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Title: Crossed Swords.
   A Canadian-American Tale of Love and Valor.
Author: Alloway, Mary Wilson
   [Alloway, Mrs. Clement] (1848-1919)
Date of first publication: 1912
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Toronto: William Briggs, 1912
   (first edition)
Date first posted: 19 November 2010
Date last updated: 19 November 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #660

This ebook was produced by:
Marcia Brooks, woodie4, David Edwards
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

This file was produced from images generously made available
by the Internet Archive/York University Libraries




  CROSSED SWORDS

  A Canadian-American Tale of Love
  and Valor

  By

  MRS. CLEMENT ALLOWAY

  Author of "Famous Firesides of French
  Canada," etc., etc.





  TORONTO
  WILLIAM BRIGGS
  1912





  Copyright, Canada, 1912, by
  MARY W. ALLOWAY





  TO
  CANADIAN AND AMERICAN WOMEN
  WHO LOVE THEIR COUNTRY'S
  HEROIC PAST





INTRODUCTION


This tale of love and valor is woven around an episode of international
history, the fifth siege of Quebec by the Continental troops, under
General Richard Montgomery, during the war of the American Revolution.
No event chronicled in the annals of the Republic or of the Dominion
surpasses it in romantic interest and picturesqueness of detail; and for
daring, courage and endurance of hardship, few adventures equal that
midwinter attack on what was then an impregnable stronghold.

The swords forming the cover design of this volume are reproductions of
two of the identical weapons which figured in that notable assault. The
one on the left was carried by Sir Guy Carleton, the commander of the
Canadian forces, the other by an officer under Colonel Benedict Arnold's
command. As the two rusty and trusty old blades now lie peacefully side
by side in the picture-gallery of the Chteau de Ramezay, in Montreal,
we hope that after a century of peace, the occasion may never arise when
the two nations they represent will again cross swords.




                           CONTENTS


                                                   PAGE

      I. WHICH SHALL IT BE?                           9

     II. A BLOOD-STAINED MESSENGER                   28

    III. VOWS                                        37

     IV. MARCH HE WILL!                              72

      V. THE CUR OF LORETTE                         83

     VI. ALARM BELLS RING                            90

    VII. PARTINGS                                   117

   VIII. THE MONKS                                  127

     IX. THE FLIGHT                                 138

      X. BESIEGED                                   160

     XI. MORAL SUASION                              185

    XII. DISCRETION THE BETTER PART OF VALOR        203

   XIII. SHIPS IN BATTLE                            212

    XIV. DO OR DIE!                                 238

     XV. A MOURNFUL DINNER PARTY                    266

    XVI. A GALLANT SIGHT                            281

   XVII. CHALLENGED                                 300

  XVIII. WHO SHALL WIN?                             324

    XIX. THE BITTER END                             364

     XX. JOY-BELLS AND BONFIRES                     376

    XXI. MARRIAGE BELLS                             385




CROSSED SWORDS




CHAPTER I.

_WHICH SHALL IT BE?_


"'Tis but a dreary month at best! I love not bleak November," exclaimed
sweet Phyllis Davenant, as she turned from the window with its
uninviting outlook, and drew near the hearthstone, the room bright in
the warm coloring of waxed floor, rafter and firelit pane.

On that evening in the year of grace 1775 the skies hung sullen and grey
over the little walled town of Montreal, lying 'twixt mountain and
river. The mellow Indian summer, with its splendor of golden sunshine
and crimsoning woods, had been brief, the Canadian autumn setting in
earlier than usual. The trees were already bare, and sharp gusts of wind
drove the fallen leaves into withered heaps on the brick sidewalks and
cobble-stone pavements of the narrow streets, which followed the old
winding trails of the red man along the shore.

Drawing a chair toward the glowing maple logs, before which her mother
sat, apparently absorbed in some disquieting train of thought, the girl,
throwing off her momentary depression, said, as she seated herself
contentedly within the circle of light and warmth:

"Of a truth the fireside cheer seems most grateful when 'tis so chill
and forbidding without. Thrse avows that the rough winds on such a day
as this work woeful havoc with her complexion, upon which she bestows
such care, so she, too, in all likelihood is keeping close to the
chteau chimney-corner."

Seeking to divert their minds and break her mother's brooding silence,
she pleaded persuasively:

"Let me draw your chair closer, mother. Sit here beside me and talk to
me of our dear England. I have but dim memories of it, but there is
something in the twilight hour that ever brings it to my mind, though I
was but a child when we set sail to come hither to America."

"Alack! we are far away from it to-night, and with but scant certainty
of seeing its shores for many a day to come," sighed the gently-born
English lady, whose soldier-husband was doing military duty in the
Canadian colony, which but a few years before had been wrested from the
French. As she gazed dreamily at the crackling logs, Phyllis dropped at
her feet and laid her golden head in her mother's lap.

"I would, child," the elder woman continued wistfully, "that I could
hear the old minster bells chime this evening over my sweet English
garden, where you were wont to play among the jasmine and rosemary. I
would I could see the sunset fall across the fair green fields and
lanes, and on the glebe and croft at home. Sometimes in my dreams I hear
again the rooks caw among the elms and the nightingale sing in the
coppice, and see the lights gleam from the casements of the old house in
Devon;" and laying her hand on the golden hair she whispered: "At times
I feel I ne'er shall look on England and our kindred there again."

Looking up into her mother's face, and softly stroking the lace falling
over the hand she was caressing, Phyllis, seeking to cheer her,
interrupted, saying brightly, as she pointed to the hearth:

"And I fancy I see a picture in the fire. It is a ship, not many years
hence, here by the riverside, with sails set for old England. On board
are British redcoats, for our Governor, his term of office ended, is
returning home; my father, as befits a member of his staff, accompanying
him. A few weeks later, wind and wave favorable, I see a certain maid
and matron once again in the old manor-house of my forefathers, among
the dear hills of Devonshire, where the Davenants have dwelt since the
Tudor kings sat on the throne of England."

The sudden falling of a log, which sent a shower of sparks up the
wide-throated chimney and scattered live coals on the hearthstone,
created a diversion which prevented the daughter's seeing the tears
gathering in her mother's eyes, as rising, she said sadly:

"'Tis a fair picture, child, and mayhap not unlikely to come true, were
it not for this rebellion of His Majesty's colonies to the south of us,
in what they call 'New England.' I trow if they there continue to
observe such treasonable behavior, the place will soon scarce be worthy
of that name."

"Are there any further tidings? Have they not long ere this come to
realize that to oppose British arms and prowess were folly the most
lamentable!" asked Phyllis with uneasiness, endeavoring to hide her own
anxiety on discerning the seriousness of her mother's countenance as she
replied:

"Their quarrel with the king concerns not us, nor would it give us cause
for alarm, had not news come that it is the purpose of these rebels to
coerce Canada to join them in revolt. It has been known for some time
that an armed force is making its way north, by way of the Hudson and
Richelieu, and it cannot much longer be concealed that a siege of the
town may take place any day or hour, though I fain would spare you
knowledge of it."

The faint pink of Phyllis's cheeks suddenly paled to ivory whiteness,
and with her blue eyes wide with terror, she clutched her mother's arm,
as if seeking protection in its frail defence. With white lips she
stammered:

"Mother, we have arms and soldiers, and vaulted cellars filled with
stores in case of necessity. Surely British regulars have no need to
fear these poorly disciplined rebel recruits, many of whom we hear are
untrained rustics," adding with a severity unusual to her, "they will
ere long discover that their skill lies more in the use of ploughshares
and pruning-hooks than in that of swords and spears!"

Without waiting for a reply, and drawing herself erect with quick change
of mood, she exclaimed, her eyes flashing:

"I am a soldier's daughter, mother, and will not quail before this
peril, however dire or threatening!" Then glancing down, she asked
quickly:

"What is that bulky missive in the reticule at your side? If it contain
tidings, good or ill, let me hear them. Never hath it been said that a
Davenant, man or woman, played the coward! I will be worthy of my
lineage!"

With some reluctance Mistress Davenant took from its hiding-place a
closely-written packet, of which the seals were broken, and placed it in
the excited girl's hands, saying:

"Were Montreal the only point menaced some shift might be made to
withstand attack; though any hope of doing so successfully would, I
fear, be but ill-founded. The walls that encompass the town are but of
rough masonry and timber of no great strength, and the fort, 'La
Citadelle,' as the French called it, only a weak structure of wood with
earthworks."

"'Tis true, mother, we may here be somewhat defenceless, but remember
that Quebec has ramparts of stone and stout fortifications that are
known to be impregnable. Wolfe himself, as you know full well, had to
have recourse to stratagem, and as Thrse de Lrie forgets not to
remind me, had Montcalm remained entrenched behind its walls our flag
might not now be floating over Cape Diamond," was the reassuring reply.

"To take it by strategy, then, must be the purpose of this invasion. By
post-messenger this morn, your father hath received private information
that a second hostile army is advancing toward Quebec, by way of the
forests of Maine, bent on that stronghold's reduction," the mother
dejectedly replied.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Phyllis, "that most certainly seems a madness scarce
in keeping with common sense. I would read this message an' it please
you, mother. This is no time for secrecy. I must know the worst."

"Ascertain, then, for yourself, my child. Concealment for the moment
would be but putting off what sooner or later all must know."

With crimsoning cheeks Phyllis glanced through the pages without a word,
until, coming to the signature, inscribed in a bold, free hand, she read
aloud:

     "Yours, honored sir, in deep respect and with much concern,

                                                 "EDWARD VANROSFELDT."

"Vanrosfeldt, Vanrosfeldt," she pondered, repeating the name. "It surely
hath a familiar sound. Who is this Edward Vanrosfeldt who presumes to
thus address a British officer? What cool audacity he shows, that in the
same breath he should have the monstrous effrontery to declare that he
himself, who had erstwhile served under the king's standard, has joined
these traitors and is marching against his former friend and
fellow-soldier! 'Tis almost past belief! It angers me beyond control!"
and curling her lip with scorn, she ejaculated bitterly:

"A truly despicable man he must be, forsooth, and utterly devoid of all
sense of manly honor and loyal duty!"

Surprised at so unusual an outburst of passion in one of so gentle a
nature, her mother laid her hand restrainingly on her daughter's
shoulder, saying quietly:

"Calm yourself, my child; this violence of speech is unbeseeming a
gentlewoman. The women of our race have ever been mild-mannered and slow
to censure. This Edward Vanrosfeldt, as I remember him, some twelve or
thirteen years ago, was a brave and handsome boy, but recently
enlisted, and like his chief, General Wolfe, on the field of action when
but sixteen years of age. He was with our troops when they entered this
city's gate victorious, after Quebec had fallen."

A light of recollection suddenly flashed across Phyllis's face, as she
queried, the words coming sharply from her lips:

"When two years afterward we left England to join my father here, was it
not this same youth who was tended through a long, sore illness, here in
this very house, and who swore eternal gratitude for your motherly care
of him? I was but six years old at that time, and so cannot now recall
his face, but I have heard somewhat about him."

"Of a truth it was even so," replied the mother meditatively; "and
mayhap this word of warning sent may be proof that he still hath
recollection of it. He was a winsome lad, with a ruddy English fairness,
albeit his mother's kin, if I remember aright, were from the Low
Countries."

Unsoothed by the quiet words, Phyllis walked the length of the room, and
on turning to retrace her steps, exclaimed, tears of mingled anger and
disdain filling her eyes:

"I have no memory of this false, fair-looking rebel, and had I, I would
strive to blot it from my mind. I trust it may never fall out that we
cross paths. I fear I could scarce restrain my bitter loathing within
the bounds of prudence and proper courtesy. He would then know how
Phyllis Davenant regards such as he!"

As her mother left the room, the anxious lines deepening on her brow,
Phyllis sank into her chair. With her momentary courage gone, she thrust
the offending letter into the lacing of her bodice, and with hands
clasped listlessly on her lap, sat thinking with fear and trembling of
what might soon betide. Startled suddenly by the sound of a tap, tap on
the pane, she looked quickly up to see a laughing face looking in
through the long French window. In the black eyes and wind-blown curls
she recognized her dearest friend, Thrse de Lrie. Beckoning her to
come in, Phyllis hastened to open the door to admit her visitor, whose
natural gaiety, she knew, would help to dispel the gloom which enveloped
her own spirit. With a whiff of cool air from without Thrse tripped
over the threshold, and, clasping Phyllis in her arms, said, as she
kissed her on both cheeks, in her pretty French fashion:

"My dear Phyllis, tell me, I pray, what means your sitting alone thus
dolefully in the evening shadows, and wearing so disconsolate a look!
You seem truly as dull and gloomy as the day. One would think the care
of all the colonies rested on your shoulders. To be sure, the times are
such as to sadden even my lightheartedness. This morning I trembled when
I thought I had discovered a grey hair among my braids. 'Twould scarce
be wondered at, with news of war and riot constantly in one's hearing."

"Throw off your hood, Thrse, I beg of you, and sit down with me by the
fireside," said Phyllis, offering her a rush-bottomed chair.

"Most certainly I will do so, if you really feel as _distraite_ as your
looks betoken," answered Thrse, shaking out her skirts and settling
herself comfortably, "and we will have, what I so dearly love, a
_tte--tte_."

In the Canadian winters of those early days, the warmth from the open
wood fires could scarcely penetrate to the corners of the wide rooms and
draughty halls of the rambling houses, so in the chill of the autumn
evening the two girls drew close to the hearth. Sitting thus in the
flickering firelight they made an engaging picture. Phyllis, with hair
the color of the cowslip that fringes with gold the meadow brook, was
fair in the pink and white of hedgerow blossoms, with eyes blue as her
native Devonshire lakes, and lips the hue of the holly-berries that grow
under English oaks. Thrse, in exact contrast, was handsome in the
beauty of dark, flashing eyes, graceful carriage, and complexion of a
clear olive, on the cheek and lip glowing red as the heart of the
pomegranate. Their prettiness against the soft background of changing
shadows, and light glinting from polished cabinet to wainscot, seemed
not in accord with any sombre foreboding of ill, or of aught that could
distress.

A serving-maid, coming in with candles, was quietly proceeding to trim
them, when Thrse pleaded:

"Do not have them alight, I prithee, Phyllis. The dusk of this early
twilight is so ravishing, so enchanting! What you English call the
gloaming induces in one a tender feeling of delicious melancholy, that
to me is more pleasure than pain. At this hour I always feel like
singing little love-songs such as this," and she skipped across the
floor to where the spinet stood open. Thrumming softly some opening
chords, she trilled a few lines of a French serenade--"_Je t'aime, mon
ange, je t'aime_," with a passion of sweetness, such as a lovelorn
troubadour, with tinkling lute, might have sung 'neath his lady's
lattice casement. Then whirling around, she laughed lightly, saying:

"I have learned that from Leon. Poor, dear Leon, he has of late taken to
singing the most tender, heart-touching melodies. He delights in long,
lonely walks when the moon shines, and I have discovered him even
composing verse and love-sonnets. I am told these are the signs of the
grand passion."

As she rattled on in her slightly accented English, Phyllis's sombre
mood melted, and she laughed:

"Do not be alarmed, Thrse, at eighteen these symptoms are not to be
regarded with seriousness. Leon will recover, be assured; but who, pray,
is the maiden of his choice? I am at a loss to know."

"Truly, it is strange, but he has not yet made me his confidante. I, who
am his twin-sister, know not his secret. Our birthday _fte_ we will
celebrate now in a few days, as you know, and perchance we may then
discover to whom among the demoiselles he has lost his heart. Do you not
agree with me, Phyllis, that true affection brooks not concealment?" she
enquired petulantly. As she asked the question, glancing up, she caught
sight of the letter, which Phyllis had partially hidden, and snatching
it from her girdle, said reproachfully:

"Friend of my heart, is this a _billet-doux_? 'Tis surely in a man's
handwriting! Ah! who would believe that you, too, would seek to deceive
me. You have a lover, and have concealed it from me! And worse," she
cried, "it bears the mark of having come from Boston town, by the
belated post-rider who arrived this morning and who has set the whole
town affright with his alarming tidings." Stamping her foot angrily, her
eyes blazing, she continued hotly:

"Fie on thee, Phyllis Davenant! Intrigue and double-dealing are unworthy
one whom I have ever thought was a true friend and loyal British
maiden!"

"I will explain," exclaimed Phyllis, taking up the letter which Thrse
had thrown angrily on the escritoire, her speech quickened by the
impetuous injustice of the innuendo; but regardless of the interruption,
the offended girl would not listen, but went on:

"Even I, Thrse de Lrie, who bear no love for those who drove King
Louis's troops out of this land, which France won with valor and courage
from the wilderness, would not stoop to parley with a rebel," and
catching up her silk pelisse, she made ready to leave.

"Thrse," said Phyllis quietly, detaining her, "you are partly in the
right, but more in the wrong. The letter, 'tis true, is from Boston
town, and from a man whom we hold to be a traitor to his king and
country, one Edward Vanrosfeldt. But lover of mine, forsooth! All you
have said would be well deserved, if I felt aught but bitter aversion
for him whose hand writ these lines."

Appeased, her April nature breaking into smiles after the storm of
passion, Thrse, raising her brows archly, as she tied the silken
ribands of her hood, said provokingly, with inconsistence:

"Were he ill-favored 'twould be easier, Phyllis mine; and who knows how
soon our loyalty may be put to the test, for if, as is feared, these
Continentals gain access within this city's walls, it may chance that we
shall meet this polite enemy of ours. I, myself, make no promises, for
where a handsome face is concerned I cannot pledge myself to hate."

Glancing at the deepening darkness without, she said, a little
penitently:

"Pardon me, I beg; I was perhaps too hasty; so now let us for a moment
consider a more pleasant theme, the one about which I came hither to
converse. I must hasten, else _ma mre_ will be alarmed, and send in
search of me. The topic is our birthday _fte_, Leon's and mine. We will
be eighteen one week from to-day, and the whole town is bidden to make
merry with us, French and English alike. I, of course, mean those of
proper standing in society. It will be my _dbut_ into the gaieties of
social life, and I scarce can wait for the hour to come. You must not
outshine me, for I intend to be the belle of the ball. My mother, who
was a court beauty in her time, is turning the chteau upside down that
the de Lries may receive in somewhat of the state and splendor
befitting their descent. You should but glance at the preparations in
the cuisine; such trussing, braising and posseting as there will be;
such solemn conferences as there are over the making of a pt or
frapp, that one would think there were no such things as possible
bombardments and menacing foes."

"What gown will you wear, Thrse?" asked Phyllis, caught by the glamor
of the promised revel.

"That is what I myself am most concerned about. I have spent hours with
the modiste, trying to decide 'twixt satin and brocade, and what color
would be most becoming. You will see, Phyllis, when the night comes,
what my choice will be. My coiffure is to be in the latest mode in favor
at Queen Marie Antoinette's court. The mother of our little domestic,
Lizette, was waiting-woman to our dear Marquise de Vaudreuil, so she has
deft fingers and has acquired much skill in the dressing of the hair. I
think," she continued, contentedly, "that I shall not look unlike the
portraits of my kinsfolk of court circles, which hang on our _salon_
walls."

"Dear Thrse, I may find it difficult to recognize you in powder, puffs
and patches," said Phyllis, smiling at the innocent vanities; "you will
find no rival, I trow, in my pale yellow hair and simple white frock. No
one would see me when you are nigh."

"'Tis not likely, Phyllis," she replied, with a pleasant smile, "that
we, who are so different, will fall in love with the same man. Captain
Basil Temple's blue naval uniform and English air will doubtless catch
your fancy, and I have noted that he much admires blue eyes. I myself
prefer the brilliance of military accoutrements; and of redcoats, there
will be not a few to choose from; but I must make haste to say _au
revoir_." Hurriedly making her adieux, in a few moments she was
hastening along the Rue de Notre Dame to her own home in the centre of
the town, fearful of being belated on the short autumn afternoon.

The Chteau de Lrie was the most stately dwelling in the colony, having
been the residence of the French Governors in their time, where they had
held court in imitation of that of King Louis, with the same punctilious
etiquette in dress and manners, adapted, of course, to the crudities and
restrictions of Provincial life. Since the evacuation of the town in
1760, when the Marquis de Vaudreuil, the last of the French rulers,
retired with his family to France, it had been occupied by a member of
his suite who had remained in Canada, having landed interests in the
Province. The household consisted of Monsieur and Madame de Lrie and
their twin son and daughter, who were so extremely alike in speech and
feature as to be an unceasing source of amusement to their friends, and,
at times, of annoyance to themselves. The sparkling loveliness of
Thrse was slightly marred by a small crimson birth-mark, which, to her
grief, spoiled somewhat the smoothness of her brow, and which she
pettishly complained should have been given to her brother instead of
herself, saying that "comeliness was of less concern to a man than a
woman." Leon, who from their cradle had loved and almost worshipped his
sister with a passionate affection, would then soothe her by saying,
that if by suffering he could remove the blemish from her brow to his
own, he would gladly bear the pain to spare her even that slight misery,
when she would reply:

"Some day, mayhap, in some sudden peril of circumstance or fate, should
a choice arise betwixt us, I may put you to the proof, and test your
will to spare me suffering."

Thrse thought it no small thing to be of gentle birth. She was
intensely proud of her family's lineage on the spindle side from the old
_noblesse_, and of the ancestor who came over in the vessel of the
adventurous Paul de Maisonneuve, the founder of the city, and who, with
his own hands, had planted the lilied flag of King Louis hard by where
her roses then grew. She loved the beautiful gardens surrounding the old
grey chteau, where flowers, whose ancestral seeds had been brought over
from the monasteries and castles of old France, bloomed through the hot
months of the short northern summer. It was her delight to walk by her
mother's side along the box-bordered garden-paths, under the stiff rows
of Lombardy poplars, and listen to tales of the old rgime, when Sieur
de Montcalm and the valorous de Levis were guests under the roof she
called her home. Many a time within its walls toasts had been drunk to
those heroes when they had passed through the town, after victory on the
fields of Oswego and Carillon.

Despite the resentment which Thrse de Lrie cherished in secret
against those who had made conquest of her native land, the French
maiden loved the English girl with all the warmth of her young,
impulsive, Southern heart. There had never been any thought of rivalry
between them, nor break in their affection, even though Thrse's sudden
gusts of passion and extremes of love and aversion might, with a less
gentle nature, have imperilled their friendship. With sweet, gracious
ways, which had come down to her from dead and gone gentle ladies, who
had held their mild rule in moated grange or manor-house beyond the
sea, Phyllis had already become a belle and toast of provincial life.
Unwittingly she had won the heart of more than one young subaltern of
the garrison and beau of the town, some of whose likings were but mere
passing attachments of the hour; but there was one among them, Leon de
Lrie, who, though scarce more than a boy, knew that his love was no
boy-fancy, but the master passion of his life. It had grown with the
years, since, as a lad, he had run from his school companions in the
college of the Jesuit fathers to carry the books and samplers of Thrse
and Phyllis, on their way home from the convent of the good sisters. The
natural intimacy of children thus circumstanced had given rise to no
thought in the mind of any of feelings other than brotherly and sisterly
affection between them, until the son and daughter had reached an age
when the long-nurtured plans of their parents must be made known to
them.

Arriving at the gate of the chteau, breathing quickly, and glad that
the walk through the fast-gathering dusk was ended, Thrse plied the
great brass knocker and waited to be admitted. A light step within, and
the door was thrown quickly open, and Lizette, a shade of anxiety
creasing her pretty brow, said politely:

"Mademoiselle is late. Madame has been disturbed at the lateness of the
hour, and Monsieur desires Mam'selle would attend him in the _salon_
immediately on arriving."

"I will do so, Lizette. Here are my hood and pelisse; take them to my
chamber, and I will go to my father at once."

Entering the room, the light dazzling her eyes after the darkness
without, and with heart beating from the haste of her walk, she
approached her father, of whom she stood somewhat in awe, saying
coaxingly, "I beg you will pardon me, if I have caused you anxiety. I
was at the Chteau Davenant, talking to Phyllis about my ball. The
subject is to be blamed, and not I, for my delay. Leon, here," turning
to her brother, who was standing silently by his father's side, "knows
how hard sometimes it is to tear one's self away from our dear Phyllis."

Without giving his son an opportunity to reply to her words, Monsieur de
Lrie, taking her hand, led her to a high-backed chair, close to that on
which her brother leaned.

"Thrse, my daughter," he said seriously, "I would have you think
to-night on more solemn things than revels and dancing."

Alarmed at his words and manner and the stern, set faces of her father
and brother, with a frightened little gasp she asked, starting up with
hands clasped tightly:

"Oh! what is amiss? Has aught happened to my mother? Is she ill?"

"No, my child, your mother hath but just left us. She awaits to see you
in her chamber after we have concluded the matter which we must now
consider. Be seated, Thrse, and you too, Leon, and I will proceed with
what I would say. Listen, my children," and with pale face and something
of reluctance, he spoke, the words falling painfully in the strained
silence on the ears of his listeners:

"Leon, you and your sister are all the children that now your mother
hath, but before your birth there was another son. It chanced upon a
day, some sixteen years ago this very month, that ye both fell
grievously sick, stricken with the same fell malady that once before had
left us childless. We trembled with dread and were distraught with
grief, and when all hope seemed fled, we cast ourselves upon our knees
and vowed to Heaven that if your lives were spared, one of you twain
should from that hour be consecrated to the Church. If it were you,
Leon, to the Jesuit priesthood should you be given; if you, _ma
petite_," turning to Thrse, "then to the saintly veil of the Grey Nuns
should you be consecrated. Hour after hour we watched and prayed, until,
at last, first one and then the other fell into quiet, healing sleep,
and we knew our prayers were heard and vows accepted."

Looking into their eyes, and taking a hand of each, he asked in a low,
troubled voice:

"Which shall it be, my children?"

Suddenly springing to her feet, the color fled from her cheeks, Thrse
cried with dry, blazing eyes:

"It must not be either of us! Speak, Leon, say it can never be. We
cannot, will not, do this thing!"

"What say you?" her father asked, his voice trembling with the
bitterness of his emotions. "Would you say to your father, 'Break now
these solemn vows and become _anathema_'? Alas! ye must decide which it
shall be. Will you not say, Thrse, 'Let me take vows'? Think what it
would cost me to give my son, my only son, with whom must end our noble
line, to monkish life! Thrse, 'tis for you to say if this shall be!"
As he looked with an anguished plea into her eyes, she shrank away
shuddering from the arm he had placed around her, crying:

"Oh! no, no, I cannot, even for my Leon's sake, take the veil! I have no
vocation to make profession, to tread the path of sanctity; not even if
my soul's happiness and salvation depend upon it. Something in my heart
forbids; I want life, I want freedom! I love too well this world and all
it holds of mirth and pleasure!"

