The whole forenoon of this eventful day was occupied in transmitting to the proper authorities the great tidings which had so fortuitously come to us.
For this purpose, after breakfast, John Frey, who was the brigade major as well as sheriff, rode down to Caughnawaga with me, four soldiers bringing Enoch in our train. It was a busy morning at the Fonda house, where we despatched our business, only Jelles Fonda and his brother Captain Adam and the staunch old Samson Sammons being admitted to our counsels.
Here Enoch repeated his story, telling now in addition that one-half of the approaching force was composed of Hanau Chasseurs--skilled marksmen recruited in Germany from the gamekeeper or forester class--and that Joseph Brant was expected to meet them at Oswego with the Iroquois war party, Colonel Claus having command of the Missisaguesor Hurons from the Far West. As he mentioned the names of various officers in Sir John's regiment2 of Tories, we ground our teeth with wrath3. They were the names of men we had long known in the Valley--men whose brothers and kinsmen4 were still among us, some even holding commissions in our militia5. Old Sammons could not restrain a snort of rage when the name of Hon-Yost Herkimer was mentioned in this list of men who wore now the traitor's "Royal Green" uniform, and carried commissions from King George to fight against their own blood.
"You saw no Sammons in that damned snake's nest, I'll be bound!" he shouted fiercely at Enoch.
"Nor any Fonda, either," said Major Jelles, as firmly.
But then both bethought them that these were cruel words to say in the hearing of the stalwart John Frey, who could not help it that his brother, Colonel Hendrick, was on parole as a suspected Tory, and that another brother, Bernard, and a nephew, young Philip Frey, Hendrick's son, were with Johnson in Canada. So the family subject was dropped.
More or less minute reports of all that Enoch revealed, according to the position of those for whom they were intended, were written out by me, and despatched by messenger to General Schuyler at Albany; to Brigadier-General Herkimer near the Little Falls; to Colonel Campbell at Cherry Valley; and to my old comrade Peter Gansevoort, now a full colonel, and since April the commandant at Fort Stanwix. Upon him the first brunt of the coming invasion would fall. He had under him only five hundred men--the Third New York Continentals--and I took it upon myself to urge now upon General Schuyler that more should be speeded to him.
This work finally cleared away, and all done that was proper until the military head of Tryon County, Brigadier Herkimer, should take action, there was time to remember my own affairs. It had been resolved that no word of what we had learned should be made public. The haying had begun, and a panic now would work only disaster by interfering6 with this most important harvest a day sooner than need be. There was no longer any question of keeping Enoch in prison, but there was a real fear that if he were set at large he might reveal his secret. Hence John Frey suggested that I keep him under my eye, and this jumped with my inclination7.
Accordingly, when the noon-day heat was somewhat abated8, we set out down the Valley road toward the Cedars9. There was no horse for him, but he walked with the spring and tirelessness of a grey-hound, his hand on the pommel of my saddle. The four soldiers who had come down from Johnstown followed in our rear, keeping under the shade where they could, and picking berries by the way.
The mysterious letter from Philip to his deserted10 wife lay heavily upon my thoughts. I could not ask Enoch if he knew its contents--which it turned out he did not--but I was unable to keep my mind from speculating upon them.
During all these fourteen months Daisy and I had rarely spoken of her recreant12 ruffian of a husband--or, for that matter, of any other phase of her sad married life. There had been some little constraint13 between us for a time, after Mr. Stewart's childish babbling14 about us as still youth and maiden15. He never happened to repeat it, and the embarrassment16 gradually wore away. But we had both been warned by it--if indeed I ought to speak of her as possibly needing such a warning--and by tacit consent the whole subject of her situation was avoided. I did not even tell her that I owed the worst and most lasting17 of my wounds to Philip. It would only have added to her grief, and impeded18 the freedom of my arm when the chance for revenge should come.
