The Hidden Children Read online

  CHAPTER I

  THE BEDFORD ROAD

  In the middle of the Bedford Road we three drew bridle. Boyd lounged inhis reeking saddle, gazing at the tavern and at what remained of thetavern sign, which seemed to have been a new one, yet now dangledmournfully by one hinge, shot to splinters.

  The freshly painted house itself, marred with buckshot, bore dignifiedwitness to the violence done it. A few glazed windows still remainedunbroken; the remainder had been filled with blue paper such as comeswrapped about a sugar cone, so that the misused house seemed to bewatching us out of patched and battered eyes.

  It was evident, too, that a fire had been wantonly set at the northeastangle of the house, where sill and siding were deeply charred frombaseboard to eaves.

  Nor had this same fire happened very long since, for under the eaveswhite-faced hornets were still hard at work repairing their partlyscorched nest. And I silently pointed them out to Lieutenant Boyd.

  "Also," he nodded, "I can still smell the smoky wood. The damage isfresh enough. Look at your map."

  He pushed his horse straight up to the closed door, continuing toexamine the dismantled sign which hung motionless, there being no windstirring.

  "This should be Hays's Tavern," he said, "unless they lied to us atOssining. Can you make anything of the sign, Mr. Loskiel?"

  "Nothing, sir. But we are on the highway to Poundridge, for behind uslies the North Castle Church road. All is drawn on my map as we see ithere before us; and this should be the fine dwelling of that greatvillain Holmes, now used as a tavern by Benjamin Hays."

  "Rap on the door," said Boyd; and our rifleman escort rode forward anddrove his rifle-butt at the door, "There's a man hiding within andpeering at us behind the third window," I whispered.

  "I see him," said Boyd coolly.

  Through the heated silence around us we could hear the hornets buzzingaloft under the smoke-stained eaves. There was no other sound in theJuly sunshine.

  The solemn tavern stared at us out of its injured eyes, and we threemen of the Northland gazed back as solemnly, sobered once more toencounter the trail of the Red Beast so freshly printed here among thepleasant Westchester hills.

  And to us the silent house seemed to say: "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Lookat the plight I'm in--you who come from the blackened North!" And withnever a word of lip our heavy thoughts responded: "We know, old house!We know! But at least you still stand; and in the ashes of ourNorthland not a roof or a spire remains aloft between the dwelling ofDeborah Glenn and the ford at the middle fort."

  Boyd broke silence with an effort; and his voice was once more cool andcareless, if a little forced:

  "So it's this way hereabouts, too," he said with a shrug and a sign tome to dismount. Which I did stiffly; and our rifleman escort scrambledfrom his sweatty saddle and gathered all three bridles in his mighty,sunburnt fist.

  "Either there is a man or a ghost within," I said again, "Whatever itis has moved."

  "A man," said Boyd, "or what the inhumanity of man has left of him."

  And it was true, for now there came to the door and opened it a thinfellow wearing horn spectacles, who stood silent and cringing beforeus. Slowly rubbing his workworn hands, he made us a landlord's bow aslistless and as perfunctory as ever I have seen in any ordinary. Buthis welcome was spoken in a whisper.

  "God have mercy on this house," said Boyd loudly. "Now, what's amiss,friend? Is there death within these honest walls, that you move abouton tiptoe?"

  "There is death a-plenty in Westchester, sir," said the man, in a voiceas colorless as his drab smalls and faded hair. Yet what he said showedus that he had noted our dress, too, and knew us for strangers.

  "Cowboys and skinners, eh?" inquired Boyd, unbuckling his belt.

  "And leather-cape, too, sir."

  My lieutenant laughed, showing his white teeth; laid belt, hatchet, andheavy knife on a wine-stained table, and placed his rifle against it.Then, slipping cartridge sack, bullet pouch, and powder horn from hisshoulders, stood eased, yawning and stretching his fine, powerful frame.

  "I take it that you see few of our corps here below," he observedindulgently.

  The landlord's lack-lustre eyes rested on me for an instant, then onBoyd:

  "Few, sir."

  "Do you know the uniform, landlord?"

  "Rifles," he said indifferently.

  "Yes, but whose, man? Whose?" insisted Boyd impatiently.

  The other shook his head.

  "Morgan's!" exclaimed Boyd loudly. "Damnation, sir! You should knowMorgan's! Sixth Company, sir; Major Parr! And a likelier regiment and abetter company never wore green thrums on frock or coon-tail on cap!"