Turning quickly to her brother and falling at his feet with hands
clasped in supplication, and heart throbbing wildly, she pleaded:

"Leon, you did ever promise to bear pain and suffering in my stead. Now
truly you must do as you have said," and clinging to him with streaming
eyes, she cried:

"Save me, Leon, by that pledge--save me now from the cold, sad cloister,
from this hard and cruel fate!--I cannot keep this vow!"

Raising her from her knees, with face pale as if all the warmth of his
young life were stricken from him, he said, in a voice he scarcely knew
as his own:

"I will, my sister, do as I have pledged to you!" Then turning to his
father, his voice hoarse with sharp agony, as if each word were a
sword-thrust in his heart, and with such a look, that to the end of
their lives they never forgot his face as they saw it then, he added: "I
will go to the cell"; and making the sign of the cross, he strode from
the room. In silence father and daughter listened to the sound of his
footsteps dying away along the corridors.




CHAPTER II.

_A BLOOD-STAINED MESSENGER._


In the grey dawn of the following morning, the sentry, pacing before the
north-east gate of the city, observed the figure of a man approaching.
On disembarking from a canoe, he bade adieu, apparently with some
reluctance, to an Indian who had paddled him down the river from some
point on the opposite shore. As he neared the fort which defended that
part of the town, his disordered appearance and evidence of haste
brought the sentry to a halt, and with levelled rifle he challenged:

"Stand! Who goes there?"

"A friend, who has important tidings for the Governor, whom I have
urgent need to see with all speed," was the answer.

"What is your business with His Excellency, and your name and rank?" was
sharply interrogated by the sentinel, who saw, as the man came from the
dusk of the early morning into the light, which still shone from the
barred window of the guard-house, the figure of an officer. His features
and condition gave proof of his having come through some experience of
thrilling excitement, and the man looked sharply at him as he replied:

"My name is Fraser, my rank a lieutenant in His Majesty's Seventh
Regiment of Foot,--my business concerns matters of grave moment to the
affairs of this Province, and which I would lay before His Excellency
without delay."

The guard suspiciously scrutinized the speaker, examining closely his
uniform and emblems of military rank, and finding the mud-bespattered
and torn garments to be those of the British army, with the decorations
of one holding rank therein, he saluted, and lowering his rifle,
answered:

"Enter, Lieutenant Fraser, and all's well."

The heavily-riveted oaken door swung slowly open, and the newcomer
entered the fortress, and seeking the officer in charge, desired that an
orderly be detailed to conduct him to official headquarters. The fort,
from which he and his guide then emerged, was a primitive structure,
pierced by narrow grated windows, defended by small pieces of cannon,
and had been modeled after the plan of the old fortifications of
mediaeval France. The British colors were floating above it, where but a
few years before had flown the white and blue standard of the proud
Bourbons.

The little town of Montreal, in the glistening morning sunlight, lay
still asleep, feeling secure in the walls that surrounded it, although a
hostile army threatened them. A narrow street ran due west from the
fort, on either side of which were dwelling-houses in the quaint
architecture of Normandy and Brittany. The peaked tin roofs sloped
gracefully to the eaves, their uniformity broken by rows of picturesque
dormer windows, the gables ending in ample chimneys. As was usual in a
fortified town, the houses were built close together, the windows being
furnished with heavy iron shutters and bolts and bars. The street,
which the two men traversed in silence, had been called by the pious
Jesuit Fathers, Rue de Notre Dame, or Street of "Our Lady," a name which
had been the battle-cry of Norman warriors since before Duke William
seized the crown of Edward, the Saint-King of Saxon England. They
encountered no one on the way except a night watchman, or an occasional
_habitant_, smoking his short clay pipe and cracking the leathern thong
of his whip as he jogged to market on his load of hay or wood, gay in
brightly colored sash and tuque and pointed capuchin, woven by his own
fireside. The stillness of the early morning was broken by the tinkle of
a bell calling to matins, which was answered by a silvery chime from the
clock over the monastery of the St. Sulpice Fathers, whose white dial
had set the time to the town since the days of La Salle, a hundred years
before. The stroke of the hour of five had scarce died away when the
corporal announced their arrival at their destination, as they turned
into the main entrance of the Governor's mansion, a long, low,
white-walled building, still known as the Chteau de Ramezay, from the
name of the French noble who had built it some sixty years before.

A sleepy lackey answering the summons, opened the door, and as he asked:
"What can I do for ye, sir?" he glanced uneasily at the dark bloodstains
which deepened the red of the military scarf with which the right arm of
the officer was bound.

"Inform Governor Carleton that a soldier in the British service seeks
speech with him on a matter of vital import, and tell His Excellency
that it is a case the consideration of which will admit of as little
delay as is possible with His Excellency's convenience and comfort."

As the messenger retired, bowing, the stranger sank into a chair to gain
a few moments' rest after his forced journey and fast of the night
before. At the sound of approaching footsteps and the entrance of a
handsome, military-looking man, he arose and saluted, knowing he was in
the presence of Sir Guy Carleton, the Commander-in-Chief of the forces
in Canada, and the representative in the colony of His Majesty, King
George.

Sir Guy looked keenly at the stranger, his brow clouding as he perceived
the evident marks of recent conflict and apparent flight.

"To whom have I the honor of speaking?" he inquired brusquely, "and what
are the circumstances which bring one wearing the king's coat hither in
such a plight?"

"I am, Your Excellency, Malcolm Fraser, of the Seventh Foot; one of the
command of Fort St. Johns, which, it is my unhappy fortune to be
compelled to report, has been reduced by the American forces under
Montgomery, into whose hands it has fallen," was the reluctant reply.

Taking a seat and motioning his informant to do likewise, the commander,
giving no sign of the emotions of regret and humiliation which filled
his breast at the defeat of the garrison holding that important post,
asked quietly:

"What are the details of the disaster? Be explicit."

Leaning his head upon his hand, he listened moodily to the recital as
his visitor continued tersely and with undisguised mortification:

"Our force, as Your Excellency is aware, was only about four hundred
strong, with the addition of one hundred Indians. Early in September we
received intelligence of the approach of the enemy. Appearing duly in
sight, they landed on the west bank of the Richelieu, about two miles
distant, and at once took up march toward our outworks. Immediate
preparations were commenced to resist the attack, and when within range
we opened fire upon them, but with little apparent effect. After
consuming considerable time in skirmishing and various manoeuvres, the
surrender of the fort was demanded, our signal of compliance to be the
blank discharge of a cannon. I need not inform Your Excellency that this
was peremptorily refused. Again a flag was sent with a written order for
our capitulation and the avoidance of a needless effusion of blood.
Aware that efforts were here being made to come to our succor, we
required that four days be given us for consideration. This being
denied, and the attack renewed, after a resistance which had lasted
fifty days, we were forced to comply with their stipulations,--that we
march out with the honors of war and ground our arms on the plain near
by. The perfidious Indians had deserted us some time before. Goaded to
desperation at the thought of my country's flag falling thus easily into
the hands of the invading rebels, I made a lunge at the first bluecoat
who offered to lay hands upon it, but a sharp thrust from his broadsword
striking my arm, I lost my balance and fell from the bastion into a bog
near the drawbridge. Although stunned, I was not seriously hurt, having
fallen where there was no great depth of water. Dragging myself along
the edge of the stockade, with the protection offered by some low alders
which fringed the marsh, and being covered with the wet soil, I managed
to crawl out close to the hut of a friendly Abenakis scout, who took
what parched corn and other provisions the place afforded, and motioning
me to follow, stole out into the woods.

"After some delay," he continued, "a canoe was obtained, in which we
dropped down stream. Favored by the gathering darkness, we hastened on,
and by hiding by daylight and on any signs of alarm, succeeded in
reaching the river just below the rapids. Knowing the necessity of
advising Your Excellency of the fall of the fort and the capture of
Major John Andr and other officers and men, I made all possible haste
to bring hither tidings of the defeat."

"Lieutenant Fraser, you most certainly have done myself and your country
signal service by this night's work, and immediate measures must be
concerted to meet the attack which menaces these walls."

Pulling a bell-rope which hung by the hearth, he said to the servant who
responded:

"Conduct Lieutenant Fraser to a chamber and provide him with everything
that is needful for his comfort and refreshment until the army surgeon
shall arrive to determine what are the nature and extent of his
injuries."

"Have no concern about my wound, Sir Guy," begged Fraser, rising to
follow the servant; "'tis but a flesh scratch, for which a few days'
rest and care are all that are needed; but for the refreshment I shall
have honest welcome, as my last meal was but a scant one, some twelve
hours since, in the lodge of an Indian known to my guide."

The wound itself had no serious aspects, but the fasting, night exposure
and tardiness in obtaining needful tendance, brought on a fever, which
for some days rendered Malcolm Fraser oblivious to passing events. When
sufficiently recovered to appear in the official apartments, he found a
general air of unrest apparent. Withdrawing with him to an ante-room,
Sir Guy informed him that it had been learned from the most reliable
sources that the American troops were advancing toward the city, and if
not detained, as they had hitherto been, by rains and impassable roads,
might be expected within a few days' time. With a frown and look of
extreme disquietude, as of one who feared that his shield of honor was
about to be tarnished, he added in a voice deep with the intensity of
painful yet suppressed feeling:

"It has been decided by council of war, that it is of the utmost
importance that my person should not fall into the hands of the enemy.
It has, therefore, been urged upon me, much against my personal wishes,
that I make a determined attempt to leave this point and reach Quebec,
and there make a firm and what is hoped will be a successful stand for
the saving of our country. With a consideration of the extreme weakness
of this place, I cannot deny the wisdom of the conclusion. Aware of the
impossibility of obtaining assistance from Britain or the armies under
Gage and Howe, I must perforce waive personal feelings at the indignity
of the course proposed, and acquiesce."

"When does Your Excellency purpose taking this most unwelcome step?"
Fraser inquired respectfully. "Being an absolute necessity from the
exigencies of the situation, I take it it cannot in the least degree
cause reflection on your honor or valor."

"All is ready to embark at a moment's warning," was the gloomy reply.

"May I be informed what are the intended arrangements for the proposed
venture, Sir Guy?" again asked the officer, with increasing seriousness.

"Your late services, Fraser, entitle you to my fullest confidence, but
it is deemed expedient that only those who will form my escort be put in
possession of the time, place and manner of the projected flight--for
flight," he continued, bitterly, "however disguised in polite phrase, it
must be called."

"That precaution need not preclude my being cognizant of them," was the
hearty rejoinder. "If I may be permitted the glory of sharing the
dangers which threaten Your Excellency, and menace the sovereignty of my
king in this land, I will gladly form one of your body-guard, if I may
be so honored."

Wringing his hand, Sir Guy, with an emotion he could scarce control,
exclaimed:

"With men of such spirit under my command, our king need have no concern
for his royal supremacy in these provinces. I have affairs of moment to
arrange and letters to write which are necessary in the contingency of
my never reaching Quebec, which is among the possibilities, nay, rather
I may say, probabilities; as the chances are one to a hundred of our
being able to successfully pass down the river, along the shores of
which, for fifty miles, are bivouacked the troops of the enemy, their
batteries commanding the situation."




CHAPTER III.

_VOWS._


On the evening of the double birthday, in spite of the portents of war,
and the shadow of the monk's cell over the young life of Leon, the
Chteau de Lrie, with fires aglow in _salon_ and lady's chamber, was
_en fte_ for its celebration with dance and feast. The lights from
clusters of candles threw soft beams over the walls of the old
reception-rooms, and a yellow gleam of cheer and welcome through every
casement-pane; reflecting on the polished brasses of andirons and
sconces until they seemed to be almost lights in themselves. Garlands of
green hemlock from the woods wreathed pillar and cornice, entwining the
flags of England and France as peacefully as if those who served under
them had never crossed swords or drenched them with each others' blood.

Above the wainscoting hung portraits of dainty patched and powdered
ladies, and bewigged, lace-ruffled gallants, ancestors of the de Lries,
who had in their time figured in many a _bal masqu_ and royal _fte_ of
the queens of France.

In one of the court dames there was a striking resemblance in feature
and expression to Thrse, although there was lacking in the girl's face
a certain look of craft and cruelty which hardened the otherwise dark
beauty of Jacqueline, Comtesse de St. Leger, a great-aunt of Madame de
Lrie. She had been in the train of the arch-plotter, Catherine de
Medici, and according to some mysterious family legends, it was
suspected that she had been her accomplice in more than one court
intrigue and tragedy. Her skirt of black and gold with bands of
embroidery, and doublet of white and silver tissue with large jewelled
buttons, were the delight and despair of Thrse, whose ambition
centered in one day being wedded to a French noble, and robed like her
whose picture might have been taken for her own.

Upon the floors, polished to the gloss of satinwood were reflected the
rich velvets and old-time ruffs and laces of the portraits, with the
sheen from satin and silk of the gathering guests. For those whose bent
lay toward play and games of hazard, spindle-legged card-tables were
disposed in convenient recesses, and for the ease and comfort of the
dancers, there were stiff-backed chairs, upholstered in damask silks in
the taste of du Barry or the Pompadour, or in tapestries wrought in days
gone by, by the needles of the de Lrie ladies in the turret-chambers of
the chteau castles of old France.

Toward midnight, to the rhythm of merry fiddling, the dancing was at its
gayest, as light-footed, and apparently without a thought of care, as if
the morrow held no ominous uncertainties. In the rooms, filled with
grace and beauty, the eyes of the young dancers rivaled in brightness
the gems of the stately maternal dames, who, sitting around the walls,
exchanged pleasantries and the latest bits of gossip of the town.
Watchful and wise, after the manner of discreet and prudent matrons,
they sat in the enjoyment of their well-bred dignity, bowing graciously
to each new arrival, more especially the eligibles, complacently aware
of their own mature charms. They discussed confidentially the weddings
and betrothals of the past year and the marriages in prospect, in every
item, from the color and texture of the gowns to the number and quality
of the linen sheets and other furnishings that the mother of the last
little fiance had stored away in great dower-chests for the bridal. As
the subject warmed, aided by some good port, which had mellowed among
the cobwebs of the cellars since the natal day of the young host and
hostess, to be decanted on that occasion, they whispered choice bits of
news and even scandal from the French and English Courts.

Madame de Lrie, turning to her neighbor and intimate friend, who sat
upon her right, and wishing to engage her in conversation, said:

"Dear Madame Davenant, 'tis said the young queen, Marie Antoinette, is
exceeding fond of gaiety and display; as is only right, I say, in one so
young and beautiful. She is but four years older than my little Thrse,
and surely no one would look for wisdom or discretion in that silly
child over yonder. I, for one, can see naught amiss in her love for
dress and the Court's gay doings, with scarce a year gone by since her
crowning. The king is otherwise minded, so I hear, and sits but ill at
ease upon his throne, lamenting that he was born to wear a crown. That
is to be deplored, as our gay France is fond of royal pageantry and
loves not a cloister-court, or monk upon the throne; but 'tis said that
at last he loves so well his queen that he can deny her naught that she
desires."

"Pardon me, Madame, if I venture to say that such a case of domestic
felicity and fidelity is somewhat novel in the royal palaces of France.
I trust the disfavor of certain cliques in Paris, of which we have
heard, omens no evil fortune for your sweet queen; for even a crown does
not always save a head, as it availed naught for our Stuart king, who,
ye remember, was wedded to your Princess Henrietta of Navarre," was the
rejoinder.

"Who can tell?" was the answer; "for already there are enemies at Court
who, as you say, speak ill things of our queen to her hurt; her innocent
follies seeming to please as little as her lord's uncourtly manners and
stiff, unprincely ways."

With a glance around, and lowered voice, Mistress Davenant then
whispered behind her fan:

"I too have news by the last post from my cousin, who ye know is
Maid-of-Honor to Queen Charlotte. She hints that her Majesty bears much
anxiety regarding the health of King George, who is subject to strange
mental whims, which give grave concern to his ministers and the peers of
the realm. My cousin too has a grievance of her own. It has been a
matter of private merriment among the ladies of the Household, that her
Majesty should display so extreme a passion for collecting gems and
wearing jewels, and yet she has decreed that the women of the Court
appear no more in the enormous headdresses which are all the vogue."

"Well, I most certainly approve your good queen's sense and taste, for
these stiff hoops and monstrous cushions on our heads are getting past
enduring," sighed the hostess, pointing to the expanse of her
peach-blossom brocade. Then letting the slight frown creasing her brow
disappear in a smile, she waved her mittened hand toward the dancers,
saying:

"Look, dear madame, at our children stepping the minuet; truly youth can
carry off with grace any mode, however _outr_, be it hoop or headgear!"
and she gazed fondly at the bright creatures trying to compress their
youthful spirits within the dignity and stiff formality of the stately
measures of the dance.

Truly it was a pretty sight! Phyllis, with blue eyes shining in the
innocent glamor of the alluring figures, moved through their mazes with
lips parted in a smile no man with a heart could see unmoved; her cheeks
flaming pink as the broidered rose-buds clambering over the snowy satin
of her gown. Her unpowdered hair was coiled high, and with bare arms and
neck, white as the delicate lace shading her low-cut bodice, she was
sweet enough to have snared an anchorite from his cell. As she sank in
the deep courtesy, waving her painted fan, or stooping, gathered her
silken skirts to trip under the crossed swords of the chevaliers, she
was as fair a vision as ever made glad the heart of doting mother, or
tempted the soul of passionate lover; while Thrse, gay as a tropic
bird, in cerise-colored satin, was bewildering in her dark, brunette
beauty.

An hour later Leon was leading Phyllis through the measures of a
contr-dance. Though fine as any courtier of his house, with purple
velvet coat, flowered vest and gold buckles on his shoes and at the
knee, his gay attire ill suited the gravity of his deportment and looks.
As Phyllis moved by his side, his face wore an expression that she could
not understand, and throughout the evening his conduct had seemed
strange and unaccountable to her. He was moody and restless, at times
appearing to avoid her, now talking excitedly in loud gaiety, and anon
becoming silent and taciturn. Remembering that he had seemed actually
forgetful that he was pledged to her for this dance, she had greeted him
with a pretty pout, saying, in quaint displeasure, as she swept him a
mocking curtsey:

"A gallant courtier ye would make, Leon, to be so recreant in claiming a
damsel's favor!"

"What matters it? Courts and fair damsels are not for me!" he ejaculated
so sharply that, offended, she remained silent.

When the figure was ended, with a formal bow he seated her, and with
seeming indifference passed on to join Thrse, who was coquetting with
her partner in another part of the room. Phyllis, although for a moment
piqued, was also partly amused at his unwonted seriousness and
apparently causeless tragic manner; and with a touch of the dawning
maidenly desire to test her power, at the first opportunity she slipped
out of the nearest doorway, and hastening along the corridor leading to
the picture-gallery, hid behind an inlaid cabinet, in which the Marquise
de Vaudreuil had kept her newfangled Svres china. Wilful in her wish to
punish him, yet ready to laugh and forgive at the first sign of
contrition; running away from him, yet hoping he would seek her, she
waited with mood as changeful as the moon flecking the floor with
diamonds of light, as its beams streamed through the many-paned windows.

Soon, in the lights and shadows, she descried him searching among the
pillars, and knew he had missed her. Palpitating with mischief, her
mouth quivering with a gay, breathless laugh, she was forced to press
her handkerchief over her lips lest she betray her hiding-place. At
length, as in his haste he stumbled against a chair, she was unable
longer to restrain her mirth, and a ripple of the sweetest laughter,
with a flutter of her white dress, revealed her whereabouts.

In a moment he was by her side, and had her in his arms, while words of
burning passion flowed out so impetuously that her light laughter died
away into a cry of mingled fear and surprise, as, struggling, she
exclaimed:

"Leon de Lrie, ye have no right thus to do! Release me at once or I
will call for help!"

Instantly his arms fell by his side, and, white and faint, she sank into
the nearest window-seat. Looking down upon her, his young face drawn and
grey in the spectral moonlight, he said, brokenly:

"Yes, Phyllis, my darling, I let you go, but I must speak! I love you! I
have loved you ever since I have known what love is. I cannot remember
the time when you were not the idol of my boyish heart. I could ever
bear anything, dare anything for your sake. Once in our childhood, when
I fell bruised and bleeding from yon tree, striving to reach a
red-cheeked apple you had fancied, I felt the pain no more, when you
kissed me with little, tender lips, and cried bitterly over my hurt. Now
I am a man, and my love is but the stronger, my Phyllis. In the church
the pictured saints and angels have ever seemed less fair to me than you
are; and in my prayers, as I behold our blessed Virgin, methinks I see
your eyes in hers. I have lived all my life with no thought of the
future but with you, my love. I would be ever brave for your sake--good,
that I might the better mate with you--and rich that I might the easier
give you happiness--but now"--he stopped, and with voice choked in a
sob, buried his convulsively-working face in his hands; the tears of a
man's deep agony falling through his fingers as he fell on his knees at
her feet.

In a moment, with all traces of trifling and chiding fled, and conscious
in her tender pity of a deep affection for the boy who had playfully
tormented and manfully defended her with dash and vigor all their lives,
the girl bent over him, as the color slowly returned to cheek and lip,
saying gently:

"Dearest Leon, there is no need for grief. If, as you say, you love me,
all may yet be well. Of a truth I have not thought of a love for me
other than that you bear our dear Thrse; but give me time to look deep
down into my heart, and perchance I may find love is there, or some
foreshadowing of it; for I fain would ease this sorrow."

With a groan, as if his soul were rent in twain, he raised his head,
started to his feet, and recoiled, shrinking from her arms, which at the
sight of his tears she had thrown around him as in their childish days,
crying:

"Oh, _mon Dieu_!--unclasp your arms, their soft touch doth madden me,
sending my blood like molten lead coursing to my heart, to scorch and
blast it!"

"But, Leon, have I not said that though I may not love you now, I will
strive to, as perhaps 'tis unmaidenly to do," was the faint reply.

"Tell me you will never love me!" he cried. "Scorn me!--flee me!--'Twere
better thus, then gladly and with true heart can I take my vows and bury
under monkish cowl my ill-starred love, and in unceasing vigils, prayers
and scourgings tear my idol from its throne!"

At the vehemence of his words and strangeness of his manner, something
of her fear returned.

"Leon, speak not so wildly," she said soothingly, "else I shall think
something hath turned your brain. Close study and too hard striving with
dry Latin themes, or mayhap the austere piety of the good fathers, has
filled your head, I fear, with fancies that are quite unreal."

Clasping her to him again in uncontrolled agitation, with burning kisses
on brow, lip and cheek, he muttered hoarsely:

"No, I swear, I cannot, will not, vow to aught save you, my own, my
bride!" Then suddenly clutching his brow between his hands, he staggered
back and pushing her almost rudely from him sobbed: "Alas! I am vowed to
the Church. But this morn my parents have made known to me, that ere the
waning of yon moon, now limning you like a saint in heavenly light, I go
to my novitiate in the Jesuit order of monks!"

With a cry, her face whitened with horror, the girlish figure, in its
silks and laces, shrank back appalled, as she comprehended his words.
With face buried in her hands, she cried out piteously:

"Oh, Leon, dear Leon, this must not be!" and he, with heart a-throbbing
with agony, and not daring to touch even her hand with his own, besought
her in a low, unnatural voice:

"Phyllis, for the love of Heaven do not weep so, or, I swear, in yonder
river I will drown myself and my misery!"

Seeing that at his words she strove to control herself, he suddenly
turned, and, leaving her, strode away, frightening trim Lizette,
carrying a tray of glasses, almost into hysterics at the sight of his
stern, agonized features. With the gay ribands fluttering with fear over
her beating heart, and dropping a hurried little curtsey, she asked
timidly:

"Will Monsieur have some wine?"

Seizing the goblet she offered him, he drained it at a single draught,
and regaining by a strong effort his customary mien, returned it,
saying:

"_Merci_, Lizette."

As he re-entered the _salon_ he saw, in conversation with his mother and
Mistress Davenant, Captain Basil Temple, of His Majesty's frigate the
_Vulture_, wintering at Quebec. Joining them, he leaned in silence
against the wainscoting. With arms folded across his breast, he stood
moodily, apparently watching the dancing, but in reality jealously
listening to the voice of a man whom he had seen regard Phyllis with
eyes which told his heart's secret, that he too loved her with the depth
and rapture of a true and honest affection.

"Ye have recently arrived from Quebec," Mistress Davenant was saying.
"Pray, Captain, tell us what is the state of things there. Is there to
be another siege? My heart quakes at the very thought!"

"Ah, Captain," sighed Madame de Lrie, "I was in that unhappy town when
it was attacked by your General Wolfe. Ah, me! I shudder yet to think
upon it--the roar of the guns still sounds in my ears--the hurried
tramp, tramp of the soldiers, I think I hear it still! Never can I
forget the weeping and wringing of hands as they bore the noble Montcalm
wounded off the field, and my dear brother, Tancred--brave as that
Red-Cross Knight whose name he bore--home to us, dead. Alas! it was a
cruel day for us and for France," and the lady shook her head sadly at
the bitter memories.

A tear dropped on her satin fan, but waving it vigorously and using her
smelling-salts, she turned to him, saying:

"Change the subject, if you please, Monsieur, and let us be merry for
to-night, even if the morning should bring the cannon-balls rattling on
our roofs. See my poor Leon here," turning to her son, "the doleful tale
has made him quite distressed. He has the visage of eighty instead of
eighteen, and on his birthnight, too, when all should be only wit and
merriment;" and with a laugh she resumed her usual light-hearted manner
and address.

She was a strikingly handsome dame in her rich velvets and jeweled
stomacher, with a charming grace and polished speech, learned in the
courtly circles of Paris, where in her maidenhood she spent several
years in the household of her grandmother, the Marquise de St. Leger. In
her _salon_ she met the handsome young Monsieur de Lrie, with whom she
fell in love, and notwithstanding more ambitious plans of her family,
wedded.

Captain Temple, though restless at the absence of Phyllis, whom he had
seen leave the room, listened with polite attention to Madame's efforts
to turn the conversation into livelier channels by recounting some of
the reminiscences of her early days. Although a matron of almost forty
years, she still loved to recall to attentive ears the conquests and
love affairs of her youth. Not perceiving his divided attention, she
proceeded to tell with vivacity and relish of a royal duke's mad
infatuation for her as Mademoiselle St. Leger; of the duels which had
been fought for the favor of her smile; and with one of her old,
coquettish glances, hinted that it had been even whispered at Court,
that the queen was jealous of "_La Belle Canadienne_," as she was
called.

