impudent band, whichhad fled--too late to bring to life that dark mass lying at the footof the wall in the filth of the alley.
Mount seized the lanthorn and lowered it beside the shape on theground.
"His neck is broken," he said, briefly. It was his quarry; he ought toknow.
One by one we took the lanthorn and looked in turn on the dead.
"Greathouse
," whispered Mount, moving the body with his foot.
"Greathouse, eh?" grumbled the host of the "Bear and Cubs." "Well, hecan't lie here behind _my_ house." And he caught him by the heels anddragged him to a black spot under a rotten shed. There was a cisternthere. I moved away, feeling strangely faint. Mount linked his arm inmine.
Presently there sounded a dull noise under the ground, a shock andthick splashing.
"Greathouse, eh?" muttered the shaggy innkeeper, winking at us. "Well,Greathouse is in a small house behind a pot-house now, and the devil,no doubt, will see that he lands in a hot-house!"
Mount shrugged his shoulders and turned away indifferently. He haddone his part; he had no slur for the dead. The Weasel and I followed,and together we traversed the market-square unmolested, and headed forthe "Virginia Arms," discussing the utterly unprovoked attack on us byButler's band.
There had been five of them; I had recognized Wraxall and Tice, theWeasel identified Murdy, Shemuel had thrust half his stock of needlesinto one fellow's leg, whom I knew to be the man who had supped on hisown hatchet, and Mount had sternly accounted for his assailant.
"So Greathouse is dead," muttered the Weasel.
"One thing is clear: they were after you," observed Mount, turning onme.
"It is strange," I said, "that Butler was not there. He must knowwhat it means for him unless he can strike me from behind, because Ishall never miss him, face to face."
I spoke not in boast, nor in angry heat; I meant what I said, anddevoutly believed that nothing on earth could shield such a man fromthe man he had so foully misused.
Coming into Pitt Street we found all empty and dark save for thelanthorn hanging on its pole from every seventh house, and a lonewatchman who lifted his light to scan us, but durst not question orstop us, though we bore marks enough of the fray to satisfy anyfriendly jury of our guilt.
As for Mount, his shirt and leggings were in rags, for he had playedOrlando Furioso to his simple heart's satisfaction, and now one nakedarm peeped coyly from a flapping sleeve, and his great legs twinkledwhite under the tattered nether-garments. The Weasel, who had a geniusfor keeping himself neat under distressing circumstances, appeared tobe none the worse for wear, but guiltless he could not be, for hecarried a soldier's mitre-cap in his hand and obstinately refused topart with the proof of his valour. As for me, there were some seamswhich needed a thread, and somebody's blood on my shirt which waterwould wash away.
"I went this noon to a tailor-woman on the Buckeye Road, and didcommand me new deer-skins," said Mount. "I will borrow their cost ofyou," he added, naively.
I felt for my money-belt and luckily found it safe. Mount accepted themoney cheerfully, promising to show me on the morrow how fine he couldbe in new clothes, and mourning the fact that his greasy garments hadcost him a cruel epithet that day from a maid he had attempted to kissbehind a barn on three minutes' acquaintance.
"Faith, she mocked me for a tankard-tip and called me pottle-pot," hesaid, sadly. "God knows I drink little for my height, and so I toldher, too!"
We were already at the "Virginia Arms," and I took him by the elbowand drew him firmly past the tap-room.
"Are we not to sniff a posset?" he demanded, in injured surprise. Buthe surrendered without a scene, for the late fighting had cleared hishead of alcohol, and we mounted to my chamber, bidding a servant tofetch ink-horn, wax, sand, quill, and three sheets of good, cleanpaper.
When I had lighted my candle, and the materials for writing had beenbrought, I sat down on the bed and drew the table up before me.
"What are we to do while you write?" asked Mount, sulkily.
"Keep out o' mischief and the tap-room," said I, mending the quillwith my hunting-knife.
They stood around rather blankly for a spell while I was composing thefirst letter, but presently I noticed they had squatted on the floorand were playing at jack-straws with pine splinters from the boards.
My three letters cost me great labour; writing and composition do everrack me, mind and body, for I know that I spell not as others spell,nor write as I ought to write in the Boston style, and, moreover,those little dots which warn the wise reader that a phrase is endedmean little to me; so I pepper my sheet well with them and trust toGod that they fall not on barren soil.
Thus armed with my quill, and doubly armed in the innocence of myignorance, I made out to accomplish my three letters. The first wasthis:
"_Sir William Johnson, Bart._
"HONOURED AND BELOVED SIR,--My mission I have discharged and It hath come to naut. i return to johnsonhall Tomorrow, setting out with Felicity. i, will explane all. War is brocken out, ye Senecas, Lenape, Wyandot, and Showanese dugg up ye hatchett Cresap is fled ye fort and camp burnt Logans famly foully murderd with my duties and respects to Ant Molly and my duties and respectfull affections for you. I have the honnour to subscribe myself your dutyfull deputy and kinsman
"MICHAEL CARDIGAN "Cornet, Border Horse."
My second letter read thus:
"_My deer Kinswoman Mistress Warren._
"DEER COZZEN,--I write to say that I write to acquaint you that it Is my determination to set out for johnsonhall tomorrow morning therefore Pray be prepared to accompanie me with Black Betty and Your boxes i will command a post-chaise, escort, and horses for such is my right as deputy of Sir William. if I ketch enny fools who seek to mate you I will harm them. i will find a suitable husband for you never fear cozzen i sign myself your affectnate cozzen
"MICHAEL CARDIGAN "Cornet of Border Horse."
My third letter was brief:
"_To the Hon: the Earl of Dunmore, Royal Governor of Virginia, etc._
"MY LORD,--My kinswoman Misstress Felicity Warren is my betrothed and She will leave Pitt tomorrow with me and under the escort which it is my right to demand and your lordship's dutie to furnish, with post-chaise, forage, and provisions. Escort and conveyance should be at the Virginia Arms by noon.
"I have, sir, the honour to subscribe myself y'r ob't servant "MICHAEL CARDIGAN "Special deputy of Sir Wm. Johnson, Bart., and cornet in the Royal American Legion of Border Horse."