  "Yes, sir," said the man vacantly.

  Boyd laughed a little:

  "And look that you hint as much to the idle young bucks hereabouts--sayit to some of your Westchester squirrel hunters----" He laid his handon the landlord's shoulder. "There's a good fellow," he added, withthat youthful and winning smile which so often carried home with it hisreckless will--where women were concerned--"we're down from Albany andwe wish the Bedford folk to know it. And if the gallant fellowshereabout desire a taste of true glory--the genuine article--why, sendthem to me, landlord--Thomas Boyd, of Derry, Pennsylvania, lieutenant,6th company of Morgan's--or to my comrade here, Mr. Loskiel, ensign inthe same corps."

  He clapped the man heartily on the shoulder and stood looking around atthe stripped and dishevelled room, his handsome head a little on oneside, as though in frankest admiration. And the worn and pallidlandlord gazed back at him with his faded, lack-lustre eyes--eyes thatwe both understood, alas--eyes made dull with years of fear, made oldand hopeless with unshed tears, stupid from sleepless nights, hauntedwith memories of all they had looked upon since His Excellency marchedout of the city to the south of us, where the red rag now fluttered onfort and shipping from King's Bridge to the Hook.

  Nothing more was said. Our landlord went away very quietly. An hostler,presently appearing from somewhere, passed the broken windows, and wesaw our rifleman go away with him, leading the three tired horses. Wewere still yawning and drowsing, stretched out in our hickory chairs,and only kept awake by the flies, when our landlord returned and setbefore us what food he had. The fare was scanty enough, but we atehungrily, and drank deeply of the fresh small beer which he fetched ina Liverpool jug.

  When we two were alone again, Boyd whispered:

  "As well let them think we're here with no other object thanrecruiting. And so we are, after a fashion; but neither this state norPennsylvania is like to fill its quota here. Where is your map, oncemore?"

  I drew the coiled linen roll from the breast of my rifle shirt andspread it out. We studied it, heads together.

  "Here lies Poundridge," nodded Boyd, placing his finger on the spot somarked. "Roads a-plenty, too. Well, it's odd, Loskiel, but in thiscursed, debatable land I feel more ill at ease than I have ever felt inthe Iroquois country."

  "You are still thinking of our landlord's deathly face," I said. "Lord!What a very shadow of true manhood crawls about this house!"

  "Aye--and I am mindful of every other face and countenance I have sofar seen in this strange, debatable land. All have in them something ofthe same expression. And therein lies the horror of it all, Mr. LoskielGod knows we expect to see deathly faces in the North, where littlechildren lie scalped in the ashes of our frontier--where they evenscalp the family hound that guards the cradle. But here in this sleepy,open countryside, with its gentle hills and fertile valleys, broadfields and neat stone walls, its winding roads and orchards, and everypretty farmhouse standing as though no war were in the land, all seemsso peaceful, so secure, that the faces of the people sicken me. Andever I am asking myself, where lies this other hell on earth, whichonly faces such as these could have looked upon?"

  "It is sad," I said, under my breath. "Even when a lass smiles on us itseems to start the tears in my throat."

  "Sad! Yes, sir, it is. I supposed we had seen sufficient of humandegr
adation in the North not to come here to find the same cringingexpression stamped on every countenance. I'm sick of it, I tell you.Why, the British are doing worse than merely filling their prisons withus and scalping us with their savages! They are slowly but surelymarking our people, body and face and mind, with the cursed imprint ofslavery. They're stamping a nation's very features with the hopelesslineaments of serfdom. It is the ineradicable scars of former slaverythat make the New Englander whine through his nose. We of the fightingline bear no such marks, but the peaceful people are beginning to--theywho can do nothing except endure and suffer."

  "It is not so everywhere," I said, "not yet, anyway."

  "It is so in the North. And we have found it so since we entered the'Neutral Ground.' Like our own people on the frontier, theseWestchester folk fear everybody. You yourself know how we have foundthem. To every question they try to give an answer that may please; orif they despair of pleasing they answer cautiously, in order not toanger. The only sentiment left alive in them seems to be fear; all elseof human passion appears to be dead. Why, Loskiel, the very power ofwill has deserted them; they are not civil to us, but obsequious; notobliging but subservient. They yield with apathy and very quietly whatyou ask, and what they apparently suppose is impossible for them toretain. If you treat them kindly they receive it coldly, notgratefully, but as though you were compensating them for evil done themby you. Their countenances and motions have lost every trace ofanimation. It is not serenity but apathy; every emotion, feeling,thought, passion, which is not merely instinctive has fled their mindsforever. And this is the greatest crime that Britain has wrought uponus." He struck the table lightly with doubled fist, "Mr. Loskiel," hesaid, "I ask you--can we find recruits for our regiment in such a placeas this? Damme, sir, but I think the entire land has lost its manhood."