"Does Madame regret the loss of all this," he asked, "and lament the
banishment from the brilliant life of the _Palais Royal_ for a
provincial home, and the comparative rudeness of life in a Canadian
forest?"

"Ah, no, Captain, not for a moment. I loved my Louis, and none of these
things weighed with me as much as would a _sou_ against the Crown
jewels, so that I were by his side!"

"Ah, mother," exclaimed Leon, a dark flush mounting to his brow as he
heard her last words, "would you not then counsel your son in like case
to choose love above all else?"

"Vex not yourself with questions such as these," she answered, turning
to him with some irritation, "for you well know that from your cradle
you have been vowed to the celibacy of Mother Church. Love comes before
all save her claims, so it behooves you to give all your thoughts to her
sweet and holy service. 'Tis well no human love but that of mother and
sister divides your heart with her."

With a low bow to conceal the bitterness that marked his features, he
said abruptly:

"This scene ill befits one dedicated to so high and holy a calling. Will
you, my mother, make excuse for me if I retire to muse upon the high
claims of its coming duties and denials? My heart accords not with this
merry scene, and with your leave I would withdraw."

Pleased at his apparently devoted and pious frame of mind, she quickly
replied:

"Certainly, my son, retire and forget not to commend to Heaven the
follies and frivolities of those of us to whom has not been given such
high vocation."

As with lines of stern self-control hardening his boyish features, he
disappeared, his mother turned to Mistress Davenant, who having gone in
search of Phyllis, had returned with her, and asked with gratification:

"Madame, do you not think that my Leon has a noble look? With his
handsome face and fine, manly form, I have feared that some maiden of
the town would seek to win his love; but I am assured he is heart and
hand free, for besides his sister and your own sweet Phyllis, their
playmate, he cares not for other companionships. With his noble kinsmen
in France, and some family interest at the Vatican, we are not without
hope that some day the red hat of the Cardinal may rest upon our boy's
fine brow."

With the keen insight which love ever gives, Basil Temple had from the
first read Leon's passion in his every act and look. Knowing they craved
the same woman's heart, as he marked her affectionate intimacy with the
handsome boy, he had felt the bitterness of looking into happiness
through another man's eyes. The dialogue between the mother and son, to
which he had, without intention, become a listener, sent a great flood
of hope and joy pulsing through his heart. Something in the listlessness
with which Phyllis sank into the chair he offered her, and a certain
sweet pathos in her face, which was more alluring than even her usual
sunny brilliance of manner, impelled him to say, as with deference and
tender gallantry he bent over her, his lips almost touching the
fragrant, golden hair:

"Let me, I pray, take you from the heat and fatigue of the ball-room. A
sailor loves the water, and methinks a glance at it under this beautiful
moon would be grateful."

Glad of an opportunity to escape the necessity of explaining to the
sharp maternal eyes the reason of her pallor, she gratefully accepted
his arm, the warm blood surging to his heart at the touch of her soft
hand. As they passed out from the throng, with its satins, laces and
laughter, her fair head bent towards him, Madame de Lrie asked quietly,
above the mingling of voices and the soft glide of feet over the waxed
floor:

"Is this a love affair, dear Madame? By my word they would make a comely
couple!"

"Perhaps it may so prove, for I have thought at times that the Captain's
manner meant something more than friendship merely; an' were it so, I
would not think ill of it, as he comes of noble blood, and owns fair
lands in our dear England," Phyllis's mother replied; and at the words
her mind reverted to certain family gems and laces hid away in casket
and coffer, that would not look amiss on so fair a bride.

Phyllis's apparent pleasure at his request, as she raised her guileless
eyes to thank him, and her willingness to forego the dance to accompany
him, awoke in Basil Temple's soul a new-born hope. Leading her to a
curtained alcove, where the heavy tapestry fell, separating them from
the sight and hearing of the revelers, and showed the river like a
silver floor, he suddenly poured into her ears his ardent love, as he
whispered with some agitation:

"In quieter times I might bide with patience for some assurance that you
look with favor upon me ere I spoke, but at any moment I may be forced
to heed the call of duty, and join my ship at Quebec. With all the grim
possibilities and uncertainties that menace us, I must listen to my
heart's call and tell you now, while I may, that I love you!"

Seeing from the color that flew to her cheeks that she was startled and
surprised at the sudden impetuosity of his speech and manner, he took
her hand, the words coming hastily, as he protested earnestly:

"Yonder pure stars have witnessed many a love-troth, but never one more
worthy woman's taking than this I plight, if devotion, lifelong loyalty
and undying service to her lightest wish be aught of worth. Never before
this night has word of love to woman passed my lips, and I am unused to
trick of speech and honeyed words in which to pay my court. It is a
bluff sailor's love, proffered in a rough sailor's way, but British
seamen's hearts are hearts of oak," and pressing her slender hand
between his own strong ones, he continued vehemently: "Twere easier for
this tender hand to rend yonder gnarled tree from its grasp of earth,
than for me to tear your image from my heart. I can offer you, my little
love, a name upon which no man can throw a shadow of dishonor, and a
fair, sweet English home, among the rose-hedges of beautiful Kent, where
my forefathers have dwelt since Harold rode to Hastings Field, and which
needs only you, my pure Eve, to make it Paradise."

Beneath the girl's young, innocent maidenhood was the honesty of true
womanliness, which despises all forms of duplicity and heartless
coquetry. With a tearful seriousness dimming her usually serene
joyousness of spirit, she interrupted him, endeavoring to withdraw her
hand, as with distressed and frightened face raised to his she said:

"Captain Temple, I am only a simple girl, unversed in the great
passions, which, I have heard, move men and women to happiness or
misery, but I feel something of the worth of a true man's love, so will
not by coy dallying coquet with your heart. It were more kindly far to
tell you now that this you ask, I fear can never be. I grieve most
sorely that I must say you nay, but trust me, there are more hapless
fates than yours, whose love, though unrequited, is no mortal sin. I am
not without gratitude that thus ye honor me, but I must pray you for
this same love's sake, that you do not urge me more."

With face ashen white under his sailor bronze, and a break in his voice,
he said, the words coming with difficulty:

"'Tis bitter, this death sentence to my love!--but a breaking heart must
needs be borne with a man's courage--and be sure that you will ever be
to me the fairest, sweetest thing this wide world holds!"

Lifting her trembling hands, and pressing them unresisted to his lips,
he led her back to the _salon_ and mingling with some of the departing
guests, passed out into the quiet of the starlit street. A few rods from
the threshold, a man, whom he recognized as the body-servant of the
Governor, saluted and informed him that he was the bearer of a request
that he report at once at headquarters. He immediately repaired thither,
and on gaining the presence of the Commander, was surprised to find him
fully dressed, and with evidence of having spent the night among the
papers which were scattered around in a disorder betokening haste.

"Captain Temple," he said, "I have summoned you hither at this unusual
hour, to ask that you render a service which can only be required at the
hands of a brave man and an honorable gentleman. It is no less than a
request that ye risk your life in accompanying me in my attempt to leave
this town during the coming night."

Basil Temple, looking straight into his superior's eyes, answered, as he
threw back his head with a dauntless bearing gained from twenty
generations of brave Anglo-Saxon ancestors:

"Ye do me honor, Sir Guy, in making as a request that which is my
highest duty and greatest privilege to perform. Believe me, sir, life is
not so sweet a thing to me that I deem it aught beside the call of my
country." Laying his hand upon his sword-hilt, he declared: "I hereby
pledge my word, on the honor of an Englishman, and a sailor who has seen
service with those to whom this land is under tribute of gratitude, that
my life shall stand 'twixt yours and harm. Think ye that Basil Temple,
who scaled the heights with Wolfe, and shared his risk to place our flag
above them, will not face any odds to keep it there?"

No further words were spoken or questions asked, but the two men
exchanged looks of trust, in the unspoken tenderness which can find no
warmer expression of feeling between men of the undemonstrative natures
of their race; but they understood that it was a pact which only death
would break. Seated side by side, the plan of escape was given in its
minutest details, and as daylight shone in through the crevices of the
shutters, they separated to occupy the hours till nightfall in needful
preparations, which were to be kept secret from all except those who
were to assist in them, or to form the vice-regal escort.

A trustworthy boatman, whose devotion and fidelity were unquestioned,
was to undertake the conduct of the expedition. He was a _voyageur_ of
a race of _coureurs-du-bois_, who had paddled the streams and trodden
the forest paths of the North since the days of Verandrye. A hundred
years of roving life in the woods and on the waters had made the family
as wary, alert and keen as the Indians with whom they were so closely
associated, and from whom they had learned skill in woodcraft and the
secret of the trail. His great-grandsire had followed the ardent
explorer, the Chevalier de La Salle, to the banks of the Mississippi and
there saw him fall by a comrade's hand. Having refused to be a party to
the mutinous and murderous work, he fled through the uncharted
wilderness to the great lakes and Ville Marie, as Montreal was called in
those early days.

Deserting her home and people, a beautiful young savage followed him to
civilization, and became his wife, according to a custom which was
common between the traders and trappers of New France and the native
tribes.

With that far-away strain of Indian blood in his veins, the risk and
romance of the expedition captured Bissette's fancy, and he willingly
and hopefully assured the Governor that his craftiness would be more
than a match for the most cunning Continental who ever wore
blue-and-buff.

It was deemed inexpedient to use any vessel in transport which would be
conspicuous enough to attract the attention of the enemy, and the amount
of provisions would, of necessity, have to be exceedingly limited. To
attempt to traverse a distance of one hundred and eighty miles in small
open boats in the bleak month of November, without protection for the
night, with the possibility of the severity of the Canadian winter's
setting in at any hour, upon men unused to meet exposure, was a prospect
which might daunt the bravest; but the greater the risk and need of
endurance of hardship, the higher Bissette's spirits rose. As soon as
the project was confided to him, he had sent a trusty messenger to
Caughnawaga, an Indian village on the south side of the river, to tell
an Iroquois, known outside his tribe as "Young Moose," that the Great
Father at Montreal, Chief Carleton, required his help.

A few months before, "Young Moose" had been found wandering about the
streets of the town, in a half-demented condition, with symptoms upon
him of some impending malady. He was placed in shelter, and when it was
found that he was suffering from the scourge of the red
man--smallpox--by the humane order of General Carleton, he was given the
same care and treatment which would have been accorded to one of his own
soldiers, had he been the victim. The result was the undying gratitude
of the savage, who would, if needful, have gone to the stake for his
benefactor. Bissette, knowing that his untutored instincts would be of
the utmost service in the navigation of the river, resolved to trust to
his savage sense of honor, and enlist him in the cause. Everything being
ready, as well as haste and circumstances permitted, with as little
appearance of unusual preparation as possible, shortly after sundown a
few boats were moored by the bank of the river, where the gardens of the
Chteau ran down to its brink, and not far from the spot where two
hundred and fifty years before the keel of Jacques Cartier's craft had
grated on the shingle. As evening closed in, dull, leaden clouds hung
heavily above, and cold gusts of rain fell, as if Nature were trying to
increase the melancholy of the situation; the lights in the town
flickering dimly through the mists. The deep, black waters, swirling in
treacherous eddies and dangerous currents, in no small degree heightened
the peril of the intended adventure. Great caution was observed to avoid
attracting attention from the people of the town, whether they were in
sympathy or not, as it was known that among the citizens there were at
least some who, either from disaffection or a desire to be on the
winning side, might take steps to frustrate the undertaking. A sense of
fear might also be aroused if it were generally known that their
official head was on the point of abandoning the post. In spite of all
precautions, however, a suspicion of something unusual was in the air,
and in certain quarters the situation was fully understood; so that in
the dreary night, a band of heavy-hearted men and frightened women
followed the small party that were directing their steps to the
ill-provisioned, frail little fleet, tossing at its moorings.

Some of the Governors of Canada have, in their time, set up a semi-regal
state in their equipages, with liveried and powdered footmen, postilions
and outriders; but that little company had no suggestion of aught save
sore discomfort and perturbation. In front walked what appeared to be a
peasant fisherman, apparently embarking after disposing of his morning's
catch to the _habitants_ and townspeople in the riverside market, to
return to some little log cabin where his wife would have the home-made
candle lighted in the four-paned window and a savory fricasse of deer
meat ready for her _bonhomme_ when he returned cold and hungry from his
journey.

It was, however, no simple St. Lawrence fisherman, but the noble knight,
Sir Guy Carleton, Commander-in-Chief of the forces of Canada, where he
stood for the majesty of the king. Despite his abhorrence at the seeming
humiliation of the disguise, and the indignity it suggested in thus
habiting, he had, with the utmost reluctance, assumed it: setting aside
his personal feelings, if so by his own humiliation his country could be
the better served. As he took his seat in the small craft, with Bissette
in the prow, oars in hand, only eyes sharpened by the most acute
suspicion could recognize him under the homespun of the fisher-folk of
the river.

Next followed, similarly attired, Captain Basil Temple, Lieutenant
Malcolm Fraser, and lastly, the Indian ally. The other boats were also
quickly filled, in each of which had been placed a scanty supply of food
and ammunition.

In utter silence, and with heads bared in spite of the falling rain, the
parties separated, those left on land returning with slow steps and
hearts filled with misgivings as to the fate of the adventurous little
band, upon whose wisdom and discretion the future of the king's Canadian
dominions hung. As the boats moved clear of the landing, for the better
deception of any stray onlooker Bissette broke out into a few lines of a
familiar song, which had been sung for a hundred years and more by the
boatmen and hunters of the rivers and forests, from Labrador to the
foothills of the Rockies.

Where they had stood a few minutes before, a figure of a man loomed up,
who, by a peculiarity of his gait, was recognized as one who was known
to have openly expressed sympathy with the Revolutionists in the
colonies. Peering through the darkness, he curiously scanned the boats
and their occupants; but as Bissette sang louder than before in his
usual care-free manner the well-known words:

    "_Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant,
      En roulant, ma boule roulant,
      En roulant, ma boule_"--

he knew it to be the voice and manner of the "Wild Pigeon," as Bissette
was called from the quickness of his speech and movements, and he
shouted:

"A safe voyage, Antoine!"--to which Bissette replied, as he rapidly
widened the distance between them:

"Thank you, my good frien', _au revoir_!"

With arms grimly folded, Sir Guy watched the dip of the oars, and the
lights along the shore growing fainter, as they passed between the
islands which there dotted the river's course. He looked with stern pain
at the fort, where, but a few weeks before, he had lodged Ethan Allan,
the "Green Mountain Boy," and from which he had sent him in irons to an
English prison, and above which, he doubted not, the pennant of the
Revolution would, ere another sunset, be waving. The swift current,
which there marked the river bed, assisted the rowers in their efforts
to pass out of sight, and soon nothing but the black sky above and the
blacker waters below surrounded them, the banks on either side being
almost invisible. Slowly the hours passed; the channel narrowed and
widened, and the most critical portion was reached. As they were
compelled to draw nearer the shore, a light gleamed out over the water,
appearing to move from place to place. Like all the fisher-folk of the
river and gulf, Bissette was imbued with many quaint fancies and
beliefs, which had their origin in the folklore of the peasantry of
France. He watched the light with anxiety, his cheerfulness suddenly
deserting him and giving way before his superstitious fears.

With oars poised, awe-struck, he whispered, in the broken English he had
learned among the British sailors on the wharves:

"Oh, Holy Virgin, see dat light--it is _le feu follet_--what you call
dat in English?--'will-o'-de-wisp'? It was dere dat poor Joe Gauthier
drown hees'lf las' year. I'm 'fraid me--_sapristi!_--it mean no good for
us for sure!"--and crossing himself devoutly, he repeated, with voice
and hands trembling, a prayer to the Virgin: "_Ave Sanctissima, ora pro
nobis._"

Notwithstanding his terror, he was forced to move closer to the bank,
when an abrupt turn into a small bay revealed a camp-fire, the light of
which glinting on a bayonet, scattered his fears of the supernatural, as
he recognized no ghostly foe, but an outpost of the Continental Army. By
preconcerted signs, a touch on the shoulder was passed along, and at the
signal each lay flat in the bottom of the boat, and Bissette and the
Indian, paddling softly and dexterously with their hands, were imitated
by their companions in danger.

A quick challenge rang out over the water, but in the semi-darkness, the
apparently empty canoes were mistaken for floating logs of timber, which
frequently drifted down with the stream at that season of the year.

The night passed in cold discomfort, and at last, towards dawn, a
conference resulted in the conclusion that an attempt must be made to
land at some point on the north shore and find harborage. Bissette
accordingly headed his boat towards a little village where he frequently
spent his winters when the river navigation was closed.

Near the bank lived a friend, whose guilelessness would never think of
questioning the honesty of purpose of any one in Antoine Bissette's
company, and under whose roof lodging and shelter might be found for the
hours of daylight, which already showed signs of breaking. After an
hour's pull he saw the smoke of his friend's fire, and thoughts of rest
and comfort in the little cabin cheered the belated travelers in their
cold, wet garments. As they touched land, Bissette jumped ashore, and
was followed by the others as quickly as their stiffened limbs would
permit. He led the way, and was soon presenting his friends to his good
Jean Baptiste, to whom he explained that they would like to spend the
day by his fire, as one of them--pointing to Sir Guy--was too fatigued
to proceed without rest. Taking his black pipe from his mouth, Baptiste
volubly bade them welcome, and with shrugs of the shoulders and gestures
of approval handed them into the warm kitchen, and drew out the
home-made chairs for their accommodation. Being a trapper in the employ
of the Hudson Bay Company, he had gained a slight knowledge of English,
so in a mixture of both languages he exclaimed, as he clapped his thigh:

"_Oui, oui_, Antoine, an' my good Marie will soon have a dish of fish
steaming hot, an' bread fit, for sure, for King Louis hees'lf," and he
pointed to a three-legged kettle on the crane from which a savory steam
was escaping.

Suddenly the Indian struck an attitude of attention, and in a few
minutes the others heard a sound from without. A rattle of arms startled
Bissette to his feet, and glancing through the window, he saw a party of
American troops advancing to the door, who in a moment filed into the
kitchen with the evident intention of billeting themselves for
breakfast.

Bissette, with a leisurely swagger, went up to the chimney-corner, and
giving his host a signal to be silent, with a rough shake on the
shoulder of Sir Guy, who had fallen fast asleep on a settle by the
hearth, he shouted to him as if he were a comrade of the lumber camp:

"Wake up, Pierre! you lazy dog, let us be on the move. _Pardieu!_ you
have snored long enough, and now must make room for these good
_gentilhommes_, who no doubt already know as well as we the flavor of
Marie's good _bouillon_."

Though so suddenly and roughly roused, Sir Guy understood, and entered
at once into the by-play, and drowsily rubbing his eyes, hid his
features until reaching the outside of the house, where with apparent
indifference and unconcern he followed the others to the boats. Without
having had a chance to taste the food, whose savoury seasoning still
lingered on their senses, and with but a fraction of the journey
performed, a heavy silence fell upon the party.

Two hours passed, when the Iroquois, grunting an exclamation, pointed
around a slight bend in the shore, where appeared a small but well-built
brig. It was impossible to pass unobserved, so trusting to their
disguise, they rowed alongside, when it was found to be manned by a
British crew, by whom they were cheerfully received on board. A favoring
breeze springing up, sails were set, and two days later they dropped
anchor below the City on the Rock. After the perils of the journey, the
sight of the grey bastions and strong gates lying in the golden light of
the autumn morning made it seem to them as veritable a city of refuge as
was ancient Shechem to the manslayer. With cheerful alacrity the
refugees took to their boats to effect a landing. A few half-drunken
sailors, returning from a night's carousal in Lower Town, staggered past
just as they touched the shore. Elbowing what they took to be a timid
fisherman, one of them, with a rough laugh, slapped the Governor
familiarly on the back, and calling to his companions, said:

"Heigh ho! my hearties, here's a pretty lot of lubbers coming ashore
after a night's fishing, and not a fin aboard. Somewhat's amiss here!
Heave to, my lads; let's search their lockers and see if they have not
stowed away in yonder hulk some good tobacco of Virginia or rare old
Kentucky whiskey."

"That I will, Tom," said the one nearest to the speaker, "for if they
are trying to hoodwink His Majesty, it's Jack Tar's bounden and plain
duty to confiscate the stuff in the name of the king. What do you say,
my lads, to heaving the whole crew of them into the water, as they did
the good British tea in the bay at Boston town; for by the cut of their
jib I take them to be Yankee spies, or smugglers. I have an old score of
my own to settle with the whole tribe, for cuts on my back from the hand
of one of them, that I'll carry till I go to Davy Jones' locker." In a
drunken rage at the memory of forty lashes he had received at a
whipping-post, he swaggered up to Fraser, and giving him a blow,
shouted:

"Give an account of yourselves, my masters, or by yonder rag floating
from the main-topsail of the stout ship _Vulture_ there in port, we'll
hang every man o' ye from the yard-arm, or flog ye lashed to the mast
before ye can count a score."

One of the party landing, and among the first to step ashore, going up
to the sailors and raising his cap, which had been drawn down over his
eyes, revealed to their astonished gaze the captain of the _Vulture_.
The suddenness of the encounter immediately sobered them, and pulling
their forelocks, and with an uneasy hitch at their belts, they looked
awkwardly at each other, expecting to be at once sent to the lock-up and
put in irons.

In a few curt words Captain Temple told them that he was in the escort
of the Governor-General of the Province, who wished to pass unrecognized
to Castle St. Louis on the Citadel.

With zeal and heartiness they at once hastened to assist the tired
refugees to land, and by a winding path around the face of the cliff led
them to the fort that frowned above. Reaching it, and with no further
need of disguise or subterfuge, Sir Guy again assumed his position as
commander of the army, and proceeded to make a last and desperate
resistance to the foes already lurking within sight of the walls. When
the news spread throughout the garrison that Carleton had arrived at the
town to take direction of the defences against the threatened
bombardment, and to prevent its capture, a wave of courage and
determination to resist to the last extremity took possession of every
citizen and soldier within the walls; but in Montreal, the departure of
the vice-regal party, when it became known, resulted in a panic of
apprehension and utter hopelessness. A council was there convened to
consider what was the best attitude to assume on the appearance of the
enemy. Monsieur de Lrie and other hot-headed spirits advocated
resistance, but Colonel Davenant counselled throwing open the gates,
after having, through a deputation of reputable citizens, come to the
best possible terms. What the result of such a parley would be was a
matter of much uneasiness, and the sudden clang of a church bell for
vespers, or a horseman riding rapidly through the streets, made the
frightened women clasp their children in their arms for shelter, and
pale-faced men start to the doors to listen anxiously for sounds of
alarm. Family plate and jewels were carefully concealed in safe
hiding-places in the underground vaults or cellars with which every
house was furnished, and each householder strengthened his shutters,
bars and bolts. Every man capable of bearing arms was drilled,
ammunition was served out, food stored, and the town as fast as possible
placed in the state of a city prepared for a siege.

In the De Lrie mansion domestic clouds added to the general gloom.
Thrse, who usually danced and sang about the house like a bird,
flitted uneasily from room to room, complaining to her mother that
everything was so dreary and lonely, for thrice had she called her dear
Phyllis to come and walk with her on the garden paths, as the day was
bright for the season, but she ever made excuse that she had no heart
for pleasure more.

"I tell her," she said, "that I for one refuse to be frightened because
the soldiers of that handsome Monsieur George Washington should come
marching into our town. It will be so romantic to be captive like ladies
of the olden time besieged in their castles. At the siege of Calais, you
must remember, in the time of our good King John, how the wives and
daughters besought clemency for their lords from the Plantagenet Prince;
so we will melt our enemies' hearts with our tears and beauty. I hope to
find that they have more sentiment and sensibility than these English
officers, who are so stiff and formal in their manners that I am always
ill at ease in their company. And even our own French--ah! they are not
now like the chevaliers and lovers we read of in the dramas of
Molire--who thought themselves happy to be permitted to die for their
lady-loves. They forget how to court nowadays, it seems to me, and only
think of what good bargains they can make, and seem not to remember that
a pretty girl likes to know that they care more for her favor than the
price of pelts or the prospect of the crops along the river!"

"You forget that your brother is a Frenchman, child!" said her mother
reprovingly.

"The worst of all is that my Leon has so suddenly changed! Were he
already a monk in serge and sandals, he could not seem to be further
above me--his little sister--to whom now in a few days at most he must
make his adieux. If my silly, light-hearted ways are distasteful to one
who is about to take vows, why should he also shun our dear Phyllis, who
is all sweetness and whom we love as a sister?" was the fretful
complaint.

"You misjudge your brother, Thrse; he is never ungentle in word or
act, especially to women; for he comes of a knightly, chivalrous race,"
protested his mother with increased irritation.

"Well, only this morning after matins in the Church of Notre Dame, when
I put my arm in his, as I have done a hundred times before, and thinking
to please him, said: 'We will go and seek Phyllis,' he suddenly drew
away from me coldly and frowned so darkly that my poor heart quaked with
fear. The sacristan, as he passed, looked strangely at us on seeing his
discourteous manners, and as he heard him mutter angrily: '_Vade retro,
Satanas!_' which I find to be the Latin for 'Get thee behind me, Satan.'
Why he should liken me to the devil, who do try to say my _aves_
regularly, fast on holy days, and for penance wore all last week my
darkest clothes, when I so love gay petticoats and bright bow-knots, is
past my understanding! Ah! the world seems sadly out of joint!" she
exclaimed, sighing discontentedly.

"'Twas that your brother would have you remember that 'tis not fitting
that one vowed to celibacy should seek a woman's companionship; and
never till this moment have I realized that our little Phyllis is no
longer a child. But if the manners of our compatriots appear so brusque
to you, what may we look for from these men of this New England, as they
call it; whose sires, many of them, were so straight-laced that even so
much as smiling on the Sundays, hearkening to a song-bird, or smelling
of a flower on the way to worship, was deemed a mortal sin. Their solemn
visages, too, were in proper keeping with their sad-hued garments; the
men in hats like sugar-loaves, with doublets of coarse brown cloth,
their only extravagance of fashion being broad, white linen collars; and
the women, in their dove-colored gowns and plain caps, in no wise
livelier than they. I have been told that even their sailors, who are
not always apt to remember their litanies when out of sight of the
church steeples, changed their morning and evening watches by the
singing of hymns and psalm-tunes. With their bare meeting-houses and
solemn feasts, a very different kind of folk were they, rebels even then
against their king, to the loyal, courtly Frenchmen who first settled
this land. Coming hither to escape the worldly gaieties of the cavaliers
of Charles Stuart's court, they were in a sense banished, and in no wise
like de Champlain, de Frontenac, and other chevaliers who sailed from
our dear France with the great Bourbon seals upon their commissions!"
remonstrated Madame de Lrie, with something of scorn.