That my heart had been all this while deeply tender toward the poor girl, I need hardly say. I tried to believe that I thought of her only as the dear sister of my childhood, and that I looked upon her when we met with no more than the fondness which may properly glow in a brother's eyes. For the most part I succeeded in believing it, but it is just to add that the neighborhood did not. More than once my mother had angered me by reporting that people talked of my frequent visits to the Cedars, and faint echoes of this gossip had reached my ears from other sources.
"You did not stop to see Mistress Cross open her letter, then?" I asked Enoch.
"No: why should I? Nothing was said about that. He paid me only to deliver it into her hands."
"And what was his mood when he gave it to you?"
"Why, it was what you might call the Madeira mood--his old accustomed temper. He had the hiccoughs, I recall, when he spoke11 with me. Most generally he does have them. Yet, speak the truth and shame the devil! he is sober two days to that Colonel Sillinger's one. If their expedition fails, it won't be for want of rum. They had twenty barrels when they started from La Chine, and it went to my heart to see men make such beasts of themselves."
I could not but smile at this. "The last time I saw you before to-day," I said, "there could not well have been less than a quart of rum inside of you."
"No doubt! But it is quite another thing to guzzle20 while your work is still in hand. That I never would do. And it is that which makes me doubt these British will win, in the long-run. Rum is good to rest upon--it is rest itself--when the labor21 is done; but it is ruin to drink it when your task is still ahead of you. To tell the truth, I could not bear to see these fellows drink, drink, drink, all day long, with all their hard fighting to come. It made me uneasy."
"And is it your purpose to join us? We are the sober ones, you know."
"Well, yes and no. I don't mind giving your side a lift--it's more my way of thinking than the other--and you seem to need it powerfully, too. But"--here he looked critically over my blue and buff, from cockade to boot-tops--"you don't get any uniform on me, and I don't join any regiment. I'd take my chance in the woods first. It suits you to a 't,' but it would gag me from the first minute."
We talked thus until we reached the Cedars. I left Enoch and the escort without, and knocked at the door. I had to rap a second time before Molly Wemple appeared to let me in.
"We were all up-stairs," she said, wiping her hot and dusty brow with her apron23, "hard at it! I'll send her down to you. She needs a little breathing-spell."
The girl was gone before I could ask what extra necessity for labor had fallen upon the household this sultry summer afternoon.
Daisy came hurriedly to me, a moment later, and took both my hands in hers. She also bore signs of work and weariness.
"Oh, I am so glad you are come!" she said, eagerly. "Twice I have sent Tulp for you across to your mother's. It seemed as if you never would come."
"Why, what is it, my girl? Is it about the letter from--from----"
"You know, then!"
"Only that a letter came to you yesterday from him. The messenger--he is an old friend of ours--told me that much, nothing more."
Daisy turned at this and took a chair, motioning me to another. The pleased excitement at my arrival--apparently so much desired--was succeeded all at once by visible embarrassment.
"Now that you are here, I scarcely know why I wanted you, or--or how to tell you what it is," she said, speaking slowly. "I was full of the idea that nothing could be done without your advice and help--and yet, now you have come, it seems that there is nothing left for you to say or do." She paused for a moment, then added: "You know we are going back to Cairncross."
I stared at her, aghast. The best thing I could say was, "Nonsense!"
She smiled wearily. "So I might have known you would say. But it is the truth, none the less."
"You must be crazy!"
"No, Douw, only very, very wretched!"
The poor girl's voice faltered24 as she spoke, and I thought I saw the glisten25 of tears in her eyes. She had borne so brave and calm a front through all her trouble, that this suggestion of a sob19 wrung26 my heart with the cruelty of a novel sorrow. I drew my chair nearer to her.
"Tell me about it all, Daisy--if you can."
Her answer was to impulsively27 take a letter from her pocket and hand it to me. She would have recalled it an instant later.
"No--give it me back," she cried. "I forgot! There are things in it you should not see."
But even as I held it out to her, she changed her mind once again.