  We sat staring out into the sunshine through a bullet-shattered window.

  "And all this country here seems so fair and peaceful," he murmuredhalf to himself, "so sweet and still and kindly to me after thetwilight of endless forests where men are done to death in the dusk.But hell in broad sunshine is the more horrible."

  "Look closer at this country," I said. "The highways are deserted andsilent, the very wagon ruts overgrown with grass. Not a scythe hasswung in those hay fields; the gardens that lie in the sun are buttangles of weeds; no sheep stir on the hills, no cattle stand in thesedeep meadows, no wagons pass, no wayfarers. It may be that the wildbirds are moulting, but save at dawn and for a few moments at sundownthey seem deathly silent to me."

  He had relapsed again into his moody, brooding attitude, elbows on thetable, his handsome head supported by both hands. And it was not likehim to be downcast. After a while he smiled.

  "Egad," he said, "it is too melancholy for me here in the open; and Ibegin to long for the dusk of trees and for the honest scalp yell tocheer me up. One knows what to expect in county Tryon--but not here,Loskiel--not here."

  "Our business here is like to be ended tomorrow," I remarked.

  "Thank God for that," he said heartily, rising and buckling on his warbelt. He added: "As for any recruits we have been ordered to pick up enpassant, I see small chance of that accomplishment hereabout. Will yousummon the landlord, Mr. Loskiel?"

  I discovered the man standing at the open door, his warn hands claspedbehind him, and staring stupidly at the cloudless sky. He followed meback to the taproom, and we reckoned with him. Somehow, I thought hehad not expected to be paid a penny--yet he did not thank us.

  "Are you not Benjamin Hays?" inquired Boyd, carelessly retying hispurse.

  The fellow seemed startled to hear his own name pronounced so loudly,but answered very quietly that he was.

  "This house belongs to a great villain, one James Holmes, does it not?"demanded Boyd.

  "Yes, sir," he whispered.

  "How do you come to keep an ordinary here?"

  "The town authorities required an ordinary. I took it in charge, asthey desired."

  "Oh! Where is this rascal, Holmes?"

  "Gone below, sir, some time since."

  "I have heard so. Was he not formerly Colonel of the 4th regiment?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And deserted his men, eh? And they made him Lieutenant-Colonel below,did they not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Colonel--of what?" snarled Boyd in disgust.

  "Of the Westchester Refugee Irregulars."

  "Oh! Well, look out for him and his refugees. He'll be back here one ofthese days, I'm thinking."

  "He has been back."

  "What did he do?"

  The man said listlessly: "It was like other visits. They robbed,tortured, and killed. Some they burnt with hot ashes, some they hung,cut down, and hung again when they revived. Most of the sheep, cattle,and horses were driven off. Last year thousands of bushels of fruitdecayed in the orchards; the ripened grain lay rotting where wind andrain had laid it; no hay was cut, no grain milled."

  "Was this done by the banditti from the lower party?"

  "Yes, sir; and by the leather-caps, too. The leather-caps stood guardwhile the Tories plundered and killed. It is usually that way, sir. Andour own renegades are as bad. We in Westchester have to entertain themall."

  "But they burn no houses?"

  "Not yet, sir. They have promised to do so next time."

  "Are there no troops here?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What troops?"

  "Colonel Thomas's Regiment and Sheldon's Horse and the Minute Men."

  "Well, what the devil are they about to permit this banditti to terrifyand ravage a peaceful land?" demanded Boyd.

  "The country is of great extent," said the man mildly. "It wouldrequire many troops to cover it. And His Excellency has very, very few."

  "Yes," said Boyd, "that is true. We know how it is in the North--withhundreds of miles to guard and but a handful of men. And it must bethat way." He made no effort to throw off his seriousness and noddedtoward me with a forced smile. "I am twenty-two years of age," he said,"and Mr. Loskiel here is no older, and we fully expect that when weboth are past forty we will still be fighting in this same old war.Meanwhile," he added laughing, "every patriot should find some lass towed and breed the soldiers we shall require some sixteen years hence."