"This might all be even as you say, but 'tis said, too, that many of
these Colonials boast of their descent from those same cavaliers of
merry King Charles's time, who left the court for the forests of
Virginia; driven across the sea for love and service of their king. They
are a race of brave and gallant gentlemen, and not by any means
commonplace planters and traders. They drive in great coaches, drawn by
four or six horses, and live in lordly fashion, ordering their
households and estates in their southern lowlands like those of their
gentle ancestry."

"And now that I think of it," she continued, "our own de Champlain,
although an Indian fighter, was almost as much a _religieux_ as the
Puritans themselves. In his day Quebec, they say, was a shrine, and
instead of ordinary converse about hunting and conquest and toasting
pretty women, histories of the martyrs and lives of the saints were read
around at his table, as in a monk's refectory, the chapel bell ringing
from morning until night. Whatever they may do in that prim Boston town,
I have heard that the Virginians at least dance with grace and skill,
and dress like gentle folk; and this Washington, 'tis said, is more a
king than many who have worn a crown. I remember to have heard it said
that my father fought hand to hand with him on the sore field at Fort du
Quesne, when the British prisoners vowed that, though the victory lay
with us, if that stupid General Braddock had taken counsel with Colonel
Washington, the young Virginian under him, the day would have fallen out
otherwise than it did." Throwing back her curls from her flushed face,
she added, hotly: "I would his troops were even now knocking at our
gates!"

"Ah! traitor child, would you have an alien flag float o'er our city
walls?" asked her mother in startled disapprobation.

"Is not this three-crossed flag of England that waves over our dear New
France an alien flag to us, mother?" Thrse exclaimed, her black eyes
flashing. "I, of French blood, whose noble line goes back to that brave
knight who served with Charlemagne, care not for any standard save the
lilied flag of France, which they have here trailed low in the dust. All
others are alike to me!"

"My dear child," her mother said sadly, "I fear this pride of birth and
race will but embitter what it cannot mend."

"I am fairly devoured with _ennui_ in this dull town, and shall welcome
anything that will break the sense of weariness, and the foolish dread
of what may be a happy change. Are we not truly prisoners now within
these narrow walls? We cannot pass without the gates to ramble in the
woods, but a rude soldier points his gun, and demands some foolish
password, which I invariably forget, or stupidly get wrong. Only
yesterday, when I should, as I was told, have given the password of the
day to the sentry, and repeated the words, 'Good King George,' I
blundered, and said instead, 'Good George Washington!' And as to driving
in the moonlight by the river to where the white rapids of Lachine foam
and boil above the sunken rocks, that is not to be so much as thought of
even, lest I should be caught and carried off to New York or Boston by
some of these bluecoats. I protest I would scarce have the wish to
refuse a romance so very tempting and novel these dull times, had I the
chance; and which I may, for as that English play-writer, Master William
Shakespeare, of Stratford, hath well said, 'Beauty provoketh thieves
more than gold,'" she continued perversely.




CHAPTER IV.

_MARCH HE WILL._


Some two months before, in the town of New Haven, Connecticut, two men
were conversing on the theme of which all in the colonies, men and women
alike, were thinking and talking--the stubborn campaign on which they
had entered with such a mixture of rage and despair. One was a trader of
the town, who had left his apothecary shop near the water-front to take
to the field.

His companion, a man of a fine presence, showing camp training in his
erect figure and soldierly bearing, was seated, but suddenly rising and
placing his hand on the arm of the man pacing impatiently before him, he
said:

"Arnold, be advised! Temper your passion with reason, for 'twere the
height of folly and rashness to carry out this purpose of marching
without orders."

At the words, spoken with persuasion yet with the authority of one who
had seen service in the king's army, Benedict Arnold suddenly wheeled
about. Irritably shaking off the restraining hand, with hair pushed
angrily back, and the hot blood crimsoning his handsome, swarthy face,
he looked every inch a fighter, as he exclaimed with passionate
vehemence:

"'Tis easy for you, Vanrosfeldt, to counsel patience, who have already
won your spurs. Think ye that I can longer bide here like a hound in
leash? No! I swear only Almighty God will prevent my marching to Boston
town, orders or no orders; for hark'ee, Vanrosfeldt, I am not made of
the stuff that waits, as only yestermorn I gave this town good proof.
Chancing upon a drunken dog of a sailor belaboring his whimpering wife
with a rope's end, I was minded to give him a taste of it himself, and
at the public whipping-post hard by, then and there, gave him forty such
lashes as his knavish back will bear the marks of for many a day to
come. That is how Ben Arnold waits, so mark me, I lead my men to Boston
town to-morrow!"

"Well," replied Vanrosfeldt calmly, "if to such a course you are
committed, 'twere useless, methinks, to parry words further. If I cannot
dissuade you, I will at least not hinder your headstrong project.
Perforce we must take the same road, as I am about to join the camp at
Massachusetts Bay."

"I would not be averse to taking advantage of your greater military
knowledge on the march," said Arnold eagerly, "as I am more sailor than
soldier, and these young volunteers from the College halls are more used
to books than muskets, and the field of game than of battle."

Accordingly, proceeding to sack the arsenal, Arnold set forth in the
early morning at the head of his student volunteers, to join the growing
army of patriots on the banks of the River Charles. Vanrosfeldt, as he
glanced at the irregular ranks, unskilled in the use of the arms they
awkwardly carried, said to Arnold, who already was showing himself
something of a leader: "Arnold, America seems lacking in everything save
men to fight!"

"Aye," was the answer, "but they come, every man of them, from good
fighting stock! 'Tis New England 'gainst Old England!"

On reaching the camp, that this was true seemed plain to be seen, the
former case woefully so. To Vanrosfeldt, with his practised eye, they
seemed a nondescript and motley-looking crowd, but there was something
in their look and mien that showed they remembered from whence they had
sprung. Sorry looking soldiers truly they were, bivouacked in the rude
huts of stones and turf that were scattered over Cambridge Common, and
which were patched up with boards and weatherworn sail-cloth which had
been cast aside after long years of service among the fogs of the
Atlantic fishing-banks. Among the men what was lacking in experience was
made up for in courage. They remembered that not far distant was a grim,
grey rock on which their Puritan forefathers had landed, and that they
were the sons of those old "Roundheads" who had fought with Cromwell at
Naseby and Marston Moor, shouting as they charged Charles Stuart's
ringleted Cavaliers "God with us!" The British held possession of the
town across the river, but from the white farmhouses among the orchards,
the wives and mothers brought food and needful clothing to sons and
husbands, striving with the smiling bravery of pale lips to quiet the
anxious beating of their hearts, that their soldiers' courage might not
be lessened by their tears.

On an afternoon in early September the rays of the setting sun, slanting
through the branches of the elms, cast long, wavering shadows over the
pleasant fields of Cambridge, through which the River Charles ran under
yellowing willows to the sea. Following a cow-path across the green, two
soldiers of the patriot army were returning from Vassel House, a
handsome mansion near by, from which its owner, a rabid Royalist, had
fled some time before. Early in July, General George Washington had
taken command of the army under one of those same Cambridge elms, since
which time the house had been his headquarters.

As they walked, the men carried themselves with the assured gait of
those having a firm purpose in view, and the doing of a great task
before them. Such a frame of mind was befitting, as to them had been
committed the making of a venture of imminent risk, one to which few
men, even the bravest, were equal. Benedict Arnold, a look of fierce
delight kindled in his eyes, turning to his companion and reading as
they walked, said:

"Hark'ee, Vanrosfeldt, to our orders given herein: 'It is intended by
the Congress at Philadelphia, that ye proceed to co-operate with the
expedition under Generals Schuyler and Montgomery, and proceed to
Quebec, by way of the waters and mountains of Maine. Upon the success of
this enterprise, of preventing the King's troops in Canada from
hectoring us on the north, the safety of the whole country largely
depends.'" Stopping in the path, and drawing himself up to his full
height, Vanrosfeldt said, laconically and with decision:

"We can do it, Arnold!"

Accordingly, a few days later, their detachment marched through the
streets of Olde Town, or Cambridge, as it had become the fashion to
style it, on the way to the northern border; betwixt which lay leagues
of unbroken wilderness and unknown perils and hardship.

As the force passed the gates of the school, called for godly John
Harvard, they found that, unmindful of the grave disquiet which the
occupation of the premises by the troops from Connecticut had caused the
worthy masters, a group of students had gathered under the walls. They
lustily cheered the Patriots marching by, although they knew full well
that each man had, in the well-filled pouch at his belt, a goodly supply
of bullets obtained from the melting down and casting of the leaden roof
and organ-pipes of the chapel in the campus.

Arnold, in command, walked in front, in the full regimentals of a
colonel in the Continental Army, with Ensign Vanrosfeldt bearing the
pennant of the Revolution, the morning light striking bravely on
sword-hilt and sling-buckle. They were followed by a heterogeneous
company, but, for spirited character and iron frames and wills, the
picked men of the colonies. The column of twelve hundred men was made up
of veterans of the Indian wars, who were learned in the cunning and
savage wiles of the painted race, had heard the hideous scalp-yell, and
been accustomed since childhood to the menace hanging over border
settlements. Among them were hunters, knowing in woodcraft and trained
in the use of the bark canoe. Born to a knowledge of the Indian, and
having spent their lives on the outposts of the frontier, they were as
keen on the wilderness trail as the wariest redskin who ever fired a
settler's shanty, or strung scalp to his wampum belt. Crack shots, they
were accustomed to forest fighting, knowing often that if their first
ball did not tell, there would be no chance for another. Every
backwoodsman was above all things skilled in the chase, which was no
mean training for the field of battle.

Bringing up the rear was a body of men with the free, springing step of
the mountaineers of Kentucky and Virginia, each carrying a rifle, with a
tomahawk and scalping-knife in his belt. Sinewy veterans of border
warfare, they seemed to carry in the ruddy tan of their cheeks and
clearness of eye, the breath of the sweet, pure air of their native
hills. Clad for the most part in the dress of their plumed and painted
foes, they wore fringed and tasseled hunting-shirts, and leggings of
buckskin, girdles worked in beads, and, on their heads, caps of coon or
mink skin, the tail hanging down the back. With their long locks falling
over the capes on their shoulders, they were magnificent in appearance
and stature, not one being less than six feet in height. Echoes of the
despairing strife of their brethren on the northern tidewater had
penetrated through the dim woods to their mountain fastnesses, and they
had hurried through leagues of shadowy forest to help those fighting on
the seaboard, and with them to strike a blow for freedom from what they
deemed injustice.

They were led by Daniel Morgan, a Virginian, of a famous family of
Indian fighters. A hero in buckskin and a giant in stature, he had won
a name for bravery and daring unequalled by any in the great woods of
the Virginian frontier. He had left the blue mountains, the woodland
haunts, the wild joy of the chase, and the camp-fire under the southern,
balsam-breathing pines, for death, it might be, but fight he would!

Scattered among the ranks were farmers in every variety of homespun
shirts and small-clothes, home-knit socks and cowhide shoes. At their
sides were slung powder-horns, and in their toil-hardened hands were the
trusty flintlocks that always hung ready over every chimney-corner in
the settlements. Though followers of the plow, they had not forgotten
the skill of their forefathers, who went to meeting-house with a
psalm-book in one hand, and a gun in the other.

Arriving at Newburyport, scarcely had the first of the transports
waiting for their conveyance been filled, when Vanrosfeldt, who was
directing the embarkation, descried a small company of men approaching.
They were covered thickly with the dust of the ten leagues over which
they had come, and staggered with fatigue and the weight of the heavy
muskets they carried. Their leader, though under medium height, was a
striking youth, well proportioned, athletic in figure, and with a
certain allurement of manner of unusual attractiveness. His features,
though fine, were irregular, but this was forgotten in the beauty of the
eye, which was full, a deep hazel, and with an expression which, once
seen, could never be forgotten. Though little more than a boy, his
countenance already bore traces of a wild and wayward nature. His face
was haggard from recent illness, and the hurried and lengthy journey on
foot, for which, in spite of all remonstrance, he had risen from a
sick-bed.

Interrupted in his engrossing occupation, Arnold turned to the young
man, whom he had known since his childhood, and with a frown said
testily:

"Aaron, how came ye hither?"

With a low bow, and pointing to his comrades, he replied:

"With this brave following, whom I have equipped for service, I have
marched the thirty miles 'twixt here and Boston. Six good men and true,
we offer our swords on this crusade."

"What folly is this, lad?" exclaimed Arnold. "Did I not hear of you ill
in your chamber, dosed with sassafras tea, and well bled by the leech,
but one week past? This wilderness upon which we soon will enter is fit
only for the foot of trappers and savages, and is no place for you,
headstrong boy: so return forthwith to your foster-mother, good Mistress
Shippen, as winding the silks for Mistress Peggy's tambour-frame is
better suited to your years and taste than fighting British redcoats."

His air of depreciation and patronage exasperated the youth to anger.

"And I, in turn," he sneered, "would counsel you, Master Apothecary, to
hie ye back to your shop of drugs on Water Street, New Haven, where I
warrant ye have killed more men by your pills than ever ye shall with
your bullets. If there were aught that might change my purpose, 'tis the
thought of the sweet Peggy, who, I trow, would have wept her pretty
eyes out had I had opportunity to bid her farewell; but even a kiss from
her tempting lips would not have availed to deter me. Go I will! for
neither argument nor persuasion will avail to change any purpose upon
which Aaron Burr has set his mind." And lightly springing towards the
boats, and hailing his companions to follow, he stubbornly took his
place in the one which had just been loosed from its moorings.

An off-shore breeze rising freshly, and the tide with them, the course
was taken up and continued until the mouth of the Kennebec River was
reached, when the prows of the little fleet were turned up stream. Some
facts about the route had been obtained from a party of Indians who had
recently visited General Washington's headquarters. It had been learned
from them that, three suns' journey from the big river of the Iroquois,
a highland separated the waters flowing into it from those running south
to the sea. From this information, and a rude map of the region in his
possession, Arnold determined to leave the river and strike due north to
find the summit which divided the St. Lawrence valley from the water
sources of New England. Crossing that, he hoped to reach the head of the
Chaudire, and from thence make descent upon Quebec. The task of
penetrating a trackless, unknown wilderness was one of great hazard,
demanding singular courage and self-reliance; but it was undertaken with
undaunted and resolute spirit, and its difficulties manfully faced by
leaders and men.

So exceedingly toilsome and laborious, however, did it prove, and so
almost insurmountable the natural obstacles which presented themselves
as they advanced, that even the hardy woodsmen, inured as they were to
the rough experience of forest life, oftentimes faltered, and at
nightfall were glad to sink down by the side of a pond on beds hastily
made of pine or hemlock, and fall asleep in utter exhaustion. Week after
week passed, and but little progress was made, until, with the food
almost exhausted, slow starvation stared them in the face; and with the
breaking out of malignant disease, terrible gaps were daily made in the
ranks; to advance or turn back, seeming to be equally fraught with
peril.

At last they sighted the high land that they had so intrepidly sought,
and crossing it, pushed on down into the valley; although each man knew
that they were pressing forward to assault a well-garrisoned, well
defended town. Soon a clearing, with log huts among little patches of
stubble-fields, told them that they had reached the outskirts of the
French settlements, and the forty days of toil and famine were
over--days in which they had waded rocky streams, sinking knee-deep in
bogs; had hauled their _bateaux_ over one hundred and eighty miles, and
portaged them and their contents forty more, in cold and hunger, but
with unabated courage and resolution.

At length what was left of the army, spent, tattered and gaunt, gathered
on the banks of the tawny-flowing St. Lawrence, where, bristling with
cannon on the beetling crags of the opposite shore, lay the fortress, to
take which they were ready to die. The mist of an autumn rain softened
the lines of coping and grim bastion, and mingled with the smoke from
the stone houses clustering on the water's edge below.

As the men gazed across at the fortified cliffs, Vanrosfeldt, with face
stern and set, pointed silently to where, high above the ramparts, a
thin red line streamed against the grey of the sky--the Lion Standard of
England.




CHAPTER V.

_THE CUR OF LORETTE._


A week of storm, with rain and sleet, and heavy winds from the north,
was spent in preparation for crossing the river. Canoes, which had been
procured twenty miles away, were carried to the shore, into which, on
the first lull of the tempest, all except some two hundred embarked.
Favored by the darkness, they crossed within a few cables' length of the
_Vulture_, a British warship, which was stationed to intercept any such
attempt; and running into a cove, found safe harborage, and disembarked,
five hundred strong. Above them, up the face of the crags, a zigzag
goat-track wound to the dizzy steep, which seemed to hang in the air,
and up which, fifteen years before, Wolfe and his kilted Scots had
dragged their cannon. It was the only way; but where one man had gone,
it was plain another could follow; so, although it was so narrow that
two could scarcely walk abreast, without hesitation Arnold boldly
determined to attempt dashing up it with his ragged, barefooted men;
who, with damaged muskets, without artillery and with only five rounds
of ammunition, were still as eager as he to fight. Glancing from the
remnant of his fine corps to the defiant-looking ramparts, he turned,
saying:

"My men lack everything save stout hearts, and it is imperative that
Montgomery, advancing on Montreal, should at once be made aware of our
present position. Whom think ye, Vanrosfeldt, should I select for this
delicate and dangerous errand? It will require not only a stout heart,
but a most robust courage, to traverse one hundred and eighty miles of
hostile country to carry my despatches. They can be entrusted to no
prentice hand, I tell ye; the moment is too critical."

He had scarce finished the words, when Vanrosfeldt replied: "I will be
the bearer of this message," and Aaron Burr as promptly added:

"With such chances as there are of detention or accident, I would take
share in this venture, and will trust to my native ingenuity and wit to
carry us through; for albeit I may be lacking in the traits you name as
needful, I will make amends by certain powers of dissimulation and
persuasion, which my fair friends have done me the honor to lay to my
charge."

Aware that many of the French people of the Province had not yet become
reconciled to British rule, and that to the clergy of the Church of Rome
it was especially distasteful, Vanrosfeldt laid his plans so that this
dissatisfaction should minister to his purpose.

The next day, as the setting sun was gilding the roofs and chimneys of
the peaceful little French village of Lorette, which, among its orchards
and brown fields, lay a few miles from Quebec, two young priests were
seen seeking among the white cabins for that of the _cur_. Under the
lee of the church, whose bell was softly ringing for vespers, they found
the humble cottage, and knocking, awaited an answer. In a few moments,
a woman in the close-fitting cap, grey homespun skirt and blue chintz
apron of the Breton housewife, answered the summons, and asked in French
what was wanted; but without waiting for a response, on seeing the
clerical habit of those asking admission, she threw the door wide open,
saying: "Come in, messieurs," and admitted them into a low-ceiled,
severely simple room. Upon the floor, which was scrubbed to a golden hue
in extreme cleanliness, were laid strips of the home-made carpet, or
_catalogne_, over the weaving of which the thrifty women of the valley
spent the long evenings of the Canadian winter. On the wall hung a
carved black crucifix, and beneath it a print of the _Mater Dolorosa_.
Pointing to the wooden chairs, the woman informed the visitors that the
_cur_ was at vespers in the church, but would hear the brothers' wishes
as soon as the service, which would be short, was over.

Disappearing, she returned with a tray on which were glasses of wine,
which she herself had made from the wild grapes which abounded in the
neighborhood, saying: "The day has been chilly and Messieurs may be
cold," of which she was assured when she observed, that although the
open hearth-fire sent out a grateful warmth, the strangers did not
uncover their heads, but seemed the rather to desire to keep in the
shadow. One walked restlessly to and fro, glancing impatiently at the
path which led to the church, and at last, as a tall, black-robed figure
appeared coming towards the little wicket, he took a seat furthest from
the light.

As the wooden latch was lifted, the strangers saw before them the spare
figure and calm, saint-like face of a devotee, a type of the holy
fathers who a hundred years before had crossed unknown seas with the
story of the Cross. There was, however, nothing of the ascetic in the
genial smile and outstretched hand with which he bade his brothers
welcome, one of whom replied to his cordial greeting in the French
tongue. Beginning to relate some of the simple annals of the village, he
paused as he noticed signs of uneasiness in his visitors' bearing, on
seeing which the lines of his face settled into an expression of
concerned gravity. Shaking his head sadly, he continued:

"Ah, my brothers, we have fallen on troublous times. How fares it in the
city? I hear the army of Patriots is already under the walls of Quebec,
and another near Montreal, ready to deliver our beloved New France, for
which our fathers gave their life-blood, and free her from the foreign
chains with which for sixteen years she has been shackled. We pray, I
and my people, for their prosperity."

One of his listeners suddenly casting aside his cowl, and rising to his
feet, the priest, with astonishment, saw before him, instead of a shaven
monk like himself, a handsome soldier, his queue tied with a black
riband. Before he could recover from his surprise, Burr, with a smile of
engaging sweetness dispelling the assumed sanctimoniousness of his face,
heartily grasped the hand of his host, exclaiming joyfully:

"I am Aaron Burr, a soldier in this same army, and would fain have your
prayers take the form of action." Unpouching something from the
innermost folds of his robe, he continued eagerly:

"Here in my wallet I have advices from Colonel Arnold, who commands this
army, to General Montgomery, investing Montreal, which it is of the
utmost moment should be delivered without delay."

"Peace be to thee, my brother," exclaimed his listener, and Burr
answered in Latin:

"And to thee also, Father."

"How can I be of service in so good a cause?" the _cur_ asked
meditatively. After a moment's consideration, his face lighting up, he
said, turning to Vanrosfeldt:

"I have it! Ambrose Lafarge, of this village, leaves at sunrise
to-morrow, to carry a pastoral letter from the good Abb at Quebec to
the Seminary of St. Sulpice at Montreal, stopping at each religious
house on the way. He will give you and your _confrre_ a seat, asking no
questions. He loves to talk, and will do more than enough for all
three;" adding, with a sigh: "It is true, my brothers, that these
English have not been ungenerous to us; they have left us our mother
tongue and our religion, for which we cannot but be grateful, but our
hearts turn with longing to the flag of our father's land, which we
love. We have heard rumors that France too will join in this strife,
which, being for freedom, must be right!"

The next day the first rays of light were striking on the
roughly-shingled roof and slender spire of the little church, making its
windows shine like stars among the leafless trees. The white sunshine
touched with a tender grace the time-stained wooden crosses, which
marked the graves of the good Pierres, Josephs and Maries who had lived
out their simple lives within sound of its bell. The early candlelight
shone from the four-paned windows of the log cabins, as a small vehicle
with a rough native pony between the shafts, drew up by a path down
which the _cur_ and two other priests were coming. The driver, pulling
off his cap of muskrat pelt, bowed reverently in respectful silence, as
his priest, in a few words, said, pointing to the strangers:

"My good Ambrose, my friends here will bear you company. Like yourself,
they are carrying important messages to their superiors in Montreal. A
journey, which might otherwise be a wearisome one for you, will now be
lightened by good companionship," and lifting his eyes to Heaven, he
continued, with arm raised in blessing: "_Pax vobiscum_," and turning,
entered the church, to which a few early worshippers were coming.

When he returned to his dwelling, where his frugal meal was spread, his
pious sister, Genevieve, who ranked him in sanctity with the saints
Chrysostom and Francis d'Assisi, wondered if some black crime of the
confessional was weighing upon his tender heart, that the fish she had
broiled with her best skill turned cold, while, with a look of anxiety
shading the usual serenity of his face, he sat lost in thought regarding
the risk of the venture to which he had, in all good faith and
conscience, lent himself.

Following the road, which ran parallel with the river bank, with his
horse's head turned westward, the _habitant_, with the extreme reverence
with which his simple-minded class regarded the clergy of his church,
was filled with pious elation at being given the honor of having for his
companions on the journey the holy brothers, more especially the shorter
of the two, whose diligent telling of his beads and zealous reading of
prayers seemed worthy of Ignatius Loyola himself. Abashed in the
intimate companionship of so much apparent sanctity, his customary
volubility and jesting as the village wit and story-teller took refuge
in a shamefaced reticence. On the way he assiduously attended to their
wants, and consented to find means to carry them across the river, as,
from information obtained from the peasantry along the way, they learned
that Montgomery had not yet left the banks of the Richelieu, where with
his army he was known to be encamped; and where the quondam monks were
anxious to join him before he pushed on to the city.




CHAPTER VI.

_ALARM BELLS RING._


In a corner of a high-backed pew in the church of Notre Dame de
Bonsecours, which, with its dim grey walls, stood on the river bank at
Montreal, a slight, girlish figure knelt, as she diligently counted the
beads in her rosary, and repeated her prayers. In the pious devotee,
whose falling tears blurred the lines in the breviary before her, would
scarcely be recognized the gay, light-hearted Thrse de Lrie. Her
nimble feet loved better the swaying measures of the dance than bending
at confessions and hearing masses; but that morning she had stolen
thither to hide her first great grief, for on the eve before, she and
her twin brother had parted for the first time in their lives.

She had tried her every art to win her parents from their purpose. First
with coaxing and caresses, such as she had oftentimes used in their
childhood to gain forgiveness for some boyish prank; then with tears she
had entreated them to bethink them, ere they shaved his glossy curls, so
like her own, and left only an ugly tonsure like those of the grave
fathers of the monastery. She had entreated them to forbid that the
young son of a noble house should quit his gay life in the _salons_ of
the town, to spend his days and nights in meditation in a cell, in fasts
and doing alms; but entreaty, tears, kisses, and even anger moved not
their purpose, so alone in the church she knelt with streaming eyes
raised to the altar, where she and Leon had so often said their childish
prayers side by side.

Suddenly a loud clamor of bells was heard in the steeple above, which
was answered back by such a clang from tower and belfry as never Sabbath
heard before to call to worship or to mass. Soon there was a sound of
running feet, and here and there incoherent cries of alarm; and a dire
feeling of dread and fright entered even into the solemn quiet of the
sacred place. Pale faces looked at each other with mute questioning, and
the unspoken words hung on every lip:

"The foe!--they come! they come!"