"No--read it," she said, sinking back in her chair; "it can make no difference--between us. You might as well know all!"
The "all" could not well have been more hateful. I smoothed out the folded sheet over my knee, and read these words, written in a loose, bold character, with no date or designation of place, and with the signature scrawled28 grandly like the sign-manual of a duke, at least:
"Madam:--It is my purpose to return to Cairncross forthwith, though you are not to publish it.
"If I fail to find you there residing, as is your duty, upon my arrival, I shall be able to construe29 the reasons for your absence, and shall act accordingly.
"I am fully22 informed of your behavior in quitting my house the instant my back was turned, and in consorting30 publicly with my enemies, and with ruffian foes31 to law and order generally.
"All these rebels and knaves32 will shortly be shot or hanged, including without fail your Dutch gallant33, who, I am told, now calls himself a major. His daily visits to you have all been faithfully reported to me. After his neck has been properly twisted, I may be in a better humor to listen to such excuses as you can offer in his regard, albeit34 I make no promise.
"I despatch1 by this same express my commands to Rab, which will serve as your further instructions.
"Philip."
One clearly had a right to time for reflection, after having read such a letter as this. I turned the sheet over and over in my hands, re-reading lines here and there under pretence35 of study, and preserving silence, until finally she asked me what I thought of it all. Then I had perforce to speak my mind.
"I think, if you wish to know," I said, deliberately36, "that this husband of yours is the most odious37 brute38 God ever allowed to live!"
There came now in her reply a curious confirmation39 of the familiar saying, that no man can ever comprehend a woman. A long life's experience has convinced me that the simplest and most direct of her sex must be, in the inner workings of her mind, an enigma40 to the wisest man that ever existed; so impressed am I with this fact that several times in the course of this narrative41 I have been at pains to disavow all knowledge of why the women folk of my tale did this or that, only recording42 the fact that they did do it; and thus to the end of time, I take it, the world's stories must be written.
This is what Daisy actually said:
"But do you not see running through every line of the letter, and but indifferently concealed43, the confession44 that he is sorry for what he has done, and that he still loves me?"
"I certainly see nothing of the kind!"
She had the letter by heart. "Else why does he wish me to return to his home?" she asked. "And you see he is grieved at my having been friendly with those who are not his friends; that he would not be if he cared nothing for me. Note, too, how at the close, even when he has shown that by the reports that have reached him he is justified45 in suspecting me, he as much as says that he will forgive me."
"Yes--perhaps--when once he has had his sweet fill of seeing me kicking at the end of a rope! Truly I marvel46, Daisy, how you can be so blind, after all the misery47 and suffering this ruffian has caused you."
"He is my husband, Douw," she said, simply, as if that settled everything.
"Yes, he is your husband--a noble and loving husband, in truth! He first makes your life wretched at home--you know you were wretched, Daisy! Then he deserts you, despoiling48 your house before your very eyes, humiliating you in the hearing of your servants, and throwing the poverty of your parents in your face as he goes! He stops away two years--having you watched meanwhile, it seems--yet never vouchsafing49 you so much as a word of message! Then at last, when these coward Tories have bought help enough in Germany and in the Indian camps to embolden50 them to come down and look their neighbors in the face, he is pleased to write you this letter, abounding51 in coarse insults in every sentence. He tells you of his coming as he might notify a tavern52 wench. He hectors and orders you as if you were his slave. He pleasantly promises the ignominious53 death of your chief friends. And all this you take kindly--sifting his brutal54 words in search for even the tiniest grain of manliness55. My faith, I am astonished at you! I credited you with more spirit."
She was not angered at this outburst, which had in it more harsh phrases than she had heard in all her life from me before, but, after a little pause, said to me quite calmly:
"I know you deem him all bad. You never allowed him any good quality."
"You know him better than I--a thousand times better, more's the pity. Very well! I rest the case with you. Tell me, out of all your knowledge of the man, what 'good quality' he ever showed, how he showed it, and when!"