  The man's smile was painful; he smiled because he thought we expectedit; and I turned away disheartened, ashamed, burning with a fierceresentment against the fate that in three years had turned us into whatwe were--we Americans who had never known the lash--we who had neverlearned to fear a master.

  Boyd said: "There is a gentleman, one Major Ebenezer Lockwood,hereabouts. Do you know him?"

  "No, sir."

  "What? Why, that seems strange!"

  The man's face paled, and he remained silent for a few moments. Then,furtively, his eyes began for the hundredth time to note the details ofour forest dress, stealing stealthily from the fringe on legging andhunting shirt to the Indian beadwork on moccasin and baldrick,devouring every detail as though to convince himself. I think ourpewter buttons did it for him.

  Boyd said gravely: "You seem to doubt us, Mr. Hays," and read in theman's unsteady eyes distrust of everything on earth--and little faithin God.

  "I do not blame you," said I gently. "Three years of hell burn deep."

  "Yes," he said, "three years. And, as you say, sir, there was fire."

  He stood quietly silent for a space, then, looking timidly at me, herolled back his sleeves, first one, then the other, to the shoulders.Then he undid the bandages.

  "What is all that?" asked Boyd harshly.

  "The seal of the marauders, sir."

  "They burnt you? God, man, you are but one living sore! Did any whiteman do that to you?"

  "With hot horse-shoes. It will never quite heal, they say."

  I saw the lieutenant shudder. The only thing he ever feared wasfire--if it could be said of him that he feared anything. And he hadtold me that, were he taken by the Iroquois, he had a pistol alwaysready to blow
out his brains.

  Boyd had begun to pace the room, doubling and undoubling his nervousfingers. The landlord replaced the oil-soaked rags, rolled down hissleeves again, and silently awaited our pleasure.

  "Why do you hesitate to tell us where we may find Major Lockwood?" Iasked gently.

  For the first time the man looked me full in the face. And after amoment I saw his expression alter, as though some spark--somethingalready half dead within him was faintly reviving.

  "They have set a price on Major Lockwood's head," he said; and Boydhalted to listen--and the man looked him in the eyes for a moment.

  My lieutenant carried his commission with him, though contrary toadvice and practice among men engaged on such a mission as were we. Itwas folded in his beaded shot-pouch, and now he drew it out anddisplayed it.

  After a silence, Hays said:

  "The old Lockwood Manor House stands on the south side of the villageof Poundridge. It is the headquarters and rendezvous of Sheldon'sHorse. The Major is there."

  "Poundridge lies to the east of Bedford?"

  "Yes, sir, about five miles."

  "Where is the map, Loskiel?"

  Again I drew it from my hunting shirt; we examined it, and Hays pointedout the two routes.

  Boyd looked up at Hays absently, and said: "Do you know LutherKinnicut?"

  This time all the colour fled the man's face, and it was some momentsbefore the sudden, unreasoning rush of terror in that bruised mind hadsubsided sufficiently for him to compose his thoughts. Little bylittle, however, he came to himself again, dimly conscious that hetrusted us--perhaps the first strangers or even neighbours whom he hadtrusted in years.

  "Yes, sir, I know him," he said in a low voice.

  "Where is he?"

  "Below--on our service."

  But it was Luther Kinnicut, the spy, whom we had come to interview, aswell as to see Major Lockwood, and Boyd frowned thoughtfully.

  I said: "The Indians hereabout are Mohican, are they not, Mr. Hays?"

  "They were," he replied; and his very apathy gave the answer a saddersignificance.

  "Have they all gone off?" asked Boyd, misunderstanding.

  "There were very few Mohicans to go. But they have gone."

  "Below?"

  "Oh, no, sir. They and the Stockbridge Indians, and the Siwanois arefriendly to our party."

  "There was a Sagamore," I said, "of the Siwanois, named Mayaro. Webelieve that Luther Kinnicut knows where this Sagamore is to be found.But how are we to first find Kinnicut?"

  "Sir," he said, "you must ask Major Lockwood that. I know not oneIndian from the next, only that the savages hereabout are said to befavourable to our party."

  Clearly there was nothing more to learn from this man. So we thankedhim and strapped on our accoutrements, while he went away to the barnto bring up our horses. And presently our giant rifleman appearedleading the horses, and still munching a bough-apple, scarce ripe,which he dropped into the bosom of his hunting shirt when he discoveredus watching him.