At that same altar had prayed some of the early Fathers, many of whom
had died for the cross glittering on the spire; and there in that hour
of peril the priest, stopping in the middle of the Latin chant, turned
to his people with arms raised among the floating clouds of incense, and
with a calm benediction, dismissed them.

The rector in the Anglican church, reciting the Litany, prayed: "From
battle and murder and from sudden death," and as the people, responding,
entreated with trembling lips, "Good Lord, deliver us," he let them go
to join the hurrying men and women in the streets; and the news passed
from lip to lip, that the American riflemen had crossed the river, and
were marching towards the gates, with what appeared hostile intention.

A hurried council of war was held, and soon a small group of men, French
and English, passed out of the gate by the Recollet Monastery; Colonel
Davenant, as next in rank to the Governor, and Monsieur de Lrie, as a
representative Frenchman, taking the lead. The gate closed behind them
with a dull clang, and they silently proceeded to skirt the marshes,
beyond which was a line of blue set with steel, which glittered in the
calm splendor of the Sabbath sunlight. The two soldier-citizens,
representing the two greatest military powers in the world, who would
look unmoved into the cannon's mouth rather than that the flag of their
fathers should suffer dishonor, walked in front under the white pennant
of surrender, with heads erect and step as dignified as if bearing the
royal standard from a victorious field.

At sight of the handful of unarmed men and their flag of truce, the
command "Halt," rolled down the advancing column.

Colonel Davenant stepped forward, and saluting, addressed the General,
saying:

"Sir, our city gates will be thrown open to your troops, as to offer
resistance in the weak and defenceless condition of the town would savor
more of foolhardiness and a wanton shedding of blood than of valor. We
desire to enter into such terms as will ensure protection to our lives
and property, and trust that an army, organized for the resistance of
what it is pleased to deem oppression, will recognize the moral rights
of a community of fellow subjects, who, though not in sympathy with the
cause whose claims it would enforce, have thus far offered no hostile
demonstration thereto. We are loyal subjects of His Most Gracious
Majesty, King George, to whom we owe fealty, and we decline to give
allegiance to any other than our rightful liege, unless compelled
thereto by superior force of arms; but under existing conditions we can
but surrender, and deliver up the keys of the town."

Montgomery, with his customary graceful address and winning manner,
replied:

"The great American Congress has sent this army into your province, not
to plunder but to protect it. We have taken up arms in defence of our
liberty, our property, our wives and our children; and recommend that ye
too range yourselves under the standard of general liberty, against
which all the force of artifice and tyranny will never be able to
prevail. To-morrow morning at nine o'clock we will take possession of
the Recollet Gate, as I understand it is designated, where the proper
officers must attend and deliver over the keys of all public stores. We
will then proceed to take the custody of the posts and watches of the
town; but there will be no sacking nor other act of violence permitted
on the part of the troops under my command."

To the listeners in the town, came strains of martial music, which,
borne on the south wind, momentarily became louder and nearer.

"Hark, what is that sound?" cried Thrse, trembling in her mother's
arms. "Is it not the rattle of musketry I hear? Alas! my father, it may
be he has fallen!"

"No, my child, it is but the beating of drums; and hearken! can you not
hear the sound of fifes? I take it as a sign of truce, and we are safe."

Straightening her slight figure, Thrse, with flashing eyes,
exclaimed:

"Did I not tell you that this enemy is good and noble? Think ye that men
who are brave enough to defy a king would fire upon defenceless women
and children? If it e'er fall out that one of these same bluecoats lay
siege to my weak, foolish heart, I fear me I will not even parley as to
terms of surrender, but capitulate at once. Something, I know not what,
a presentiment perchance, tells me that thus 'twill be."

"Then have a care and let not your foolish fancy run away with your
better sense. It ill becomes your mother's daughter thus to speak,"
rebuked her mother.

"Suppose fate thus wills, how can a poor, weak girl, who I fear loves a
romance better than her _crdo_, struggle against destiny! Besides, 'tis
scarce a week since the Indian seer-woman did tell me that there is a
handsome lover coming, who, though a 'brave' as she called him in her
Indian tongue, is neither French nor English. He is to be tall and
fair-looking, with eyes the color of the blue sky at dawn, and hair the
hue of the ripened nut that falls in the woods when the maples turn to
red in the autumn. I am to have a rival, too, she said, a woman young
and golden-haired. There is to be much trouble, and she saw the flow of
blood, but whose she did not say; I trust it is my rival's."

"Peace, child; cease this wayward folly! You know full well that French
maidens of gentle birth do not choose whom they shall wed. They have a
proper _parti_ chosen for them. Your cousin, Barr Raoul St. Leger, is
the one with whom we have arranged a suitable marriage for you, and with
whom you shall some day share his proud domain in the valley of the
Seine. As _chtelaine_ of St. Leger, you will reign where your mother
played with his father, as babes, under its noble oaks and beeches. He
shall take you to the Court of the young Queen Marie Antoinette, and to
_Le Petit Trianon_ at Versailles, to play the shepherdess in the royal
gardens with the gayest of them, and it may be to even dance at the
Tuileries' balls with the king himself. 'Tis a fair fortune!"

"Perchance the future has these things in store for me--who knows? And
Court life would not come amiss to me; but be sure Thrse de Lrie will
only marry where she also loves."

The next morning she haunted the casement, and strained her ears for the
trampling of feet, until at last with flushing cheeks she cried, as,
looking down the vista of the street, she saw a mass of blue uniforms:

"Make haste to look, mother, they come!--they come!--and friend or foe,
it is a goodly sight. Now they approach!" and pointing excitedly to one
of them in front, she exclaimed in admiration:

"Mark ye that soldier close behind him whom I take to be Montgomery! See
his flashing blue eyes, and dark, nut-brown, curling locks! I never saw
a finer form or face. See, he looks this way! I will salute him!" and
before her mother could comprehend her meaning, a little lace kerchief
was fluttering on the breeze, and whether with intention or not, fell
from her hand like a tiny white cloud, and sailed near the head of the
soldier whose attention she wished to attract. As she uttered an
exclamation, he looked up, and deftly catching the trifle of lace upon
his sword-point, lifted it to the low window, and bowed to the blushing
cheeks and sparkling black eyes. As he passed on, she pressed the bit of
cambric to her lips, and kissing it, cried:

"This is my flag of truce! I surrender without conditions, for yonder
'Brave,' as the seer-woman foretold--'neither French nor English'--is my
master and my fate!"

As Colonel Davenant left Sir Guy's headquarters, which were taken
possession of by Montgomery and his official staff, he turned to his
friend de Lrie, and pointing to the roof of the chteau, said bitterly:

"In fewer years than number our children's lives, three flags have
floated yonder; but courage, my friend, we have yet Carleton and Quebec!
There the red cross of England still waves, and though with us, as your
luckless king once said, when in a like unhappy plight, 'All is lost but
honor,' I predict that there Richard Montgomery will meet with other
greeting than it has been our evil fortune here to offer him. As the
great de Frontenac said when the surrender of the town was demanded in
his day, 'Our answer there will be from the cannon's mouth.'"

The first duty of the American general was to proceed to billet his men
upon the inhabitants of the town. After the long marches, and the
arduous work of reducing several forts, the peaceful possession of the
place, and the quiet accommodation it offered in the comfortable, and in
some cases, luxurious homes, were most grateful to the footsore army.
It chanced that Major Vanrosfeldt, the handsome officer who had so
suddenly captivated Thrse's fancy, was assigned quarters in Colonel
Davenant's house. He had not forgotten the picturesque mansion, just
within the city wall, where he had received kindly succor years before.
While he could not but feel a pang of regret that he was thrust upon it
in the guise of an enemy, he nourished the hope of finding some
opportunity of returning the service by some timely act of his own.

As Montgomery passed it a few minutes after his entry, he had admired
its soberly imposing and homelike appearance, and at once decided to
make it his officers' mess. Surrounded by extensive gardens, with a
broad and sunny courtyard, gabled roof and dormer-windows, it was one of
the most beautiful residences in the town. To the Colonial soldiers,
many of them used to the plainness of Puritan homes, the old chteau,
with its foreign baubles of gilt and marble, which still remained, was a
dream of luxury, and they examined its tapestries and articles of
_vertu_ with interest and curiosity. Over the entrance hall was a niche,
containing a marble image of a saint, placed there by the original
owner, which, offending their Puritan sensibilities, was at once
displaced. The rooms were handsomely wainscoted, and the low ceilings
raftered in oak, while on the walls were hangings representing scenes in
the brilliant reign of Louis the Fourteenth, who, though dead for some
sixty years, was still spoken of by the subjects of his great-grandson
as "_Le Grand Monarque_." In the cellars were sparkling wines of
Bordeaux and Rochelle of half a century's vintage, brought over to make
merry the feasting in the days of the old rgime.

As the men gathered around the crackling birch logs that roared in the
large fireplaces, they at times longingly called to mind their own
home-hearths across the border, where the women they loved thought of
them as they spun, and counted the days till their return.

Sitting in the twilight a few days after the investment of the town,
General Montgomery gazed at the burning embers. A wistful look saddened
his features, and turning to Vanrosfeldt, who sat with him, he said:

"This same moon, lighting these casements here, shines fair and clear
to-night along the Hudson," and rising with an impatient gesture, he
continued impetuously:

"I would, Vanrosfeldt, that the health of Schuyler had permitted him to
reside here this winter. An irrepressible and unaccountable desire to
once more sit by my own fireside possesses me to-night. I would I might
go home, even if, to compass that end, I must walk the length of the
lakeside in the winter's cold!"--a strange premonition of impending
fate, which at times weights the human heart, as inexplicable as
unconquerable, seeming to bear upon his spirit.

"'Tis a natural desire, sir, but think, I pray you, of the success which
has marked our career thus far, and the still greater victory that,
without doubt awaits us down the river," was the cheering response.

"I am weary of power, Vanrosfeldt, and totally want the patience and
temper for such a command," he continued dejectedly.

"Nay, think not so, General, nor harbor thoughts such as these, which
are but for the moment, and will pass away with morning and renewed
action; when, marching back to the Hudson, crowned with success, ye will
look back and laugh at the imagined weakness of this hour," persisted
Vanrosfeldt, smiling convincingly to dissipate the gloom overshadowing
the spirit of Montgomery.

"Aye, friend," he replied, with an ominous shake of his head, "but
forget not that Quebec lies 'twixt this night and that."

Mistress Davenant, and more especially Phyllis, found the occupation of
their home by the enemy an exceedingly distasteful state of things, as
the main rooms and principal kitchens were entirely given up to their
use. Under the eaves were several chambers, which had been used as a
reserve in the days of the open hospitality under the French Regime, and
to which they retired. They were small and simply furnished, but though
uncomfortably cramped for space, were at least isolated, and free from
the discomfort of the rest of the domicile, the foreign soldiers not
being there encountered in the narrow passages, as could not be
altogether avoided in the lower corridors and on the stairways.

Madame de Lrie, with great kindness of heart, immediately sent a
message with proffers of shelter for Phyllis in the privacy of her home,
which had escaped confiscation, saying:

"Dear Madame Davenant, 'tis neither decorous nor becoming for a
well-born maiden, as fair and young as your sweet child, to remain under
the same roof as these unwelcome soldiery, even though they are
officers, and mayhap gentlemen. Thrse, who pines for her brother, whom
alas! duty and religion have parted from us, will find solace in the
companionship of one who is as dear to her as a sister."

Accordingly, on Phyllis's arriving at the great door of the chteau,
Thrse received her guest with open arms and much effusion and
embracing, conducting her to her own little rose-hung boudoir, saying,
"We will share it together, my poor Phyllis," who, dropping into a low
fauteuil, sighed with pleasure; and then with a little shudder of
revulsion, exclaimed:

"To live in daily danger of encountering these soldiers is utterly
repulsive and repugnant. This forcible occupation of one's home is like
being compelled to live in the publicity of a military camp, with its
noise, rattle of arms and clang of spurs."

To her surprise, Thrse replied, with a disdainful laugh:

"Why, Phyllis, you talk more like one of the veiled sisters in the
convent than a pretty young girl who should seek admiration. To me 'tis
charming, like living in a real drama, in which you might play the part
of heroine. I love romance, and if the handsome soldier to whom I have
lost my heart were quartered in the Chteau de Lrie, I would be nothing
loth to have it turned into a barracks too."

Shocked at what she considered a lack of proper spirit and maidenly
reserve, Phyllis said somewhat stiffly:

"Thrse, I hope you are but in jest. This soldier of whom you speak is
an enemy, and should be treated as such!"

"My dear, am I not truly doing so?" she enquired mischievously. "Are we
not expressly told to 'love our enemies'? I would all the teachings of
the Church were as easy to follow; then might I soon be as pious as my
patron saint, and have a nimbus round my head like the good Saint
Thrse. I am distracted that I have not again seen this idol of my
heart, notwithstanding that I have watched diligently from my window
here to see if he passed this way. When by chance I have encountered any
of these bluecoats upon the streets, my heart has set a-beating,
thinking perchance it might be he. However, I am not disconsolate, for
on the morrow we may meet. Then, as you know, at the General's request,
we are to don our bravest attire and sup with him and his staff."

"In our case, Thrse, 'tis rather a command than a request, but one
which policy forbids our refusing," was the annoyed response to what, to
her, was unbecoming in feeling and behavior.

"You are much too severe, Phyllis, for the summons was couched in most
courteous phrase," objected Thrse.

"I, for one," was the hot reply, "am not overwhelmed with gratitude that
my father should be bidden to sit as guest at his own board; invited to
drink of his own wine, and be compelled to retire thence to such rest as
he may find among the rafters of the garrets. Even on the
dressing-table of my mother's boudoir no doubt rest the spurs and
sword-knots of these rebels against their king. I would I might remain
away!"

"'Tis the least likely thing that I should do so! Merriment is surely
now scarce enough to ensure my welcoming aught that savors in the least
degree of pleasure. To speak the truth, Phyllis, I am all impatience for
the hour, and have commanded Lizette to lay out for it my white
petticoat of satin, with slippers to match, and my gown of crimson silk,
which you say so well suits my complexion. Now that I am eighteen, I
shall, I presume, be at last permitted to wear the jewels for neck and
wrist which were willed to me by my grandmother, the Marquise de St.
Leger, so I expect to look my best and make a conquest of the handsome
soldier," Thrse answered, as she glanced with much approval at her
reflection in a wall-mirror opposite her chair.

At the appointed hour on the evening of the banquet, Madame de Lrie
arrived in proper state and with well preserved dignity at the
Continental officers' quarters, the two girls by her side--Thrse
flushed and excited, Phyllis cold and a little pale. They were a pretty
pair, in soft calash-hoods and pelisses of grey and crimson edged with
fur, their hands hidden in big muffs of marten, with pattens snugly
protecting their little feet. As they approached the doorway of her
home, Phyllis shrank back as a figure in blue sprang from the adjoining
_salon_, and, opening the heavy door, held it as they passed through.
Not lifting so much as an eyelash, she bowed coldly in acknowledgment
of the courtesy; but Thrse flashed a warm glance of thanks, blushing
crimson as she recognized who it was that offered it. No sooner were
they out of hearing than, in a rapture of excitement, she grasped
Phyllis by the arm, exclaiming:

"'Tis he! Oh, 'tis he, Phyllis, the soldier who with such a court-bred
air was so gallant with my kerchief the day the troops marched in. Oh!
how my heart beats at the sight of him."

"Thrse," she answered frigidly, "I trust you are mistaken in thinking
the soldier of whom you speak so warmly and this man are the same."

"Wherefore not?" she inquired, and then clasping Phyllis's hand
rapturously, she continued: "Be assured, 'tis he, 'tis surely he!"

Drawing away from the proffered embrace, Phyllis said icily:

"That soldier is Edward Vanrosfeldt;" to which Thrse, with a quick
blush, made answer:

"It matters not to me what name he bears or what coat he wears!"

A town invested by an enemy is usually not given to overmuch
merry-making, so on that November night the grey-gabled chteau, with
every window a-glitter, was a heartsome and cheering sight. The hour was
still early when the guests gathered around the long mahogany board, in
the yellow gleam of candlelight and sheen of silver and crystal. From
the strained conditions and unusual circumstances surrounding it, the
supper began as stiff as a state-banquet, but presently the mellowing
influence of madeira warmed a more genial spirit, and avoiding subjects
which might give offence, conversation at last became general; and as
the wine went round, French _bon-mots_ mingled pleasantly with American
wit and English humor. The blue-and-buff of the Continentals, the red
coats of the British, and the white-faced regimentals of a chevalier of
France, which Monsieur de Lrie wore as befitting the occasion, made a
fit and varied background for the brilliance of the ladies' gowns.
Thrse looked gorgeous as a southern flower, in her favorite wine-color
and the coveted jewels, the offending birth-mark artfully concealed
beneath a ringlet; and Phyllis was fair and sweet in India sprigged
muslin over cerulean blue. With tightly laced bodices, fluttering
ribands and witching little patches at the angle of a lip or by a
dimple, they were both charming and captivating.

To the pique of Thrse, it was Phyllis, who was seated on his right, to
whom Lieutenant Vanrosfeldt most frequently turned, and with whom he
conversed. He seemed to be almost oblivious to her own bright presence,
notwithstanding, on his presentation to her, she had coyly thanked him
with well assumed shyness for the return of her kerchief; which, with
eyes demurely lowered to the pearls on her slippers, she explained she
had let fall in the excitement of the moment.

Phyllis, her hair shining like burnished gold in the saffron light of
the candles, endeavored to turn the conversation away from the
embarrassment of personal concerns and feelings by talking to him of
Colonial society in Philadelphia, Boston and New York, saying:

"Tell me, I pray, of the Lady Washington. We hear many tales of her
sweetness and grace of manner."

"I can but say," he replied with reverent seriousness, "that Mistress
Martha Washington, as she chooses now to be called, is worthy of her
husband, and greater praise it is in no man's power to give."

"Is she beautiful?"

"Not in the sense of majesty of carriage and Grecian form of feature,
but she has a look and mien most passing sweet, and withal an air so
gracious, that one forgets to consider whether her brow is arched, or
her lip that of a Venus, as is your own."

The warm blood flowed to her cheeks at the words, and with but a slight
lifting of the head and not appearing to notice the compliment, she
continued:

"Perhaps 'tis scarcely fair to ask, but I would know something of the
dames of whose beauty we have heard, and who, if the tales be true, must
be fair indeed. If 'twill not be too prying into your preference, I
would know which of the belles bears the palm. To Anne Temple, the
Boston beauty, I do not feel a total stranger, as, although I know her
not personally, Captain Temple, of His Majesty's navy, who is her
distant cousin, hath often made mention of her name."

The color in Thrse's cheeks deepened angrily to the red of the wine
she was sipping, as, listening to his words, she heard him, with lowered
voice and brown head bent toward his fair questioner, reply:

"Believe me, I have until this night thought that fairer face than Anne
Temple's ne'er saw the light of day; but now I protest, and 'tis no idle
flattery, but a true man's word, her beauty in no wise compares with
your own. A guinea-piece fresh from the royal mint is leaden dull before
the golden gleam of your bright hair."

With lowered lids and apparent indifference to his meaning, although she
colored prettily to the tips of her ears, Phyllis again gave no sign of
pleasure at the words, though spoken in a tone few women could resist,
even accustomed as they were to the broad manner of compliment of the
time.

A movement prevented her the need of replying, as General Montgomery
rose to propose a toast to "Our wives and sweethearts, present and
absent," the customary one to "General Washington and the Army" being
omitted in deference to the feelings of the guests.

It was gaily and heartily drunk, when he called upon Lieutenant
Vanrosfeldt to respond. As he rose in compliance, his handsome face
showing a soft emotion new to his comrades in arms, who knew him only as
the dauntless soldier, not a woman present but wondered of whom he was
thinking as he drained his glass. Refilling it with ruby-red wine, and
holding it up, until in the flickering light it glowed as crimson as the
corsage encircling Thrse's snowy shoulders, he asked:

"Will ye lift a glass with me?" and bowing low to the ladies he said:

"I have no wife nor sweetheart across the border to pine for me, and so,
alas! cannot pledge to the lady of my heart, therefore I may be the only
man present who can with clear conscience and due prudence propose that
we drink a toast-gallant to the fair women of Canada. Unfortunately at
the moment they are our captives, but in return they take by storm the
citadels of all our hearts, which are too ill-defended to resist their
darts. In the chances of love and war, we may find ourselves, ere the
campaign ends, held prisoners in silken chains, and shackled in a sweet
captivity we will be loth to flee."

As the men sprang to their feet, raised their glasses and tossed off the
toast, Montgomery laughingly exclaimed:

"Gallantly spoken; we'll drink with you, Vanrosfeldt, and quaff deeply.
It may be as ye say, an' by my word 'twere but a just and merited
revenge; so have a care, for by your own showing ye yourself are the
fittest target for their shafts."

When the gentlemen rose, as the ladies prepared to leave the board and
sweep from the room, a little knot of blue loosened from Phyllis's bosom
and fell to the floor. As with a backward glance Thrse saw the man, to
whom she had suddenly and impetuously given her love, gather it up and
thrust it under his buff waistcoat, all the affection of her childhood
and maidenhood turned into a fiery jealousy of her, who, she thought,
had robbed her of him whom she loved with the wild abandon of a first
and uncontrollable passion.

After the first disturbance of the enemy's occupation of the town had
subsided, it settled down to the ordinary routine of domestic and
commercial life, with nothing to mark that a great political crisis had
just occurred, save the external evidences of military changes which
were necessarily involved. Day after day passed, and no report of the
capture of the fugitives to Quebec, nor of the discovery of their feint,
was brought in; and the tense feeling was beginning to relax into a
state of hopefulness that the outcome was better than had been feared.
With the return of "Young Moose" the hope became a certainty, as he
brought the tidings that Sir Guy and his party had been taken on board a
small vessel, by which they had probably reached that city in safety.

When the news of Carleton's escape was reported to Montgomery, turning
to Vanrosfeldt, he exclaimed in a passion:

"'Tis a scurvy trick! By a rare piece of good fortune mine enemy has
evaded me this time, and by my faith, if it be not cowardice, it savors
strongly of it. This paltry manner of entering his stronghold must gall
this high-born knight, but let him not think that I fear to follow and
force him from it, impregnable though he deems it. It is my intention to
proceed thither without further delay, leaving here only such troops as
the holding of the place demands. I will show King George's minions that
the Army of the Republic, under command of General Washington, is not to
be laughed at with such trickery as this! I will join Arnold under the
walls of Quebec with all haste possible, and by my sword, I swear that I
will eat dinner on Christmas Day in Quebec, or in hell!"

Rising angrily, and striding back and forth, he suddenly stopped and
ordered:

"Bid Davenant attend me here at once. He has no doubt been in connivance
with this measure. A pest on it! I will have satisfaction from one at
least of this brood of poltroons! He shall be thrown in irons into the
dungeon of the fort, as was our comrade, Ethan Allen!"

Vanrosfeldt, thinking of the fair young girl who was his daughter, said,
with the only note of pleading which had ever fallen from his lips to
mortal man:

"Sir, let me entreat that ye do not in a just anger what in a more
temperate moment your better judgment may condemn as ill-advised. If
Davenant assisted in this venture, it were only what a man loyal to his
king should have done."

"Ha! are ye still attaint with loyalty? Belike ye waver in your pledge
to Congress!" was the heated ejaculation, as Montgomery, incensed at the
turn affairs had taken, flushed red with passion.

Drawing himself up to his full height, and looking his general straight
in the eye, with a glance which expressed the deep affront he felt in
the words, but without letting them anger him, Vanrosfeldt quietly, but
with courtesy, said:

"Forgive me, General, if I venture to remind you what my lack of loyalty
has already cost me, and what in lands and fortune I may yet, in common
with yourself, be deprived of."

Montgomery, whose anger, though hot, was short-lived, held out his hand,
saying:

"Vanrosfeldt, by my troth, I did ye a foul wrong to have even breathed a
suspicion of your truth and fealty. I spoke thus in the heat of what ye
have rightly called a just anger, and would fain give proof of my
regret. In what way can I grant you favor?"

"Recall the order for Davenant's arrest," was the quick reply.

With reluctance the General made answer, saying:

"My word is pledged to do your desire. Ye plead well for him, an' if ye
were not so excellent a soldier, Vanrosfeldt, methinks ye might rival at
the bar our forest Demosthenes, Patrick Henry of Virginia. Ye are not
often thus soft of heart. What is the meaning of this melting mood? See
to it that ye let none of these Canadian belles touch your heart.
Doubtless there are fair Colonial maidens who would look with no ill eye
upon your wooing."

"Were it so, I am debtor for their favor to one so unworthy, General."

"Consider if there be not some damsel in our own Boston, or other fair
New England town, whom ye can regard with favor, for I have thought this
se'ennight past that I saw ye look with too kindly eyes upon the sweet
Phyllis, an' take my word for it, 'twill only lead to harm. This is no
time for love-making. Take good counsel, Vanrosfeldt, an' storm not
Cupid's batteries in this campaign," his superior counselled.

Turning to his advisor, with a serious but determined air, in measured
words that carried with them conviction of their weight, Vanrosfeldt,
with dignity, yet with respect, made answer:

"We live, sir, in times when truth and openness are most needful, and
even were it otherwise, candor hath ever been a frame of mind for which
I have striven; so now I tell you, General, that the conquest of this
Province is not more the desire of your heart than that I win this maid
is dear to mine."

"This then is why ye plead so feelingly for the father. Well, he shall
go for the nonce, but when I return from Quebec with Carleton at my
chariot-wheel, to this Davenant must be meted out his just deserts; and
in the meantime we will make use of him. He shall bear to Carleton, whom
I fain would spare the horrors of a siege, our demands for his
surrender; as in spite of his recent double-dealing, I still remember
him as once my comrade in arms and fellow-soldier."

As day after day passed, every waking hour was filled with keen and
intense emotion and uncontrollable restlessness for Thrse de Lrie.
Her penchant for the handsome soldier, under stress of his undisguised
admiration of Phyllis and his unconcealed indifference to herself,
developed into a reckless infatuation; every other sentiment and
affection seeming to be swallowed up in her passion for him, and a mad
jealousy of her unconscious rival. Her changeful moods of despondency,
alternating with fits of exaggerated cheerfulness, were taken as
attributable to her grief for the loss of her brother's companionship,
and her constant attendance at church was hailed as a beneficent result.