"Have you forgotten that he saved my life?"
"No; but he forgot it--or rather made it the subject of taunts56, in place of soft thoughts."
"And he loved me--ah! he truly did--for a little!"
"Yes, he loved you! So he did his horses, his kennel57, his wine cellar; and a hundred-fold more he loved himself and his cursed pride."
"How you hate him!"
"Hate him? Yes! Have I not been given cause?"
"He often said that he was not in fault for throwing Tulp over the gulf58-side. He knew no reason, he avowed59, why you should have sought a quarrel with him that day, and forced it upon him, there in the gulf; and as for Tulp--why, the foolish boy ran at him. Is it not so?"
"Who speaks of Tulp?" I asked, impatiently. "If he had tossed all Ethiopia over the cliff, and left me you--I--I----"
The words were out!
I bit my tongue in shamed regret, and dared not let my glance meet hers. Of all things in the world, this was precisely60 what I should not have uttered--what I wanted least to say. But it had been said, and I was covered with confusion. The necessity of saying something to bridge over this chasm61 of insensate indiscretion tugged62 at my senses, and finally--after what had seemed an age of silence--I stammered63 on:
"What I mean is, we never liked each other. Why, the first time we ever met, we fought. You cannot remember it, but we did. He knocked me into the ashes. And then there was our dispute at Albany--in the Patroon's mansion65, you will recall. And then at Quebec. I have never told you of this," I went on, recklessly, "but we met that morning in the snow, as Montgomery fell. He knew me, dark as it still was, and we grappled. This scar here," I pointed66 to a reddish seam across my temple and cheek, "this was his doing."
I have said that I could never meet Daisy in these days without feeling that, mere64 chronology to the opposite notwithstanding, she was much the older and more competent person of the two. This sense of juvenility67 overwhelmed me now, as she calmly rose and put her hand on my shoulder, and took a restful, as it were maternal68, charge of me and my mind.
"My dear Douw," she said, with as fine an assumption of quiet, composed superiority as if she had not up to that moment been talking the veriest nonsense, "I understand just what you mean. Do not think, if I seem sometimes thoughtless or indifferent, that I am not aware of your feelings, or that I fail to appreciate the fondness you have always given me. I know what you would have said----"
"It was exactly what I most of all would not have said," I broke in with, in passing.
"Even so. But do you think, silly boy, that the thought was new to me? Of course we shall never speak of it again, but I am not altogether sorry it was referred to. It gives me the chance to say to you"--her voice softened69 and wavered here, as she looked around the dear old room, reminiscent in every detail of our youth--"to say to you that, wherever my duty may be, my heart is here, here under this roof where I was so happy, and where the two best men I shall ever know loved me so tenderly, so truly, as daughter and sister."
There were tears in her eyes at the end, but she was calm and self-sustained enough.
She was very firmly of opinion that it was her duty to go to Cairncross at once, and nothing I could say sufficed to dissuade70 her. So it turned out that the afternoon and evening of this important day were devoted71 to convoying across to Cairncross the whole Cedars establishment, I myself accompanying Daisy and Mr. Stewart in the carriage around by the Johnstown road. Rab was civil almost to the point of servility, but, to make assurance doubly sure, I sent up a guard of soldiers to the house that very night, brought Master Rab down to be safely locked up by the sheriff at Johnstown, and left her Enoch instead.
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1
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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8
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
recreant
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| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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guzzle
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| v.狂饮，暴食 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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25
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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consorting
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| v.结伴( consort的现在分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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43
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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45
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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46
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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48
despoiling
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的现在分词 ) | |
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49
vouchsafing
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的现在分词 )；允诺 | |
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50
embolden
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| v.给…壮胆，鼓励 | |
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51
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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52
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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53
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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54
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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55
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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56
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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57
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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58
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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59
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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60
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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61
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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62
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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65
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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66
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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67
juvenility
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| n.年轻，不成熟 | |
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68
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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69
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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70
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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