  Boyd laughed: "Munch away, Jack, and welcome," he said, "only mind thymanners when we sight regular troops. I'll have nobody reproachingMorgan's corps that the men lack proper respect--though many peopleseem to think us but a parcel of militia where officer and man herdcheek by jowl."

  On mounting, he turned in his saddle and asked Hays what we had to fearon our road, if indeed we were to apprehend anything.

  "There is some talk of the Legion Cavalry, sir--Major Tarleton'scommand."

  "Anything definite?"

  "No, sir--only the talk when men of our party meet. And Major Lockwoodhas a price on his head."

  "Oh! Is that all?"

  "That is all, sir."

  Boyd nodded laughingly, wheeled his horse, and we rode slowly out intothe Bedford Road, the mounted rifleman dogging our heels.

  From every house in Bedford we knew that we were watched as we rode;and what they thought of us in our flaunting rifle dress, or what theytook us to be--enemy or friend--I cannot imagine, the uniform of ourcorps being strange in these parts. However, they must have known usfor foresters and riflemen of one party or t'other; and, as weadvanced, and there being only three of us, and on a highway, too, verynear to the rendezvous of an American dragoon regiment, the good folknot only peeped out at us from between partly closed shutters, but evenventured to open their doors and stand gazing after we had ridden by.

  Every pretty maid he saw seemed to comfort Boyd prodigiously, which wasalways the case; and as here and there a woman smiled faintly at himthe last vestige of sober humour left him and he was more like thereckless, handsome young man I had come to care for a great deal, ifnot wholly to esteem.

  The difference in rank between us permitted him to relax if he chose;and though His Excellency and our good Baron were ever dinningdiscipline and careful respect for rank into the army's republicanears, there was among us nothing like the aristocratic and rigidsentiment which ruled the corps of officers in the British service.

  Still, we were not as silly and ignorant as we were at Bunker Hill,having learned something of authority and respect in these three years,and how necessary to discipline was a proper maintenance of rank. Foronce--though it seems incredible--men and officers were practically ona footing of ignorant familiarity; and I have heard, and fully believe,that the majority of our reverses and misfortunes arose because noofficer represented authority, nor knew how to enforce disciplinebecause lacking that military respect upon which all real disciplinemust be founded.

  Of all the officers in my corps and in my company, perhaps LieutenantBoyd was slowest to learn the lesson and most prone to relax, nottoward the rank and file--yet, he was often a shade too easy there,also--but with other officers. Those ranking him were not alwayspleased; those whom he ranked felt vaguely the mistake.

  As for me, I liked him greatly; yet, somehow, never could bring myselfto a careless comradeship, even in the woods or on lonely scouts whereformality and circumstance seemed out of place, even absurd. He was somuch of a boy, too--handsome, active, perfectly fearless, and almostalways gay--that if at times he seemed a little selfish or ruthless inhis pleasures, not sufficiently mindful of others or of consequences, Ifound it easy to forgive and overlook. Yet, fond as I was of him, Inever had become familiar with him--why, I do not know. Perhaps becausehe ranked me; and perhaps there was no particular reason for thatinstinct of aloofness which I think was part of me at that age, and,except in a single instance, still remains as the slightest and almostimpalpable barrier to a perfect familiarity with any person in theworld.

  "Loskiel," he said in my ear, "did you see that little maid in theorchard, how shyly she smiled on us?"

  "On you," I nodded, laughing.

  "Oh, you always say that," he retorted.

  And I always did say that, and it always pleased him.

  "On this accursed journey south," he complained, "the necessity forspeed has spoiled our chances for any roadside sweethearts. Lord! Butit's been a long, dull trail," he added frankly. "Why, look you,Loskiel, even in the wilderness somehow I always have contrived todiscover a sweetheart of some sort or other--yes, even in the Iroquoiscountry, cleared or bush, somehow or other, sooner or later, I stumbleon some pretty maid who flutters up in the very wilderness like apartridge from under my feet!"

  "That is your reputation," I remarked.

  "Oh, damme, no!" he protested. "Don't say it is my reputation!"

  But he had that reputation, whether he realised it or not; though asfar as I had seen there was no real harm in the man--only a willingnessto make love to any petticoat, if its wearer were pretty. But my ownnotions had ever inclined me toward quality. Which is not strange, Imyself being of unknown parentage and birth, high or low, nobody knew;nor had anybody ever told me how I came by my strange name, EuanLoskiel, save that they found the same stitched in silk upon my shift.