She requested that she might be allowed to go to matins and vespers
unattended; and as her deepening piety was considered to be sufficient
safeguard, she was permitted to follow her bent undisturbed. Although
she daily left her home with the apparently pious intention of devotion,
it was not to the altar her steps were directed, but to _Place d'Armes_,
the square upon which the church stood, and where the troops were daily
drilled. There, hidden in the porch, she watched their evolutions, among
all the bluecoats seeing only him whose every graceful, soldierly
movement added fuel to the fire of her consuming love.

As the month drew to a close, the rains and dull skies of the autumn
gave way to the clear, crisp days that usher in the early Canadian
winter. On one such, a heavy fall of snow had turned the sombre greys
and browns of the town into the whiteness of the clouds, and every angle
of chimney and roof-curve was softened against the blue of the sky, the
evergreen trees bending beneath their crystal-white burden.

In the gleam of the afternoon sun the westward-looking casements glowed
in the ruddy flame, making the young town, with its church spires, great
gables, and many-windowed monasteries, look not unlike some old-world
hamlet on the Rhone, or among the brown hills of Tuscany.

Tempted by the beauty of the day, and the clear sheets of ice which had
formed in sheltered places along the shore, a party of skaters, just
before the hour of sunset, passed down the street known as Rue Jacques
Cartier, and soon were gliding over the crystal surface, which partially
covered the swift current beneath, but which in mid-stream was still
flowing and open, as was usual in November.

Phyllis and Thrse were among the gayest of the skaters, and in short
skirts and tight-fitting corsages of blue and crimson, they looked like
bright-plumed birds as they gracefully skimmed over the surface of the
ice, in the charm of physical joy, in the magic of easily-won motion.

On the shore, a group of officers, who were off duty, had loitered to
watch the pretty scene, with its moving figures, gay against the sunlit
drifts of snow. Thrse, who at once perceived that Vanrosfeldt was
among them, curved backward and forward in the space before them,
knowing that her pretty feet and glowing cheeks could not but excite
admiration. She was chagrined, however, when approaching as near as
maidenly propriety would permit, to find him acknowledge her bow of
recognition by a formal salute, while his eyes followed the slim, waving
figure of Phyllis. Carried away by the exhilaration of the hour, with
long, sweeping strokes, she had outdistanced her companions and ventured
the farthest from the shore; the slanting rays of the sinking sun
lighting up the gold of her hair like a saint's aureole. Eagerly his
eyes followed her, wishing he might have the rapture of clasping the
small, warm hand, and in the glamor of the intoxicating, swaying motion,
glide away--anywhere--with her by his side. Suddenly a look of horror
and dismay blanched his features, as she turned, and was skating
backwards. Directly in her path he saw the ice break into a yawning
hole. Wildly he shouted, as he rushed down the bank to check her ere she
reached the fatal spot, his anguish giving him skill in traversing the
treacherous, smooth surface. He tried to shout, but the words seemed
frozen on his lips. He fell, but regardless of pain, pressed forward,
cursing his inability to move faster, as he saw the gliding blue figure
swiftly lessening the distance to the cruel, gaping hole waiting to
receive her. Oh, he thought in an agony, if only he were on the skates
with which many a time he had measured his skill on the streams of
Connecticut with his boyhood's friends, that with a wild dash he might
be in time to save her. At last, in a frantic cry of "Danger! Danger!"
his voice reached her ears, and turning suddenly, she recoiled in terror
from the dark, jagged-edged depth rolling so near to her feet. With a
terrified shriek she darted from the already crackling ice, and clearing
it, fell into his outstretched arms, as she gasped: "You have saved my
life!"

As he looked into the sweet, frightened face, and felt the nervous
clinging of her arms, he crushed her to him, and in tones of mingled
pain and ecstasy cried:

"Oh, my darling! my Phyllis, had I seen you go down into those black,
foamy waters, I should have plunged in after you, for death with you
were dearer, sweeter than life without you!

"I am a rebel in your eyes," he added bitterly, as she withdrew from his
embrace, "and to-morrow we march on to Quebec; but tell me, dearest one,
that ye do not scorn me though I wear the uniform of an enemy. Mine
honor is pledged to my flag, but my heart, sweet one, is all your own.
The chances of war tear me from you now, but, if in more peaceful times
I return, tell me ye will not say me nay; and if I ne'er return,
remember there was one who loved you with a love, than which no man can
ever feel a greater."

With crimson flooding her pale cheeks, and heart beating tumultuously,
she wondered what was the strange new rapture which, at the words,
thrilled her being with a joy and gladness never felt before. Was this
the grand passion, to which but a few days since she had declared
herself a stranger? When other lips had asked it from her, she had
promised to look down into her heart to find if love were truly there.
At that moment she knew it was, but not for her boy-lover, Leon de
Lrie. Her affection for him was but the pale love of a childhood's
playmate; but to this stranger, who scarce a week ago she had counted
her foe, she had unwittingly given her woman's heart; and, bewildered
and frightened, she answered in a trembling whisper:

"I will not say you nay, if 'tis within my power and not against my
duty."

Before he could reply, or add to his impassioned appeal, Thrse skimmed
up, with eyes full of sympathy. Raising them to his face, while she
clasped Phyllis in her arms, she said between little hysterical gasps:

"O monsieur, my heart is full of gratitude, you are so brave!--so
noble!--to have saved the life of my dearest friend!"--while in her
pretty, excitable and customary fashion, she impetuously kissed Phyllis
on both cheeks. Suddenly, apparently overcome by her emotions, she sank
on the ice in a fainting fit, and was borne in his arms to the bank,
where, after retarding as long as was possible her return to
consciousness, with a flutter of the eyelids, and a soft sigh, she
looked up into his face, the image of girlish sympathy and sweet
ingenuousness.

It was a pretty piece of acting, clever enough to deceive even a saint,
and her heart beat rapturously as he held her head upon his shoulder.
Leaning dependently on his arm, when sufficiently recovered to rise, as
they slowly walked in the gathering grey of the winter twilight to the
cariole which had been hailed to convey them home, the dusk hid the
color flaming to her cheeks as she imagined, that in a certain look of
happy excitation in his eyes, she had seen traces of admiration for
herself.




CHAPTER VII.

_PARTINGS._


The following morning the American troops mustered in heavy marching
order to proceed to Quebec, to decide whether or not the thirteen
scattered colonies lying along the Atlantic beaches, with three thousand
miles of ocean on one side, and an impenetrable wilderness on the other,
were to fight single-handed against a sovereignty which reached back
over a line of a hundred kings, and was hoary with the traditions of a
thousand years of valor.

From every casement, door and garden-wall along the route, in silence
the inhabitants watched the army, with jingle of spur and rattle of
scabbard, marching by. Aaron Burr, with his new rank of captain, stepped
with dignity beside his corps, his slight figure drawn up to its
greatest stature. As was his wont, he was not forgetful to cast an
occasional glance of blandishing admiration at dark eyes peering from
behind the screening curtains, even though he knew he was marching to
reduce with fire and sword their countrymen, who, with anxiety and
dread, apprehended their enemy's approach.

Thrse, with burning cheeks, gazed at the ranks as they filed past, and
in her heart bade them God-speed; for whatever fate would overtake Sir
Guy, were it banishment, imprisonment or death, she knew would, without
doubt, also involve in some degree the family of Colonel Davenant; and
thus might be removed from her path the one whose beauty stood in her
way.

Scheme after scheme flashed through her brain, as to how she could
supplant Phyllis in Vanrosfeldt's favor, and she wrung her hands in an
agony of revolt that she must remain behind, when she would gladly have
walked barefoot after the retreating ranks, or on her knees as pilgrim
to a shrine, only to be near the man she adored.

In the impotence of unrequited love, she took up a little sketch of
Phyllis, which Leon had traced on a drowsy, happy afternoon of the past
summer, which, with the crowding of events, already seemed so far away.
Looking at it, ugly lines of hatred and revenge marred the fairness of
her face, and she hissed through her white teeth, in a frenzy of anger:

"I hate you!--hate you!--hate you!--Phyllis Davenant, for if it were not
for these smooth looks and baby face, he might have loved me first.
Would that it were the days of the great de Medici, and I had her skill
and cunning, that with poisoned glove or deadly perfumed kerchief I
might strike you dead ere ever you should reach his arms. If it e'er
befall that fate shall put you in my power, know that no false pity
shall spare you nor girlish qualm of conscience baulk me in my purpose
to crush you or spoil your fair name and fortunes as I do this!" and
throwing the portrait under her feet, she trampled upon it in an
uncontrollable fury of passion, until, wearied, she sank into a seat
and buried her hot cheeks between her hands, to cool the fever of
unrestrained excitement which burned them scarlet.

A step approached along the corridor, paused at her door, and after a
light knock, her mother entered. Startled from her brooding posture, and
picking up the picture hastily and secreting it, she rose, and trying to
smooth out the signs of agitation from her face, said meekly: "What is
it, mother?"

"Be seated, my child, I have somewhat I would say to you. Thrse, your
father and mother are grieved to see your sadness, which even now has
driven the smile from your face, and your pining for your brother, from
whom we were forced to part you. I will not hide from you, that seeing
the strong likeness between yourself and the face of that Comtesse
Jacqueline whose portrait hangs above the wainscot-niche in the _salon_
yonder, I have watched with anxiety lest her traits of character should,
with her features, have come down to you. You know that she it was who
abetted the wicked Catherine de Medici in some of her darkest deeds. It
has never been denied, that, to please that bloodthirsty mother of
kings, she handed the poisoned gloves to the innocent Queen Jeanne
d'Albret when robing for the wedding of her son, Henri of Navarre, with
Marguerite de Valois, the daughter of Catherine. We have observed with
joy your many prayers, and the devotion to the Church which has of late
marked your behavior, and, fearing lest this grief and loneliness may so
work upon your mind as to do you hurt, I have come to say that we would
have you wed your cousin and betrothed, Raoul St. Leger. We had hoped
not to lose you ere a few more years had added to your wisdom, but for
many reasons we now deem it best that the marriage should take place at
once. Life and fortune are unstable in times such as these, and the
enemy we saw leave this morning have in their hands our country's
destiny and likewise ours. If they reduce Quebec, your father's
allegiance to the British crown may cost him his estate, and mayhap his
liberty. Your present conduct shows you to be no longer a heedless
child, but a woman, with deep and tender feeling; so we would have you
wed your cousin. Once his wife, and in our own dear France, this
country's fortunes cannot affect yours, and thus would be taken from our
minds a load of care which these troublous times make hard to bear."

"But, mother, would you lose both your children at once? And I am young,
scarce nineteen yet."

"I was your mother, child, at this same age; and Raoul loves you. France
favors this new revolution, and the Marquis de Lafayette, whose wife,
Adrienne de Naolles, is the daughter of my dearest friend, makes common
cause with these Colonials; as I know full well you do yourself. By
marriage with a Chevalier of France you can, without treason, openly
espouse it."

"And thus make myself, by all the laws of war, your enemy!"

"Nay, child, you would not, for howe'er this struggle ends, we, your
father and myself, as soon as you are established mistress of the
Chteau St. Leger, will set sail for France and join you there. It is
your cousin's wish; and Leon, too, will enter a brotherhood in Paris.
Think you not that Raoul is a noble youth? Not many damsels have so much
cause for gratitude, for your _dot_ is small; your love is all he asks."

"I pray grant me a little time. I would bethink me what my heart says.
It is three years since I have seen my cousin Raoul, and perchance his
love may have changed. I was but a little maiden when he saw me last,
and he might find the Thrse of to-day different to the little cousin
to whom he played the lover; and less fair than he would have a Marquise
de St. Leger, who were ever noted for their beauty. Have I not heard you
yourself say a hundred times that more than one great Chevalier of
France sued for your heart and offered you broad lands and coronets, and
you would have none of them, but only plain young Monsieur de Lrie, my
father, whom you did love."

"True, child, but surely you can love your cousin, for your heart is
free, I know; but your request is not unfair. We would not use undue
haste or urgency, nor press too much your inclination, but I must bid
you ponder well, and see if your heart be not drawn towards Raoul, and
thus ease my mind and your father's of ill bodings of the future, which
now cannot but disconcert and trouble us. In the meantime use your
industry in setting your wardrobe in order, as there is possibility of
our making journey to Quebec. Through the good offices of Major
Vanrosfeldt, who has been promoted in rank and influence, we have
obtained passports, so that there is no obstacle to our proceeding
thither with safety and joining Raoul, whom we already look upon as
another son. We are the more anxious to lose no time, as our friends,
the Davenants, will bear us company, Monsieur being the bearer of
dispatches from General Montgomery to Sir Guy, touching his intentions
on Quebec unless resistance is abandoned."

With an alacrity which her mother thought augured well for her scheme,
Thrse immediately began the arrangement of her ribands and laces,
which formed so important a part of her toilet, saying with kindling
eyes: "I will make ready with all haste."

Accordingly, some days later, a travelling party of ladies and gentlemen
alighted at the St. John's Gate, Quebec. Addressing the watch in charge,
Colonel Davenant said:

"We are a party of loyal British subjects, accompanied by the ladies of
our families, and seek admission within these walls."

"My orders are to admit no one within the gate," the man replied.

"But mine is an especial case; I am Colonel Davenant, carrying
diplomatic communications from General Montgomery, which I have pledged
my word of honor to deliver personally into the Governor's hands.
Monsieur de Lrie comes hither on private matters, and craves for
admission to join relatives now sojourning within the city."

Before the guard could repeat his instructions, Lieutenant Fraser, going
his round of inspection, and recognizing the names of those in
conversation outside, replied to the request of Colonel Davenant,
informing him:

"As the bearer of advices from Richard Montgomery, Governor Carleton
will refuse to receive you. He has declared that no consideration will
be given to any conditions offered by the Commander of the armies of the
United Colonies, now invading his dominions, whom he regards as rebels
against the righteous authority of their sovereign prince, unless it be
to crave His Majesty's clemency and pardon; but as a member of Sir Guy's
staff I have no right or desire to refuse you entrance into the city. I
regret, although cognizant of Monsieur de Lrie's loyalty, that, as the
town is already placed on short rations, it is imperative that there be
put no further strain upon its slender resources. It will therefore be
necessary that he and his family find lodgment in some habitation
without the fortifications."

Colonel Davenant, turning to his friend, said with feeling:

"It gives me extreme sorrow, de Lrie, that the usages of war take no
cognizance of the sentiments of friendship or hospitality, and it is
with grief that I feel we must part company."

"We will hope for happier times," was the reply, "and we are not yet in
extremity. My little Thrse shall go to the Abbess, her aunt, in yonder
convent; and Madame and I will proceed to the seigniory of our friend Le
Moyne, where no doubt we will find ready welcome; so adieu, my good
friends," and with a simulation of cheerfulness they were far from
feeling, the party separated.

As the two men clasped hands, and the women with tears embraced, they
knew full well that famine and bloodshed would do their deadly work ere
their paths would meet again. Less than an hour later the Mother
Superior was leading Thrse along the whitewashed corridors to the
privacy of the cloisters. They hastened with hurried tread and averted
faces lest they should encounter any of her unwelcome soldier-guests,
who had, in spite of the tearful entreaties of the timid nuns, quartered
themselves in the convent, and to whom the clean bare walls and simple
fare of the sisterhood seemed luxurious. The Abbess whispered behind her
hand, as she glanced fearfully around:

"Ah, my dear child, I fear this is no place for you, for these holy
walls are but an army barracks. Our quiet refectory is soiled with the
continual tramp of armed men; and we scarce can go to matins but we must
hear the clang of swords without our chapel doors. Each day we fast and
pray that _le Bon Dieu_ would send them hence. 'Tis said they come of
praying stock; I would to Heaven I could say they fasted too, for our
larders and granaries are stripped bare for their service. The blessed
Virgin only knows where it will end"--and carefully lowering her voice
and looking cautiously around, as if fearing the very walls might hear,
she whispered: "And this is not all; their clothing, when they came, was
scarce decent, so torn and worn was it with their rough journey through
the woods. And hearken, child, 'tis said so pressed were they there with
hunger, that they killed and ate their very dogs--unclean beasts, unfit
for Christian men to eat!--But haste, I must hide you well, my little
one!"

"Ah, good mother, I for one have no dread of these bluecoats, but if you
fear aught for me, I can but hide these curls beneath a linen coif, and
wear a wimple like your own. Vested thus, I promise you my eyes shall
never rise above the plain hem of my robe."

"Well thought, my child. Our little sister, the novice Agatha, a week
ago was laid to rest. She was about to take the veil; her robes will fit
you well, and shield from curious eyes your youth, and beauty of face
and form. The saints forbid that I should unjustly or too hastily judge
these men, from whom, though they may be rough-mannered some of them, no
Sister here has heard as much as a breath of aught that might offend; so
in your veil you shall be safe, if none of these curls escape from
beneath it."

"In that case for the time being they must needs be shorn in part, when
I shall look more like my dear banished Leon than ever. My poor brother,
he has had to have his shaven close."

Placing a key in a door at the end of a long passage, the Abbess led
Thrse into the austerely simple chamber, where she doffed her ribands
and donned the garb of the cloistered. Drawing her veil around her and
assuming a downcast air of great sanctity, she said, in the low tones
she purposed to affect:

"Oh, good mother, could my dear Leon see me now, he surely would not say
as once he did: 'Get thee behind me, Satan'!"

"Speak not your brother's name lightly, little one, for I have heard
great things of his piety and zeal. 'Tis said that not even the Father
Abbot himself outdoes him in prayers and vigils. If word of it reach
the Holy See at Rome, who knows what good may come of it? Now look to
it, Sister Thrse, as we will call you, that you keep your eyes bent
humbly on the ground, and let not these men catch sight of the bloom
upon your cheek, lest they might forget your veil."

That night, in a little cell under the roof of the convent, Thrse laid
her head on a hard pillow on a pallet of straw. The moonbeams which
streamed through the uncurtained window were her only light, and the
plastered wall was bare and cold-looking, but she found it the sweetest
resting-place her life had ever known, for pausing curiously by the door
of the refectory, herself unseen, she had caught sight of Major
Vanrosfeldt in earnest conversation with Arnold.

As in the sanctuary of the convent she passed the days and weeks in the
quiet, monotonous rounds of piety and charity, the Sisters,
unsuspicious, did not notice a pair of dark eyes flash from beneath her
protecting coif at the sight of a certain brown-haired soldier passing
by; their own being bent timidly and prudently to the ground at the
sound of a spur or the sight of a blue-and-buff coat. The wearer of one
was never absent from the thoughts of Thrse, it mattered not how her
hands were occupied, and even at her devotions she could not bar the
longing for him from her mind. In her dreams, night after night, she saw
his face and fancied herself free from the restrictions that divided
them, and which at times she felt she could not much longer endure.




CHAPTER VIII.

_THE MONKS._


With the setting in of winter, and the enemy still at the gates, over
the doomed city the phantom of famine spread out batlike wings; cut off
from the outside world and unable to obtain supplies, it was in sad
stress and full of sickness. Public and private stores were carefully
measured, and had run so low that peril of starvation was daily becoming
more imminent and threatening. Wood was so scarce and impossible to
obtain that on many a hearth there was nothing but the ashes of fires
which had gone out for want of fuel, and on others, going up in flame,
the wood of fences, gates or even furniture, which necessity demanded
for household combustion. The children of the extreme poor cried in vain
for the food which the empty cupboards denied to their hunger, and which
the meagre dole from headquarters only whetted. Outside of the walls
were well-filled storehouses and barns bursting with the summer's
harvest, but between them a watchful foe kept sleepless vigil. Day after
day pinching Want knocked at mansion and cottage alike with increasing
insistence, and along the narrow streets, that erstwhile had been bright
with pleasure-seekers, and were wont to resound to the light laughter of
gay dames and demoiselles, gaunt Hunger dogged the steps of rich and
poor without discrimination. Still the commanders had no thought of
yielding, the stern ramparts seeming as obstinately defiant as were the
triple walls of Jerusalem to the legions of Titus.

The month of December dragged wearily on, and in a tall, grey house just
within the fortifications, Phyllis watched day and night by the bedside
of her mother, who tossed restlessly to and fro in the burning fever of
a malignant malady by which she had been suddenly stricken. Tortured by
witnessing her pain, the girl was almost thankful when at last delirium
blotted out the sufferer's realization of the present with all its want
and wretchedness, and her mind wandered away to other days and happier
scenes. On an afternoon when the setting sun was sinking cheerlessly
behind the hills, and snow was drearily falling, she was sitting in a
dull silence of despair by the sick woman's side; no sound breaking the
eerie quiet save the whirl of the wind outside. Waking from her uneasy
sleep, her mother called her name, some thought of the past having
seized her beclouded brain, as she whispered:

"Phyllis, child, do you say you fancy you see a picture in the fire?
Does it mean that we are going back to England--our dear England?" As a
bell from a church nearby rang out the hour, her face suddenly lighted
up, and half rising from her pillow, she exclaimed in pitiful
excitement: "Is not that the chime of the old minster? Are we then once
again at home? Methought when I went to sleep that it was winter,
dreary, cold winter, in a distant land; but that must have been a dream,
only a terrible dream of the night, for we are home again! Home at
last!"

As she gazed about her, Phyllis, standing near wringing her hands in
mute misery, dared not utter a word lest the happy spell of the delusion
should be broken. Then looking up, her face flushed with disease, but
with the smile which had for so long been banished, she pleaded:

"Phyllis, go gather me a rose, the sweet, red rose that grows near the
hedge"; and laughing in piteous mirth, she muttered: "Methought I ne'er
should feel the scents of my sweet English garden more!" Dozing off
again, she talked incoherently, moving restlessly in her uneasy slumber,
until, rousing once more from her stupor, she begged:

"Oh, bring me wine or milk, my lips feel strangely parched. Phyllis,
child, haste to do my bidding!"--and the tender daughter was forced to
turn away, hoping that she might forget to ask from her that which in
the lonely Canadian house she was powerless to procure. With body numb
and chilled, and spirit well nigh broken, she sat dumbly as the evening
faded into night, and through the long, dark hours waited for the dawn;
but which, alas! she knew could bring no relief!

As time crept slowly on, the fire burned low, for the supply of fuel
having been exhausted, the small articles of furniture which she was
able to use, and with which she dared to feed it, were becoming scarce.
Although feeling her own strength failing, she walked restlessly to and
fro about the room in her effort to keep herself warm. It was well that
anxiety of mind had driven away appetite for food, for there was little
to satisfy it in the almost empty larder. In the dusk of coming morning
she heard footsteps pass on the snowy streets, and looking listlessly
out saw the dark figures of monk and nun hurrying by on errands of mercy
to the sick or dying; for every day the aged, and little, tender
children, were sinking under the rigors and privations of the isolated,
beleaguered town. At times she recognized the heavy step of soldiers
marching to mount guard or relieve the watches on the outworks. So
pressing were the needs of others beside herself that she dared not
expect or seek assistance; so there was naught to be done but wait for
the end, whatever it might be. Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the
entrance door, which echoed through the silent chambers. Startled and
trembling, she sprang to her feet in frightened wonder as to what it
might betoken. Was it, she questioned herself in agitation, an alarm
that the city had capitulated? Or was it that help had come to her in
her terrible need? With the cry on her lip, "God grant it may be so!"
she hastened to answer the summons.

It chanced that the day before, a young sailor on his deathbed had cried
for a priest that he might be absolved for some crime lying heavily on
his conscience. In the lucid moments of burning disease, the dying man
had confessed, in what seemed only the mad ravings of a disordered
brain, his remorse that while aware that he was smitten with the disease
of smallpox, which was ravaging the troops, he had voluntarily carried,
two weeks before, a letter from his superior, Captain Temple, to
friends who had but recently arrived in the threatened city. He owned
that in a diabolical revenge for the falseness of the girl he loved in
England, who had deserted him for his mate, he hated her whole sex, and
took a Satanic delight in knowing it was in his power to spoil the
beauty of another. He told the priest of the fair girl who in the dusk
had taken the letter from him, thanking him for it, unwitting of the
taint of its passing through his hands; and how he had gloated over the
fact that soon the loathsome disease would furrow and deface the soft
pink of her cheek. He begged that the holy father would ease his soul of
the load upon it, by going to a certain house on Rue St. Jean, and
having the fatal letter burned, that the contagion might if possible yet
be stayed; that he might be absolved and die in peace. The confessor
shriving him and performing the rites of the Church for the dying,
promised that his wishes should be carried out. In obedience, therefore,
to his commands, before daybreak, a priest was knocking at the door of
the house to which he had been directed, and in which apparently there
was a case of illness. He saw that a light burned in the chamber above,
which on his summons was carried from the room. He could see through the
glass panel, as Phyllis descended, that it was borne in the hand of a
young girl.

"Oh, _mon Dieu_!" he groaned, an ashen paleness, whiter than the pallor
of the cloister, covering his features, "It is my Phyllis, my love!"

Drawing his cowl about his face, he shrank back into the deep shadow of
the door, where, seeing the dim outline of his figure, the frightened
girl uttered an exclamation of relief on discovering by his gown the
character of the nocturnal visitant. Failing to recognize the wearer in
the uncertain light, she timidly asked the nature of his errand.

In a voice made unfamiliar by scarcely controlled emotions, in a few
words he gave, as he had been bidden to do, the dead man's message.

"Alas! good Brother," she replied, "'Tis well he died in the comfort of
thinking that his evil deed might be prevented; but my mother lies in
the chamber above stricken with the fell disorder. I am all alone, for
my father, being an officer, is not permitted to come to us lest the
health of our troops, upon which so much depends, should be endangered,
and they should suffer losses such as, we are informed, have fallen upon
the camp of our enemy without the walls."

Her listener silently bowed his head lower, in unspoken thanks to Heaven
that it was not she, whose every word rent his soul with anguish, who
was the victim; and a mad longing to tear off his sacred robes and clasp
her to him for a moment almost overpowered him. She continued:

"It avails not now to burn the fatal letter, and although my faith is
other than that of one who wears these vestments, I would crave your
prayers, good Brother, that I may be spared to tend my mother through
the dreadful tortures which already scorch her very life-blood, and have
so marred her gentle face that it bears no semblance to that which I
remember since my cradle days. My task were not so hard were food and
needful remedy to be had. I tell you, with as simple truth as if this
narrow porch were your own confessional, that twice hath the sun made
the circuit of the heavens since food, except in meagre measure, has
crossed these lips. I dare not venture forth, and fear of the plague
forbids any to come to our aid. Not for myself I complain, but when she
cries in her wandering for nourishment, which I have not in my power to
offer, my heart and strength fail me, and I fear a few more hours will
see the limit of my endurance."