  For it is best, perhaps, that I say now how it was with me from thebeginning, which, until this memoir is read, only one man
knew--and oneother. For I was discovered sleeping beside a stranded St. Regis canoe,where the Mohawk River washes Guy Park gardens. And my dead mother laybeside me.

  He who cared for me, reared me and educated me, was no other than GuyJohnson of Guy Park. Why he did so I learned only after many days; andat the proper time and place I will tell you who I am and why he waskind to me. For his was not a warm and kindly character, nor a gentlenature, nor was he an educated man himself, nor perhaps even agentleman, though of that landed gentry which Tryon County knew sowell, and also a nephew of the great Sir William, and became hisson-in-law.

  I say he was not liked in Tryon County, though many feared him morethan they feared young Walter Butler later; yet he was always andinvariably kind to me. And when with the Butlers, and Sir John, andColonel Claus, and the other Tories he fled to Canada, there to hatchmost hellish reprisals upon the people of Tryon who had driven himforth, he wrote to me where I was at Harvard College in Cambridge tobid me farewell.

  He said to me in that letter that he did not ask me to declare for theKing in the struggle already beginning; he merely requested, if I couldnot conscientiously so declare, at least that I remain passive, andattend quietly to my studies at Cambridge until the war blew over, asit quickly must, and these insolent people were taught their lesson.

  The lesson, after three years and more, was still in progress; Guy Parkhad fallen into the hands of the Committee of Sequestration and wasalready sold; Guy Johnson roamed a refugee in Canada, and I, since thefirst crack of a British musket, had learned how matters stood betweenmy heart and conscience, and had carried a rifle and at times myregiment's standard ever since.

  I had no home except my regiment, no friends except Guy Johnson's, andthose I had made at College and in the regiment; and the former wouldlikely now have greeted me with rifle or hatchet, whichever came easierto hand.

  So to me my rifle regiment and my company had become my only home; theofficers my parents; my comrades the only friends I had.

  I wrote to Guy Johnson, acquainting him of my intention before Ienlisted, and the letter went to him with other correspondence under aflag.

  In time I had a reply from him, and he wrote as though somethingstronger than hatred for the cause I had embraced was forcing him tospeak to me gently.

  God knows it was a strange, sad letter, full of bitterness under whichsmouldered something more terrible, which, as he wrote, he strangled.And so he ended, saying that, through him, no harm should ever menaceme; and that in the fullness of time, when this vile rebellion had beenended, he would vouch for the mercy of His Most Christian Majesty asfar as I was concerned, even though all others hung in chains.

  Thus I had left it all--not then knowing who I was or why Guy Johnsonhad been kind to me; nor ever expecting to hear from him again.

  Thinking of these things as I rode beside Lieutenant Boyd through thecalm Westchester sunshine, all that part of my life--which indeed wasall of my life except these last three battle years--seemed already sofar sway, so dim and unreal, that I could scarce realise I had not beenalways in the army--had not always lived from day to day, from hour tohour, not knowing one night where I should pillow my head the next.

  For at nineteen I shouldered my rifle; and now, at Boyd's age, two andtwenty, my shoulder had become so accustomed to its not unpleasantweight that, at moments, thinking, I realised that I would not knowwhat to do in the world had I not my officers, my company, and my rifleto companion me through life.

  And herein lies the real danger of all armies and of all soldiering.Only the strong character and exceptional man is ever fitted for anyother life after the army becomes a closed career to him.

  I now remarked as much to Boyd, who frowned, seeming to consider thematter for the first time.

  "Aye," he nodded, "it's true enough, Loskiel. And I for one don't knowwhat use I could make of the blessings of peace for which we are somadly fighting, and which we all protest that we desire."

  "The blessings of peace might permit you more leisure with the ladies,"I suggested smilingly. And he threw back his handsome head and laughed.

  "Lord!" he exclaimed. "What chance have I, a poor rifleman, who may noteven wear his hair clubbed and powdered."

  Only field and staff now powdered in our corps. I said: "Heaven hastenyour advancement, sir."

  "Not that I'd care a fig," he protested, "if I had your yellow, curlyhead, you rogue. But with my dark hair unpowdered and uncurled, and noside locks, I tell you, Loskiel, I earn every kiss that is given me--orforgiven. Heigho! Peace would truly be a blessing if she brought powderand pretty clothing to a crop-head, buck-skinned devil like me."