From among the folds of the cowl were huskily uttered the words:

"Sister, Heaven, who catereth to the sparrow, will succor you. You are
in no worse extremity than was the prophet of Israel by the brook, and
did not the ravens feed him?" and the dark figure hurried down the
deserted street.

Before an hour had passed another summons called Phyllis from her
mother's side. No one was visible, but on the threshold lay a small
hamper containing bread and wine and simple lotions for the easing of
the burning pain. At the same hour, day by day, a like tendance was
proffered; and Phyllis thanked a kind Heaven, knowing not that the young
devotee's abstinence and fasting in the refectory were deemed but fresh
evidences of his piety, as with the greater portion of his frugal meals
laid aside, and with wine begged from the cellar for the needy, he
ministered to her wants. Her thankfulness and joy in the accepting of
them would have been tempered could she have seen him scourging himself
in the solitude of his cell, because the love denied the vowed Jesuit
celibate still burned in the heart of Leon de Lrie.

As each dreary night wore dismally on, before the dawn broke, the call
to prayers in the Jesuit monastery hard by sounded sharp and clear on
the frosty air. Ere it ceased, the doors of the cells opened noiselessly
upon their heavy hinges, and the monks glided silently along the bare
stone floors of the passage-ways to the dimly-lighted chapel within the
walls, where the tapers flickered among paintings and images of saints
and martyrs. Some of the Brothers, with round, happy faces, jogged
cheerfully along, with a pleasing sense of duty performed in this world
and a certainty of favor in the next; upon whom the austerity of their
vows seemed to sit but lightly. Others, driven thither by the stress of
sin or sorrow, with marks of spiritual conflict on their faces, muttered
prayers as they continued the devotions by which, through the long
night-watches, they had sought to bring peace to their troubled souls.
Some, with the white hairs of old age among the ring of tonsured locks,
with the calmly serene look which had come from the years of seclusion
in the quiet monastery, had forgotten the outside world and their
turbulent youth over the seas, and with calmness waited for the day when
the Angelus should fall on their unhearing ears, and they too would be
laid in the vaults over which their feet were treading.

At times into some narrow cell there might come a vision, a dream of a
sun-flooded village of old France--of eyes lit with love--of laughter
sweet as the song of the thrush in the May-tree. Unsought there might
come memories of the clasp of soft, tender hands, of shy, warm kisses in
a sheltering screen of vine leaves, or a woman's clinging arms and
heart-breaking tears of parting--thoughts that pierce and burn. But no
regret for the sweetness of the past, no rebellion against its pain and
loss, might be cherished within those grim walls with sighs or longing,
or with penance and flagellations of repentance they must be banished
from mind and heart. They knew the cross of their consecration must be
borne in silence and submission through the slow passage of the long
years, until that fair day dawns when crowns are given.

Among them, missal in hand, walked one who had recently sought admission
to the order. In the severely simple robe which he had voluntarily
assumed on laying aside his customary gay attire, and with a rapt
expression of almost agonized devotion, the novice, Jerome, the name in
religion by which he chose to be known, would scarcely be recognized as
Leon de Lrie. Taking his place among those worshipping around the
altar, his clear young voice rang out in a passionate response to the
chanting of the aged priest, who, in chasuble embroidered by a fair
penitent of the Court of King Louis, intoned the prayers and led the
responses. At their conclusion the same solemn procession reformed, and
the chapel was again empty, save for the tarrying of the youthful
brother, who, prostrate before an image of the Madonna, cried: "_Mea
culpa! Mea culpa maxima!_" in contrition for the mortal sin of love for
a woman.

The letter which had carried the fatal contagion was from Captain
Temple, and ran thus:
                                              "On board the _Vulture_.

     "Dear Mistress Davenant:--By trusty messenger I send greeting, and
     expression of my anxiety on your behalf. A siege of the city by the
     invading army is inevitable. Arnold's command has, in spite of the
     utmost vigilance, succeeded in crossing the river. Montgomery's
     force, which has been waiting some twenty miles away for the result
     of the negotiations for treaty, which your father was the means of
     bringing to the Governor, but which he refused to take into
     consideration, has now joined Col. Arnold here. It is apparently
     their intention to immediately begin the attack.

     "My mind is filled with horror, and my soul recoils at the thought
     of the intentions of these men, desperate in their resolve to
     reduce the city at this severe season; and of your suffering the
     appalling miseries of a sack of the town. In your ignorance of what
     such an event would entail, it is not possible for you to fully
     realize to what terrible measures victorious troops in such
     circumstances sometimes resort. Far be it from me to recount to
     your innocent ears the wantonness which at times troops intoxicated
     by victory and blood-lust display; but I would save you from the
     mere breath of it, even were my own life to be the forfeit. With
     the approaches to the town to watch, and the river to patrol as
     well as the ice and advanced season will permit, I must remain with
     my ship; but which, in the event of your fleeing the city, is at
     your service, from bow to stern, and the last ounce of powder and
     every gun on board will be for your defence. The _Vulture_ lies
     directly below Fort St. Louis, and any signal displayed there will
     be recognized. If a contingency should arise in which my help be
     required, let fall a handkerchief over the cliffs at the ringing of
     'Eight Bells,' and I will at once concert measures for your succor.

                                                "Yours to death,
                                                        "BASIL TEMPLE."




CHAPTER IX.

_THE FLIGHT._


At Holland House, Montgomery and his officers were taking serious
council. The former, pacing to and fro, with arms folded moodily across
his breast, paused before Arnold, and said tersely:

"Until Quebec is taken, Canada is unconquered, and it must be by siege,
investment or storm! The first is out of the question from the
difficulty of making trenches in a Canadian winter, and the greater
difficulty of living in them when made. We are without engines or
engineers capable of mining, and the fewness and lightness of our
artillery make the breaking of the walls folly to attempt!"

"'Tis but a matter of time and patience, General," was the confident
rejoinder. "We must starve Carleton out, which will be, I feel assured,
an easy task, as a deserter from his ranks, who joined us this morning,
asserted that their straits are such that a few more weeks and a further
holding out will be impossible."

"To us it is also impossible, Arnold; for forget not that the term of
enlistment of the troops under our command expires with the last day of
the year, now but two weeks hence; and it is needless for me to remind
you that many of the men are already waxing impatient of this slow
dallying along these shores. If, therefore, a blow is to be struck, it
must be ere the New Year's daybreak. To the storming we must come, and
that without delay! Nevertheless I confess that to see the city in
flames at this severe season of the year, and the carnage, confusion and
plunder which must be the consequence, fills me with horror. After the
manner in which my overtures have been met, I have not the reproach,
however, to make my own conscience, that I have not warned them of their
danger and folly."

"Of a surety, General, their blood shall be upon their own heads; but I
own to some misapprehension of the tactics needful for success. Were the
place of ordinary strength we might perforce proceed at once to active
hostility, but without sufficient ordnance or engineering contrivances,
that is not to be thought of."

"We will have recourse to stratagem, Arnold, for once before this place
has fallen by its use. Side by side, Wolfe and his men climbed up these
crags, having outwitted Montcalm's sentries, and won the day. I shall
soon give proof that if Guy Carleton has forgotten, Richard Montgomery
has not. We will scale these barriers with ladders, and like Romeo at
the balcony of Juliet, will teach them that war, like love, laughs at
locksmiths. These clumsy Britishers will find their bull-dog obstinacy
scarce a match for Yankee cunning. We are reduced to this, being
deficient in artillery, and not strong enough for an open escalade."

"This, General," said Vanrosfeldt, who had been listening eagerly, "is
only possible under cover of night and that one of unusual storm or
darkness, such as I am glad to say is not uncommon at this time of the
year."

"True, Vanrosfeldt, and it is my purpose to wait with what patience I
may for such an one, and we must either quit all pretensions to valor or
possess ourselves of this fortress!"

With eyes blazing and soul on fire at the magnificent daring of the
scheme, Vanrosfeldt suddenly exclaimed:

"Grant me, General, the privilege of leading this forlorn hope, with
forty men whom I shall prepare for this romantic means of scaling these
ramparts. With a skill equal to that of the lovelorn Montague, with
ladder of ropes on the palace of the Capulets in old Verona, we will by
subtlety cheat these walls, which would well defy the battering-rams of
a Pompey."

Accordingly, with the zeal of a Trajan drilling his legionaries to
march, heavily laden with armor and camp baggage, Vanrosfeldt caused his
men to construct ladders of the dimensions he thought advisable.
Persistently, and with only requisite intermission, he familiarized them
with the novel tactics, until at the end of a week they could nimbly
mount the ladders, burdened with their equipments, and even in the
darkest night scale an obstruction with ease and celerity. Consumed with
hot impatience for the moment to strike the blow, he constantly employed
the hours of the short winter days in becoming familiar with every
detail of the fortifications and the nature of the ground which lay
between them and those determined on their capture.

At every gate and on every point on the ramparts British sentinels day
and night paced to and fro, buffeted by wintry wind and storm. Rations
had had to be cut down so low that the half-starved soldiers could ill
carry out their orders, and even in the officers' mess there was but
scant provision. In Fort St. Louis, Carleton and his staff waited in a
suspense which tried men's souls, and was worse to be borne than the
risk and rush of battle. In the council-chamber which still seemed to
breathe the valorous presence and spirit of de Frontenac, de Champlain
and the great soldier-knights of France, they waited.

On the King's Bastion loaded cannon pointed grimly to the river; among
the troops the strictest discipline was maintained; food and ammunition
were dealt out with the most rigorous care and economy; all bore
themselves with what fortitude they could muster, and every hour of
every day was filled with unchronicled deeds of heroic endurance and
self-effacement for the general good. The hours as they passed seemed to
drag with leaden feet, and the days to the length and stress of weeks;
and still both armies lay watching each other. Looking out gloomily over
the dreary scene and the still drearier prospect, the commander of the
threatened fortress said in stern, measured tones to his aide, who had
just informed him that the stores were reported as running so low that
they could hold out but little longer:

"Davenant, this town and garrison may die of starvation; so let it be,
for it will only be over our dead bodies that yonder flagstaff shall be
laid hands on!" Pointing with a soldier's pride to the colors fluttering
in the winter wind over the citadel, he exclaimed hotly:

"That is the flag of England, and never shall these gates be thrown open
to admit its foes! Honor before life!"

On Christmas Day the watch of "eight bells" rang on board the _Vulture_,
and out over the waters of the St. Lawrence, which the effect of the
tide had prevented from freezing solidly; the rocky sides of Cape
Diamond sending it echoing along the shore. Here and there in the town
pale-faced women hurried over the frosty pavements, some having sought
the churches and chapels for morning prayers, glad that the quiet hour
in a measure calmed the suspense and anxiety which hung like a pall over
the sorely-beset city. All barter and trading seemed to be forgotten in
the hourly dread of what portended, and every able-bodied man was
detailed for sentry and picket duty.

In the great stone houses, perched on the towering promontory, no
Christmas cheer or festive song made rafter and wall ring with
merriment, and no gay greetings passed 'twixt friend and neighbor, for,
from choice as well as necessity, it was a day of fasting rather than of
feasting.

In Rue Saint Jean a door opened, and from it a young girl emerged, whose
slight form ill fitted the dark, fur-trimmed pelerine, which in happier
days had so well outlined its youthful roundness and grace. Tremblingly
she closed the door and passed along close to the wall as if craving its
protection, or in case of weakness its support, as she sped toward the
Castle St. Louis. Seeking to avoid the notice of the guards, who at
short intervals paced the ramparts, she reached the spot where the
outworks overhung the cliffs nearest to the fort. A sharp pang of fear
paralyzed her lest her face showed signs of the plague, which she had
begun to hope Heaven had spared her, when she saw that a priest, who was
passing on the road, glancing at her for a moment as she stopped,
suddenly recoiled, in what seemed to her horror and surprise, and
turning abruptly away, quickly entered a church near by. So hurried and
determined was his evident effort to avoid encountering her, that she
failed to recognize in the apparently timorous monk Leon de Lrie; who,
in the brief encounter, saw she was fleeing her home, but dared not seek
to stay her or ask whither she was bent on going. Hastening to reach the
battlements, she leaned over, and afraid of the dizziness which seized
her brain, dropped a silken kerchief which had encircled her slender
throat. Thinking of the coincidence, that she should be compelled by
stress of circumstances to have recourse to the same device to attract
attention for which she had chidden Thrse a short time before, she
laughed hysterically, saying half aloud:

"It is for a firm, true friend I thus make sign, and not for one of
those hated foes!" whose loathed blue coat she saw in an American
soldier passing at a distance below. At the sight of it she gave a quick
gasping sob at the thought that she had given her love to one who wore
it, and was even then down there somewhere, among those sworn to bring
ruin and death to her people and kinsmen. Turning and quickly retracing
her steps, she hurried back to prepare for flight from the town.

Captain Temple, who daily at that hour had carefully scanned the face
of the cliff, saw at last the white signal fluttering from the wall. A
flood of honest joy flushed brow and cheek as he commanded two of his
men to make immediate search for her silent token; whilst he himself
went below to arrange for her comfort, as reverently as if it were a
princess of the blood-royal who was seeking sanctuary from danger.

The young Colonial soldier she had seen was quick-sighted, and happening
to glance up at the moment the white hand had dropped what he rightly
divined was a signal of some sort, mayhap a sign of an intrigue, for
which he himself had a passion; he watched the silken thing fall and
catch on a hawthorn bush a few yards away. Already tired of being
deprived of the companionship of the fairer sex, with whom he knew his
fascinations of manner and handsome person made him especially
acceptable, he strode up through the snow-bank and secured Phyllis's
neckerchief. He laughed gleefully at the correctness of his surmise,
when he found pinned in a corner of it a small unsealed note in a
delicate handwriting.

"Aaron," he laughed to himself, "you lucky scapegrace, you are in your
usual good fortune to thus stumble upon a love-tryst of some kind. I
trust this billet is not in that outlandish French lingo that has so
tormented my ears since ever we crossed over into this luckless
province. Ha!" he exclaimed, as he unfolded it, "by my word it is in as
fair English as any missive I have ever read from good Mistress Shippen,
wherein she doth labor with me to strive to follow in the steps of the
'saintly Jonathan Edwards,' as she styles my grandsire," and he read:

                                           "15 Rue St. Jean,
                                                  "December 25th, 1775.

     "Dear Friend,--

     "For such I know I may without fear style you, and there never was
     time when I stood more in need of true friend than on this unhappy
     morning.

     "I am alone in this hapless city, in daily expectancy of being
     defenceless at the mercy of a marauding soldiery. Shortly after
     your letter of such exceeding kindness came, my mother fell
     grievously ill, and not many days after was released from the pain
     and suffering of the loathsome scourge now prevailing, and were it
     not for the good words the message contained, I would fain have
     lain down by her side and prayed that I too might die. Instead I
     bore up as bravely as I could, hoping that soon I might be restored
     to my father; but yesterday a messenger from the army surgeon came
     to acquaint me of fresh trials in store. My father, overcome by
     grief at the loss of my mother under circumstances of such peculiar
     distress, has fallen ill of an ailment, long suspected, and which
     extreme anxiety and grief have developed alarmingly.

     "Without desiring to cause me disquiet, the good doctor intimated
     that this shock, if aggravated by the tumult of an attack on the
     town, might be followed by fatal results. I fear I must, therefore,
     test your kindness of heart and charity without loss of time, as
     evidences of renewed activity among the enemy are apparent from the
     walls and from the fact that our troops have received orders to
     sleep nightly in their clothes, with their fire-arms beside them. I
     have spent the hours of the past night considering how I might in
     safety reach your ship, and whether wisely or not I have decided
     thus.

     "From my father's official position and prominence in the town, I
     feel assured that I shall have little difficulty in passing the
     guard to go without the walls; which I shall essay to do by the St.
     John's gate. At nine o'clock to-night I shall be on the path
     leading from it to the Lower Town. A messenger may recognize me by
     a white scarf of silk wound loosely around my neck. I pray you do
     not fail me.

                                      "Yours in much trepidation,
                                                    "PHYLLIS DAVENANT."

"'Phyllis,'" he thought, "truly it hath a sweet and winning sound, an'
if this fair lady in distress bear aught of resemblance to this dainty
lettering, the lovely Phyllis would be worth the risking something for.
Aaron, you are indeed a fortunate if somewhat graceless rascal, for the
sweet goddess of love ever seems to give special heed to the guiding of
your ventures into pleasant ways; and truly at her alluring shrine
kneels no more devout worshipper than yourself"; and Aaron Burr laughed
sardonically, as loitering in the vicinity, he saw two seamen from the
ship set forth to search for the token among the icy rocks. With the
skill of sailors who could climb to the main-mast in the trough of the
sea, or walk a yard-arm in the teeth of the wildest nor'-easter that
ever blew, they scrambled over the crags, and examined with diligence
every hollow between, until completely baffled. Thinking it hopelessly
lost in some snowdrift, they went back to the vessel to inform their
captain of the fruitlessness of their quest. On hearing the result of
the search, he was distracted with conflicting emotions. That it was the
preconcerted signal of distress he had no doubt, but in the absence of
an understanding of her condition and purpose, action on his part was an
impossibility. He walked his quarter-deck torn with misgivings, his fear
lest some evil should befall her wringing his heart with torture, in his
passionate powerlessness to give response to her appeal.

Heavily muffled in a long cloak of grey camlet cloth which had been her
mother's, and whose ample dimensions admirably disguised the girlishness
of her figure, with a bundle in her hand and a white scarf wound around
her throat, Phyllis at the hour of nine moved nervously along the
crooked streets and reached the heavy, iron-studded postern through
which she hoped to be able to pass. Addressing the sentry at the gate,
she was intensely relieved to find he was of her father's regiment,
having at times acted as his orderly and messenger between military
quarters and his home. Being familiar with the face of his commander's
daughter, he offered no opposition to her purpose; his respect for his
superiors, and a strict sense of discipline, not, however, preventing
his warning her against the danger and risk of such a proceeding at so
late an hour. He was, however, assured, when pointing to her bundle she
explained that friends were waiting for her on the outside, who would
conduct her from the threatened town to a place of refuge.

As the gate clanged heavily behind her, and she looked out at the bleak
stretch of snow, lightened only by the rays of the great white moon and
the twinkling of lights in the windows of the part of the town skirting
the river, she shrank back terrified; but the spars and black hulk of a
frost-caught ship, with a lanthorn slung at the bow, which lay in the
ice at the dock, filled her with hope. Moving out of the shadow of the
wall, she looked timidly and anxiously around for her rescuer, who, she
doubted not for a moment, was near at hand, and ready to do her service.
Before she had taken a dozen steps, the figure of a man in uniform,
which the uncertain light prevented her from recognizing, stepped out
from behind a projecting buttress of the ramparts, and touching his hat,
addressed her by name, and requested to be permitted to conduct her to
her friends, who impatiently awaited her. At once, without a thought of
guile or a suspicion of deception, she followed, all her attention being
directed to the care required to clamber over the steep and snowy
declivity leading down the hillside. Unfamiliar with the neighborhood,
and in all good faith, she did not observe her direction, until suddenly
stopping, her conductor dismissed his assumed character, caught her in
his arms, and jestingly attempted to get a look at the face hidden under
her hood. Shrinking from him and terrified, she struggled, and angrily
promised that Captain Temple should be made fully acquainted with the
rude conduct of his messenger; adding as loftily as a queen might
command an insolent vassal:

"Lead on, sir, ye shall answer for this!"

"With all the pleasure in life, my sweet English rose, but in good sooth
no further than yonder gate in this high wall; wherein I promise ye
will find hearty welcome and most excellent accommodation."

Suddenly a dire suspicion of treachery drove the color from her cheeks,
and almost stopped her heart's beating, as she said:

"What mean words such as these, sir? Who are you? Is not this the
Convent of the Good Hospitalire Order? I am seeking His Majesty's ship,
the _Vulture_, lying by the shore, and fain would go thither at once."

"Nay, a warship's deck is no fit place for tender damsels such as you. I
am languishing for the sight of a fair face, so I entreat you to bide
here instead. 'Tis true 'tis the convent, but for the nonce, a barracks
of the troops of the United Colonies of America; from whom the good,
pious souls within fly like a flock of frightened doves before a hawk,
at the sound of a man's footfall; but long ere this they are wrapped in
vestal slumber, dreaming of saints and angels, in the cloisters yonder."

"Oh, I pray you do not entrap me thus! Prithee conduct me back again
within the city walls. Starvation there and all the bloody horrors of a
siege were easier to be borne than that unwittingly, and without chance
of escape, an innocent maiden should be thus miserably misled."

Sinking on her knees on the snow, her hood falling back, the cold lustre
of the December moon revealed her sweet face bathed in tears, and
floating around her shoulders her wind-blown, golden hair, which, in the
haste of her flight, she had arranged but carelessly. With clasped hands
she pleaded for pity, entreating for clemency in this shame and affront
to her maidenhood. With white, trembling lips she stammered:

"Surely you are but in jest, fair sir, and cannot mean to do me hurt!"

Looking down upon the lovely, suppliant figure at his feet, that which
had begun as merely an incident upon which to turn a barrack-room joke,
roused the dark passions which were rampant in this man's nature, and
which even in his youth won for him the repute of a Lothario. An evil
light kindled in his handsome eyes, and with an unholy joy he thanked
his stars that a lucky chance had thrown this beautiful, unprotected
maiden into his power. Trying to take her hand, he said:

"To escort you back to the city gates at such an hour would cast a slur
on your maidenly propriety. Be content to bide here instead, an' if it
be known that you are safely lodged within these most decorous walls, no
ill will be thought of it. Dost think that Aaron Burr, who is known as
the most gallant squire of dames from Jamestown to Boston, will refuse
shelter to a distressed damsel belated upon this snowy waste? It
desolates me to say you nay, sweet one; so be persuaded, an' ye shall
have safe lodgment and the privacy and courtesy due to such beauty,
until your heart melts and you will permit me to kiss these ripe lips of
your own sweet accord. I promise me I shall not have long to wait, for
Aaron Burr is not lightly baulked in any purpose upon which he has set
his heart."

Suddenly a thought struck him, and being willing for once to forego his
own selfish designs for the sake of the cause so dear to him, he said
plausibly:

"Come, my sweet captive, I am moved by your tears, and will grant you
the boon you ask for a slight favor on your part. Give me the password
of the night, an' I will risk life and limb to do your desire and convey
you to yon ship."

Forgetting for a moment her own fears in the greater one of the city's
safety, the soldier's daughter rose to her feet, and drawing herself up,
in a voice cold and clear as an icicle, with the light of battle
flashing from her eyes, made answer:

"I know it not! The watchman at the gate was known to me and did not
require it," and with curling lip and burning scorn, she continued, "and
had I knowledge of it, not even the welcome boon of relief from the
torture of your hated presence would wring it from me!"

Seeing her spirit, and admiring her even more in anger than in the
softness of her tears, he replied:

"Flouncing thus, my cold, white snow-drop, ye are lovely, an' as ye
choose then my escort to the convent, be it so. We will proceed thither
at once; but first dry these eyes, for though like blue-bells wet with
dew, I fancy not a Niobe."

The next morning the good Mother Superior, with a look of deep distress
agitating her usually placid face, called Sister Thrse to her, and
told her that the young soldier, Monsieur Burr, had informed her that he
had found a young and beautiful girl wandering by the riverside. Seeming
to be in great distress of mind at the failure of friends to meet her at
a place appointed, he had offered her the hospitality of the cloisters,
knowing full well that the kind Abbess would welcome the stray lamb to
the fold; and the good woman continued, "Thrse, I like it not. It is a
plausible and fair sounding story, but I scarce can give it credit; but
the more unworthy is she, the more it behooves us to give her Christian
succor. Many an outcast Magdalene, lost to this world and the next, hath
drifted hither, and with penance and alms sought Heaven's favor, and won
great repute for holy deeds and sanctity in after life. I would not
offend the purity of your young mind with such dark thoughts of sin, but
I need you in this case. The Sisters, so long used to the quiet of
convent life before these rough, sinful times, are so afraid, that their
trembling limbs would scarce carry them to that part of the building
where these soldiers now abide. You, though little more than a child,
are used to the ways and manners of the outside world, and have sterner
stuff in you; so I would have you minister to her needs, and carry
refection to this poor wanderer from the paths of right. But enter not
into converse with her, else your pure spirit might suffer greater harm
than from even the rude jokes of the whole soldiery."

Thrse, who had found it hard to measure her light steps to the solemn
movements of a life of devotion, could not repress a blush of pleasure
at being permitted to somewhat relax the restrictions it imposed, and
which so ill accorded with her restless nature.

Her rising color was mistaken by Mother Ursula for a sign of
ingenuousness, and as she watched her go to do her bidding, she prayed
that a soul so pure and innocent might influence the poor outcast
towards good, rather than itself receive taint.

With bent head and downcast eyes, Thrse paused on the threshold of the
mess-room, in which, as she reached it, the morning meal was in
progress. On the walls hung military accoutrements and various articles
of uniform. As her eye caught the gleam of steel and she saw the stacks
of muskets, there was roused in the heart of the quiet-looking young nun
a spark of the martial spirit of her knightly forefathers, who had
fought and bled with the mailed ancestors of those same men at Crcy and
Agincourt. Her face flamed at the wish, that like her countrywoman,
Jeanne D'Arc, she, too, might don sword and buckler, and fight for the
flag of her loved France and see the Bourbon lilies on their field-azure
wave once again above the fort on the cliff, where the great de
Champlain had unfurled it.

Veiling her features, with a few gentle words she made known her
mission, saying in her native tongue, with eyes demurely cast down:
"_Voici le djeuner de mademoiselle._"

Master Burr, springing from his seat, where he had been giving to a few
kindred spirits a highly-colored description of his adventure of the
night before, and of his skill in knight-errantry, with a graceful bow
proceeded to conduct the black-robed figure to a distant part of the
building. As they traversed the long corridors, even the white purity of
her wimple did not prevent her receiving a bold, debonair stare of
admiration from his handsome, dark eyes, which none knew better than he
how to use in laying siege to a woman's heart. On reaching a door at the
top of a flight of stairs, he produced a key, and with a deep bow, threw
it open, saying to his prisoner, not supposing the little French nun
understood the English language:

"Here, my sweet linnet, is refreshment for you, and lest ye should be
minded to leave this cage, in which it grieves me sore to keep you, I
will wait outside the door until this little raven-clad recluse
withdraws with me. It were vain to try to gain speech with her, as she
knows not a word in our tongue, and equally vain for you to beat your
pretty wings against these bars. Instead, grant me the kiss I craved,
for I would I might have it of your own free will, and ye shall have
till the New Year's day to offer it, but not another hour. Then I will
take it; for never hath it been yet said of Aaron Burr that he hath
vainly sued for woman's favor," and closing the door he left the two
women face to face.