  We were now riding through a country which had become uneven andsomewhat higher. A vast wooded hill lay on our left; the Bedfordhighway skirted it. On our right ran a stream, and there was someswampy land which followed. Rock outcrops became more frequent, and thehard-wood growth of oak, hickory and chestnut seemed heavier and moreextensive than in Bedford town. But there were orchards; the soilseemed to be fertile and the farms thrifty, and it was a pleasant landsave for the ominous stillness over all and the grass-grown highway.Roads and lanes, paths and pastures remained utterly deserted of manand beast.

  This, if our map misled us not, should be the edges of the town ofPoundridge; and within a mile or so more we began to see a house hereand there. These farms became more frequent as we advanced. After a fewmoments' riding we saw the first cattle that we had seen in many days.And now we began to find this part of the Westchester country verydifferent, as we drew nearer to the village, for here and there we sawsheep feeding in the distance, and men mowing who leaned on theirscythes to see us pass, and even saluted us from afar.

  It seemed as though a sense of security reigned here, though nobodyfailed to mark our passing or even to anticipate it from far off. Butnobody appeared to be afraid of us, and we concluded that the nearvicinity of Colonel Sheldon's Horse accounted for what we saw.

  It was pleasant to see women spinning beside windows in which flowersbloomed, and children gazing shyly at us from behind stone walls andpalings. Also, in barnyards we saw fowls, which was more than we hadseen West of us--and now and again a family cat dozing on some doorstepfreshly swept.

  "I had forgotten there was such calm and peace in the world," saidBoyd. "And the women look not unkindly on us--do you think, Loskiel?"

  But I was intent on watching a parcel of white ducks leaving a littlepond, all walking a-row and quacking, and wriggling their fat tails.How absurd a thing to suddenly close my throat so that I could not findmy voice to answer Boyd; for ever before me grew the almost forgottenvision of Guy Park, and of our white waterfowl on the river behind thehouse, where I had seen them so often from my chamber window leavingthe water's edge at sundown.

  A mile outside the town a leather-helmeted dragoon barred our way, butwe soon satisfied him.

  We passed by the Northwest road, crossed the Stamford highway, and,consulting our map, turned back and entered it, riding south throughthe village.

  Here a few village folk were abroad; half a dozen of Sheldon's dragoonslounged outside the tavern, to the rail of which their horses weretied; and we saw other men with guns, doubtless militia, though fewwore any fragment of uniform, save as their hats were cocked orsprigged with green.

  Nobody hailed us, not even the soldiers; there was no levity, no jestdirected toward our giant rifleman, only a courteous but sober saluteas we rode through Poundridge town and out along the New Canaan highwaywhere houses soon became fewer and soldiers both afoot and ahorse morefrequent.

  We crossed a stream and two roads, then came into a street with manyhouses which ran south, then, at four corners, turned sharp to theeast. And there, across a little brook, we saw a handsome manor housearound which some three score cavalry horses were picketed.

  Yard, lawn, stables and barns were swarming with people--dragoons ofSheldon's Regiment, men of Colonel Thomas's foot regiment, militiaofficers, village gentlemen whose carriages sto
od waiting; and some ofthese same carriages must have come from a distance, perhaps even fromRidgefield, to judge by the mud and dust that clotted them.

  Beyond the house, on a road which I afterward learned ran towardLewisboro, between the Three Lakes, Cross Pond, and Bouton's, amilitary convoy was passing, raising a prodigious cloud of dust. Icould see, and faintly hear, sheep and cattle; there was a far crack ofwhips, a shouting of drovers and teamsters, and, through the dust, wecaught the sparkle of a bayonet here and there.

  Somewhere, doubtless, some half starved brigade of ours was gnawing itsnails and awaiting this same convoy; and I silently prayed God to leadit safely to its destination.

  "Pretty women everywhere!" whispered Boyd in my ear. "Our friend theMajor seems to have a houseful. The devil take me if I leave this towntomorrow!"

  As we rode into the yard and dismounted, and our rifleman took thebridles, across the crowded roadway we could see a noble house with itsfront doors wide open and a group of ladies and children there and manygentlemen saluting them as they entered or left the house.

  "A respectable company," I heard Boyd mutter to himself, as he stoodslapping the dust from hunting-shirt and leggings and smoothing thefringe. And, "Damme, Loskiel," he said, "we're like to cut a mostcontemptible figure among such grand folk--what with our leatherbreeches, and saddle-reek for the only musk we wear. Lord! But yonderstands a handsome girl--and my condition mortifies me so that I couldslink off to the mews for shame and lie on straw with the hostlers."

  There was, I knew, something genuine in his pretense of hurt vanity,even under the merry mask he wore; but I only laughed.

  A great many people moved about, many, I could see, having arrived fromthe distant country; and there was a great noise of hammering, too,from a meadow below, where, a soldier told us, they were erectingbarracks for Sheldon's and for other troops shortly expected.

  "There is even talk of a fort for the ridge yonder," he said. "One maysee the Sound from there."

  We glanced up at the ridge, then gazed curiously around, and finallywalked down along the stone wall to a pasture. Here, where they werebuilding the barracks, there had been a camp; and the place was stillsmelling stale enough. Tents were now being loaded on ox wagons; and acompany of Colonel Thomas's regiment was filing out along the roadafter the convoy which we had seen moving through the dust towardLewisboro.

  People stood about looking on; some poked at the embers of the smokyfires, some moused and prowled about to see what scrap they might pickup.

  Boyd's roving gaze had been arrested by a little scene enacting justaround the corner of the partly-erected barracks, where half a dozensoldiers had gathered around some camp-women, whose sullen attitudediscouraged their gallantries. She was dressed in shabby finery. On herhair, which was powdered, she wore a jaunty chip hat tied under herchin with soiled blue ribbons, and a kerchief of ragged lace hid herbosom, pinned with a withered rose. The scene was sordid enough; and,indifferent, I gazed elsewhere.

  "A shilling to a penny they kiss her yet!" he said to me presently, andfor the second time I noticed the comedy--if you choose to call itso--for the wench was now struggling fiercely amid the laughing men.

  "A pound to a penny!" repeated Boyd; "Do you take me, Loskiel?"

  The next moment I had pushed in among them, forcing the hilariouscircle to open; and I heard her quick, uneven breathing as I elbowed myway to her, and turned on the men good-humoredly.

  "Come, boys, be off!" I said. "Leave rough sport to the lower party.She's sobbing." I glanced at her. "Why, she's but a child, after all!Can't you see, boys? Now, off with you all in a hurry!"

  There had evidently been some discipline drilled into Colonel Thomas'sregiments the men seemed instantly to know me for an officer, whetherby my dress or voice I know not, yet Morgan's rifle frock could bescarcely familiar to them.

  A mischievous sergeant saluted me, grinning, saying it was but idlesport and no harm meant; and so, some laughing, others seeming to beashamed, they made haste to clear out. I followed them, with a nod ofreassurance to the wench, who might have been their drab for aught Iknew, all camps being full of such poultry.

  "Gallantly done!" exclaimed Boyd derisively, as I came slowly back towhere he stood. "But had I been fortunate enough to think ofintervening, egad, I believe I would have claimed what she refused therest, Loskiel!"

  "From a ruddied camp drab?" I asked scornfully.

  "Her cheeks and lips are not painted. I've discovered that," heinsisted, staring back at her.

  "Lord!" said I. "Would you linger here making sheep's eyes at yonderragged baggage? Come, sir, if you please."

  "I tell you, I would give a half year's pay to see her washed andclothed becomingly!"

  "You never will," said I impatiently, and jogged his elbow to make himmove. For he was ever a prey to strange and wayward fancies whichhitherto I had only smiled at. But now, somehow--perhaps because theremight have been some excuse for this one--perhaps because what a manrescues he will not willingly leave to another--even such a poor youngthing as this plaything of the camp--for either of these reasons, orfor none at all, this ogling of her did not please me.

  Most unwillingly he yielded to the steady pressure of my elbow; and wemoved on, he turning his handsome head continually. After a while helaughed.

  "Nevertheless," said he, "there stands the rarest essence of realbeauty I have ever seen, in lady born or beggar; and I am an ass to gomy way and leave it for the next who passes."

  I said nothing.

  He grumbled for a while below his breath, then:

  "Yes, sir! Sheer beauty--by the roadside yonder--in ragged ribbons anda withered rose. Only--such Puritans as you perceive it not."

  After a silence, and as we entered the gateway to the manor house:

  "I swear she wore no paint, Loskiel--whatever she is like enough to be."

  "Good heavens!" said I. "Are you brooding on her still?"

  Yet, I myself was thinking of her, too; and because of it a strange,slow anger was possessing me.

  "Thank God," thought I to myself, "no woman of the common class couldwin a second glance from me. In which," I added with satisfaction, "Iam unlike most other men."

  A Philistine thought the same, one day--if I remember right.