A wild throb of joy darted through Thrse's heart, and the color
flooded her cheeks, as she discovered, in the pale, dejected girl before
her, her rival, Phyllis, she herself being unrecognized in her cleverly
assumed disguise, and with the light of a cloudy morning coming but
dimly through the deep-set window.

Laying the tray down upon the bare table, the nun, in a well-feigned
voice, said in English, "Eat, this is your breakfast."

Pushing aside the food and grasping the nun's hands in a transport of
relief at the sight of a woman's face, Phyllis with trembling lips
cried:

"Ah, good Sister, a pitiful Heaven hath sent you hither. As you see, I
am a prisoner, most unwillingly, in the power of this ruthless soldier,
with whom, I call Heaven to witness, I never had speech before last
night." Relating the circumstances of her capture, she begged the
Sisterhood's intervention on her behalf, saying: "If by their help I
safely reach my friends, a goodly sum of gold will be given for their
tender charities, of which I have so often heard."

Thrse decided, with instant resolution, that, instead of asking the
Abbess to use her good offices for her relief, in every way in her power
she would try to keep Phyllis a prisoner. Shaking her head sadly, as if
giving no credence to the tale, and drawing away her hands, as though
there was contamination in those clasping them in entreaty, she crossed
herself piously and said in rebuke:

"Poor lost woman, add not to your sins by untruth in order to gain the
liberty to join your unworthy companions, who doubtless in a drunken
revel forgot their tryst with you."

A crimson flush driving the pallor of distress from her face, Phyllis,
shrinking back, gasped with sobbing breath:

"Is it thus I seem to you? I pray you do not spurn me! I am as pure as
you yourself, and there is something strangely familiar in your voice
and bearing that persuades me that you will be my friend." Suddenly, a
thought striking her, with a new light of hope in her eyes, she
besought: "Enquire, I entreat you, if among the troops here encamped
there is one Major Vanrosfeldt. He will go surety for my truth and
honesty, and is doubtless at this moment within easy reach; or is there
not within the convent one who is a friend of mine, Thrse de Lrie?"

At the mention of the names, a quick revulsion of feeling filled the
mind of Thrse. Instead of still desiring to keep Phyllis in captivity,
she became anxious to have her removed as far as possible from the
vicinity of the barracks, and released from circumstances which, should
they come to the ears of Edward Vanrosfeldt, might touch his sense of
chivalry and perhaps result in the culmination of her own worst fears,
by his offering to the girl the protection of a husband. Thus at a
single blow would her hopes be dashed to pieces; hopes which, knowing
him to be momentarily exposed to the critical chances of active service,
had warmed into the expectation that some circumstance might arise, that
would make him debtor to herself for care or tendance, and thus
peradventure some warmth of feeling might be excited in return. Drawing
near, with an air of saintly compassion, her dark lashes drooping in the
demure propriety of the convent-bred, she laid her hand on the bowed
head, saying gently and tenderly:

"My erring sister--for such, in spite of your folly, charity bids me
call you, whether your tale be true or false--I would have you go and
sin no more. I shall acquaint the Mother Superior with your desire, and
I have no doubt that by application to Colonel Arnold, it may be
brought to pass in due course; but," she continued, lowering her voice,
"of this Major Vanrosfeldt it were better not to speak his name within
these walls. A young novice, Agatha, placed here by her parents, who
feared that harm might come of her giddy ways, has mysteriously
disappeared for some time past. It is thought, and I fear with only too
much truth, that this handsome Colonial, with his blue eyes and curling
locks, and whom I have seen, knows more of her whereabouts than he will
care to own to. It would not help your cause, but rather throw suspicion
upon you, if you should, in converse with the good Mother regarding
these irksome restrictions upon your liberty, confess to intimate
knowledge of him. Of this Thrse, I know of but one of that name within
these walls, and she wears the veil of the order."

"Good Sister, there is naught to cause shame if on my lips I take the
name of a good man and true, who has made me offer of his heart, and
waits only for days of peace to claim my own. He is guiltless of this
laid to his charge; but I am willing to be guided by your judgment in
the case, and keep silence if that seems wisest," replied Phyllis, with
something of her old spirit, determinedly refusing to harbor the
suspicion of her lover which the nun's apparently sincere words aroused.

As she thus spoke, a fierce anger that this fair-haired girl should,
without seeking it, already possess what her own dark beauty was
powerless to inspire, filled Thrse's hot, passionate nature with a
dumb rage, which forced burning, blinding tears into her eyes. In the
dimness of the cell, unable to see her averted face, and mistaking the
cause of the emotion heaving her bosom, Phyllis fell upon her knees, and
taking her hand, kissed it in a passion of gratitude, saying:

"Seek my release for kind charity's sake, sweet nun! May Heaven bless
your tender heart. Surely it is easy to believe in the piety of the dead
saints you pray to, when there are living angels like yourself!"

As the key turned again upon the half-fainting girl, with the mist of
tears upon her flushed cheeks, Thrse raised her eyes to Phyllis's
jailor, and said in tones of softest compassion, speaking in English:

"Ah, sir, such vileness in one so young and fair makes my heart bleed,
and I long to save her from further depths of sin. In her refusal of
your request I believe she but dissembleth, thinking she will thus
increase your favor for her. It is my duty to thwart these plans, by
informing the Mother Abbess anent the matter, and secure her freedom
from your coercion. To do otherwise, were to dishonor the veil I wear. I
must without delay lay the case before those in command here, and
entreat that this frail sister be permitted to return to her friends, if
such they may be termed. It may be that perchance even so short a
sojourn within these holy walls may have power to turn her spirit into
seeking paths of purity and honesty."

Placing himself before her in the narrow passage-way, and assuming his
most vanquishing air, Captain Burr, looking at the pretty, tearful face
before him, said:

"Such cold piety is strangely unsuited to eyes as lovely as these, now
melting me with their tears; and these soft hands were never meant to
grow hard with tasks which your vocation lays upon them. Ye are too
pretty for a nun. Instead of this sober garb and these plain linen
bands, gems and laces were more befitting. If, fair nun, in a secret
corner of your heart, that is even now sending warm blushes to these
cheeks, you shall think to cast aside these black robes, and seek the
outside world with life and liberty and love, you have but to find your
humble servant, Aaron Burr, an' I promise you his good sword-arm will be
at your bidding to do you service, and help you flee these bonds."

Crossing herself, as if to exorcise the suggestions of the Evil One, she
exclaimed, as she endeavored to move on:

"Step aside, I would fain pass, sir."

With his rare grace of manner, the glamor of which many a woman had
cause to rue, he obeyed, and watched her as she walked quickly away,
saying to himself, as he slowly followed:

"Yonder is not the stuff that saints are made of, an' I would not be
afraid to lay wager against any odds, that the fall of Quebec within a
week is not more certain than that yon pure vestal, St. Thrse, take my
wise counsel. If that plain coif hide not more of sinner than of saint,
then my repute for reading human nature, and especially that of woman,
is for the first time at fault. I have a thought, Sister Thrse, that
we shall meet anon."




CHAPTER X.

_BESIEGED._


The year's last morning dawned at last; the hours of the day wore on
until set of sun; the vesper bell rang, and to the suffering people
sleep would soon give a welcome surcease of misery in its blessed
forgetfulness.

When her evening meal was brought to her cell, Phyllis found beneath her
plate a note bearing the signature of her tormentor. With eyes fixed in
terror she read:

     "Sweet, obdurate one,--

     "Patience hath never been numbered among the many virtues for which
     your devoted slave hath wide repute, and the small stock in his
     possession hath already reached its limit; as hath also the time
     allotted you for consideration and compliance. To-night on the
     stroke of twelve the term of service of these troops expires.
     Before dawn to-morrow, or never, the city must be ours! Howe'er it
     falls out, I will no longer be amenable to a woman's whim. With my
     duty here fully discharged, I will hasten to your relief, either in
     person or by messenger, and take you under my protection, whether
     ye will or no. Such devotion as mine, I feel assured, must ere this
     have touched your heart, and doubtless I will find you not only
     willing but anxious to remain in my loving care, until such times
     as means of carriage can be found to Boston or Philadelphia; for if
     there be a post-chaise about this luckless town it shall be
     confiscated to the claims of love and gallantry. So hold yourself
     in readiness--a few more hours--when the cloisters are wrapped in
     slumber, and thou shalt welcome thy ardent and impatient lover,

                                                          "AARON BURR."

In her narrow cell Phyllis walked to and fro in an agony of
apprehension, as the hours of night drew near. The petition to Colonel
Arnold had been listened to with the utmost respect, but as an attack on
the stronghold was hourly impending, he had replied that it was
impossible that any measures tending to her return within the enemy's
lines could be undertaken until Quebec had fallen. He vouched, however,
for her personal safety until then, promising that on his triumphal
entry into the town, he himself would see to her safe restoration to her
friends, adding tersely: "For we do not make war on women."

When the Patriot army went to rest, with the early close of the wintry
day, the fields of snow lay white and glistening in the weird light of a
waning moon, which struck sharply on the crystal angles and abutments of
the icy barriers, and glinted from coping and buttress of the citadel,
which was silhouetted against the dim blue of the sky.

Ever watchful and wakeful, Edward Vanrosfeldt gazed over the white
waste, upon which the slightest movement of the smallest object would be
plainly visible from the heights. He silently anathematized the
unbroken stillness which mocked the men, who night after night
impatiently hoped that their slumber might be broken by the sharp
command, "To arms!"

Counting the hours as the year's life ebbed slowly away toward the
midnight, when would end the term of enlistment of the troops, he
noticed that a haze began to obscure the moon's brightness; that the
stars began gradually to disappear, one by one, behind white, scurrying
clouds, which as snow began to fall, grew heavier and darker. The wind,
which had suddenly changed to the north, whistled in shrill gusts,
whirling the drifting snow against the tree-trunks, and filling up the
hollows of the rocky ravines. The cold momentarily increased, as an
Arctic blast from the ice-fields of Labrador swept fiercely up the St.
Lawrence valley.

With senses alert Vanrosfeldt looked at the gathering tempest. He
quietly but swiftly made his way to Holland House, and into the chamber
occupied by his chief and his staff, where, on a narrow pallet, with
uniform unbelted, lay the noble form of his general in the abandon of
slumber. The peacefulness of sleep had smoothed away the lines of care
which marked his countenance in the weeks of arduous marching and
restless waiting. He had for the moment forgotten the frowning
battlements which he must storm, and all the preparations for the mortal
combat hourly imminent; and in his dreams perchance he was again by his
home-hearth on the banks of the Hudson. Into them came no misgivings or
fears for the issue upon which might hang his country's weal, and which
had silvered a few of the dark hairs that fell over his brow. Unheard,
Vanrosfeldt softly approached and laid his hand upon the shoulder of
Montgomery, to awaken him--little dreaming to what a fate! Immediately
he sat upright, dazed for a moment by the sudden rousing, involuntarily
fastening the military coat in which, half unbuttoned, he had lain down.

When fully awakened by the light which had been struck, he started to
his feet, as Vanrosfeldt, with eyes burning with excitement, said:

"Sir, the midnight hour has but just struck, and a wild tempest has
suddenly arisen. Hark to the fury of the blast!"

Rising to his towering height, and calmly but quickly buckling on his
sword, a solemn and earnest resolution darkening his eye, the general
said calmly but portentously:

"Vanrosfeldt, the hour has come!--order the troops under arms."

Hurrying forth to execute the command, the word went out, and soon the
storming party was drawn up, ready for action and the attack. In the
darkness, as his men answered the summons, Vanrosfeldt personally
inspected the condition of each, and by the touch of his hand
ascertained that the equipment was as he had determined it should be. By
two o'clock the whole brigade was carefully inspected, and ready to
march to the allotted points. About nine hundred men had answered to
their names, and were divided into four companies, two of which were
detailed to do the actual fighting, the rest to act as decoys and draw
away the attention of the enemy from where the serious assaults were to
be made.

Scarcely able to keep his footing on the windswept ramparts, the
solitary sentinel pacing the King's Bastion thought he had seen a light
flash through the gloom--go out--and immediately, as if in answer,
another follow further down the river. Uncertain and listening, the
welcome words came, "Guard turn out!" as a shivering relief tramped
heavily up the icy road. At once his suspicions were communicated to
Lieutenant Fraser, who was in command of the squad, and soon the dire
news that the enemy was in motion spread from the fort through the town.
Into the gloom and bitter cold of the night, the troops and citizens who
were compelled to bear arms, with the sailors from the frigates,
mustered at their posts at the beating of the "assembly." In the
darkened houses there was a sudden glimmer of candles, lighted hurriedly
by trembling fingers; and glancing fearfully through the frosted
casements, women in tears and terror clasped their frightened children
within their arms, as the sharp clang of alarm-bells and quick orders to
the men gathering in the streets, broke in on the howling of the
December wind.

At a flash of the signal-lights, which the watch had observed, dark
forms in hot haste moved along the river bank, and Vanrosfeldt saw his
General at his side ready to lead. His face grew darkly concerned, and
turning in agitation, he exclaimed hurriedly:

"General, I beseech you to remain in the rear! I entreat that this
exposed position be left to me! It is sheer madness thus to place in
danger so imminent a life, upon which so much depends!"

"This place is mine, I yield in courage to no man!" was the calm reply.

With increased distress Vanrosfeldt desperately endeavored to move his
determination to lead in the attack, saying:

"Remember, sir, I entreat you, the trust imposed upon you by our
Commander-in-Chief, and run not this awful and needless risk!"

Waving his hand, he quietly made answer:

"It is the memory of that trust that nerves me now"--and then, with a
firmness which might not be gainsaid, he ejaculated: "I am in command
here, sir, waste no more time or words. Proceed to action."

Then side by side they cautiously led their men along the shore toward
Cape Diamond, over hummocks of ice, which, left by the action of the
tide in its rise and fall, so obstructed their way that but three or
four could pass at a time. The progress was maddeningly slow. On a
narrow path on the further side of the King's Wharf, just past the old
King's Forges, and which was known as _Prs de Ville_, they reached the
first barrier. It was well known to the vigilant aides, and its removal
was at once begun. Savagely dashing against the timber and stone which
formed it, the General with his own hands helped to tear it away, to
make a passage for his patriots. It was a formidable stockade, running
down the face of the precipice to the brink of the river, formed of
strong posts fifteen or twenty feet high, knit together by a stout
railing of pine at top and bottom. Montgomery himself sawed through the
logs to allow of four men entering abreast.

The bulwarks of the city came only to the edge of the hill above the
place, but a few paces further on there was a second obstruction, which
took up the space between hill and river, leaving only a cart-track on
either side. This blockhouse, some forty or fifty feet square, was
loopholed for musketry, and pierced above for two twelve-pounders,
which, charged with grape-shot, commanded the narrow gorge up which the
attacking force had to approach.

Each night at watch-setting Lieutenant Fraser had examined the post,
himself pointing the guns; as on that defence the safety of the city
largely depended.

Unable in the blinding storm to discover any signs of alarm on the part
of the besieged, with the utmost elation Montgomery turned to
Vanrosfeldt, who with an Indian guide was nearest to him, and commanded:

"Order the forward column to advance and attack yonder blockhouse, where
doubtless Master Carleton's men are fast asleep, not dreaming, forsooth,
of our presence. We will give them no gentle awakening, I promise you."

The command was needless, for ere the words were ended, his eager men
were pressing around him. To fire their courage he lifted his sword, and
waving it above his head, in clear, ringing tones, that reached them
through the din of the tempest, he cried:

"Men of New York, ye will not fear to follow where your General leads!"
and rushing hotly up the declivity, he shouted again:

"Come on, my brave boys--Quebec is ours!"

Over the obstructing ice and through the deep drifts of snow--in the
frenzy of the attack, the joy of the peril--slipping, stumbling, but
undaunted, the poorly-clad men gallantly pressed against the driving
storm. Like Julian, trailing his imperial purple through the mud as on
foot he led his Romans through Assyrian marshes, Montgomery, forgetting
his rank, with face flushed with the hot blood that the icy sleet could
not chill, tugged with his own hands at the great, frozen blocks. At
last two hundred men formed in column. No light shone from the redoubt,
which lay directly in their path. It was not until the invaders had
reached the second barrier that the British sentinels became aware of
the approach, and gave the alarm. As they caught sight of the head of
the column, and not being able to gauge its strength, a momentary panic
seized them. Some attempted to conceal their arms, others offered to
throw them into the river, when Lieutenant Fraser, his face livid with
passion, in a low, menacing voice ordered the frightened guard:

"To your posts, ye miscreants! Ye craven cowards! Is this town defended
by women? I swear the first man to desert his gun I will shoot down like
a dog!"

Despite the human weakening of half-starved and sorely pressed men, they
were British soldiers with British courage, and at the order every man
quickly fell into place. As they stolidly waited, with shouldered
muskets, for the word of command, not knowing what odds they were
facing, the broad chests heaved in silent suspense. The sailors, with
eyes strained in the blinding darkness, showed not a tremor of fear as
they stood with linstocks in their hands ready to apply the torch. Sixty
yards lay between them and their approaching foe, when out rang the
shout: "Fire!" and a belching blaze of flame and shot, like the hot
breath of hell, fell on the heads and breasts of the foremost. Forward,
prone upon the snow, without a groan, fell the majestic form of
Montgomery, and those of his immediate following who were within range,
of those who composed the group leaving unhurt only Burr and the Indian
guide; while through the trailing smoke, the shrieks and moans of the
dying mingled dismally with the howling blast.

Struck in the arm with a musket ball, Vanrosfeldt reeled, his cry, "My
God! the General falls!" reaching those behind; and then--turning,
stumbling, and falling over each other, they frantically sought their
wounded comrades, and in the bitterness of repulse bore them down
through the breaches they had so manfully carried but a few moments
before.

In the dark hour before the dawn, in the wail of the storm, a bewildered
consultation was held, and moments pregnant with destiny were lost; even
the staunchest of heart among them quailing before the awful suddenness
of the calamity. Aaron Burr, a strange combination of the lowest vices
and highest courage, stood calm and collected, and advised immediate
advance; but the order for retreat was given, which--in spite of the
example of chivalrous gallantry the fallen Montgomery had shown--on a
renewal of fire from the enemy, and their appearance in pursuit, was
converted into a precipitate and disorderly flight down toward the
river. Half frozen, with faces streaked with blood, in the agony of loss
and defeat they hurried to the convent with their groaning burdens,
leaving their dead upon the field. Left alone, one man still stood
irresolute. There beside the young aide lay the body of his commander;
behind him along the river bank, his comrades were flying in a panic;
and in front the enemy was issuing from the stronghold. With a cry of
anguish, and though only a boy in stature, he stooped, and with a
herculean effort, in a frenzy of grief and devotion, lifted the superbly
proportioned body of Richard Montgomery upon his shoulders. But "Little
Burr," as he was called, staggering knee-deep in snow, wrestling with
the elements, and with the enemy forty paces behind, found even his
headlong courage and indomitable will shrink under the strain, and he
was forced to drop his precious burden in his tracks.

In the eastern part of the town, Arnold and his men, unaware of the
disaster, were pressing along Rue St. Matelot, their purpose silently
spoken in the bands of white paper in their caps, on which, the better
to enable them to distinguish their comrades in the confusion, they had
written the words of the fierce war-cry of Patrick Henry of Virginia,
"Liberty or Death!" In the town above them every bell was ringing a wild
jangle of alarm, drums were beating, and upon the men running singly
along the narrow defile with their gunlocks thrust under their
threadbare coats to keep them dry, there fell from the windows a deadly
hail of shot. Close behind them a few of their comrades were dragging a
field-piece, and above the noise and tumult Morgan, with the soul of a
Crusader, was cheering his riflemen on, who, fighting in their own
fashion, and yelling the Indian war-whoop, rushed after him, the
hillsides echoing to their cries.

Reaching a barricade, Arnold was shouting his orders, listening the
while for shouts of victory from Montgomery's men, who were due if they
had succeeded, when, a ball striking him upon the leg, he fell, still
rallying his soldiers. One of his men was beside him in a moment, who on
seeing he was disabled, cried excitedly:

"You're hit, Colonel, and the shots are flying here as thick as peas in
a pod! I'll carry you on my shoulders to their infernal barricade
yonder."

"No, my good lad," he replied, "I am in the way of my duty here, and
know no fear;" and rising on one leg, and dragging the other after him,
he continued to conduct the charge until the position was taken, and the
guards made prisoners. Seeing him fall, Morgan then took command, and
led the assault with almost superhuman exertion. He plunged into the
town, fighting in the streets as he went, until he and his men were
surrounded. Forced to surrender, the man who years before had not
flinched under five hundred strokes of the lash, which he had been
ordered by a tyrannical superior officer, under that one stroke of
misfortune bowed his head and cried like a child.

But the odds were too great, for, instead of the support from Montgomery
which Arnold hoped for, a blood-stained, panting and exhausted messenger
brought the woeful news of the repulse. The British garrison being thus
enabled to concentrate their full force against him, he was overpowered,
some of his officers and men being carried prisoners into the Citadel.
Others fell back, and he himself was borne to the camp hospital, his
blood leaving a crimson track along the way. Repulsed, but not
vanquished, he demanded that his drawn sword and loaded pistols be laid
beside his couch, within reach of his hand, that with them he might
receive the enemy should they enter to attempt his removal.

Over the city on the hill, the night of bloodshed and terror, made
horrible by human strife and slaughter, was giving way to morning, and
the storm which had raged throughout the fateful hours died away. The
only signs of turmoil were the smoked and broken barricades, crimson
stains upon the virgin whiteness of the snowy hillside, and the still
forms, which in their cold winding-sheets of Canadian snowdrifts lay
half buried below the brown, beetling cliffs.

With the first pallid moments of approaching daylight, one of the city
gates opened and from it emerged small groups of those who had been so
long pent up within its walls; citizens with hurrying, uncertain steps
coming forth to seek the means of alleviating the want and suffering in
their homes, and a file of soldiers detailed to ascertain the losses of
the enemy, to bury their dead and carry the wounded into the fort.
Following them were several monks, crucifix in hand, bent on bringing
spiritual consolation or bodily help to any in need of them. With them
walked one who, though straight and tall, yet from the youthful look he
bore, was evidently a novice in the monastic life. His presence and
purpose would, however, not have been a source of wonderment or
question, even if any apart from their own pressing concerns had thought
to consider them, for in the stress and disorder of the time, not only
the venerable Abbot and reverend Mother Abbess and those already in
orders, but even those preparing to take vows in the monasteries and
convents, were specially commissioned to do churchly duty or proffer
charitable tendance to the sick, the starving or distressed. Hastening
down the declivity, the black-robed figures directed their steps toward
the convent barracks, guided thither by the soiled and trampled snow,
and the bloody footprints along the way. The young novice, tarrying
behind, stopped to minister to a poor fellow, who, wounded and half
frozen, was calling feebly for help, but who in a few moments was beyond
what human hands or words could do. Leaving the body to the soldiers who
were approaching, he rapidly overtook the priests and entered the
convent with them.

Scarcely more terrible were the hours of darkness to those in the
carnage of the onslaught than to the girl locked in the quiet convent
cell. Through the narrow window, which faced the town, she had heard the
distant roaring of cannon, the crack of musketry; then the trampling as
of feet flying in a desperate headlong rout; and at last groans,
prayers and even curses from the tortured lips of those whose bleeding
bodies were being borne into the building below. Not knowing but what
the fight had been in favor of the invaders, hour after hour she
listened with throbbing heart for the dreaded footsteps of her detested
persecutor hurrying along the bare floor of the hall. At length, weak
with uncertainty and misery, she once more placed her ear to the keyhole
to listen, and a sudden faintness seizing her, she grasped the latch for
support--found it rise in her clinging fingers--the door open--and lo!
she was free. The key was in the lock on the outside, and whether
inadvertently or with purpose, the wards had not been turned. Her
jailor, though unscrupulous and selfish, was not as yet wantonly cruel,
and probably thinking that some casualty might befall him, or even the
convent might be fired, he had left it within her power to escape.
Scarcely daring to breathe, with shaking hands she nervously donned her
cloak and hood, without waiting to secure any other of the articles
which she had hastily gathered together in her flight from the city.
Leaving his missive on the floor of her cell, where in her agitation she
had dropped it, she hurried breathlessly along the empty corridors, the
care of the wounded having evidently drawn all the inmates to the part
of the building where they were sheltered. By making use of the least
frequented halls and stairways, she reached, without observation, a
little-used postern leading into the garden at the back--and she was
safe from those terrible stone walls! Here she readily found access to a
winding walk leading towards the town, but which, before she had
proceeded far, she found completely lost in the pathless tracks of the
storm. Trembling from anxiety, lack of sleep, and the fear of being
unable to climb the declivity, with the worse terror of encountering her
persecutor, she stood and looked helplessly around her. From the main
entrance of the hospice emerged the youth in monk's garb who an hour
before had sought to offer the consolations of the Church to the wounded
and dying soldier on the hillside, and who had since been doing like
service to the inmates of the convent. With bowed head, and apparently
on some errand requiring haste, he took the same direction as that which
Phyllis would fain have pursued. With tremulous uncertainty she tried to
make another effort to proceed and follow in his steps. He must, she
thought, be familiar with every road and by-way leading to the city, and
feeling his presence to be a safeguard and guide, she struggled along,
and for a short distance was making fair headway, when suddenly, her
foot striking against a fallen bough, hidden under the drift, she
stumbled and fell forward in the snow. At her cry of dismay the monk
turned, and hastening back, reached her, as regaining her feet, she
tried to shake the flakes from her hair and eyes, where they had blinded
her for the moment. She was only conscious that a dark face under a cowl
was regarding her, and a voice which sounded strangely hollow asked:

"Sister, can I be of service to you? Whither are your steps bent? The
convent, from which I perceive you have just taken leave, were safer
than these paths, where are sights that may blanch your cheek and
sicken your heart. Return, I pray you."

"Nay, good Brother, I beseech you turn not away, but rather, in the
charity in keeping with your robe, aid me in reaching the city walls,
within which is my father, sick, and I have cause to fear, mayhap dead.
I do not seek to detain you, all I ask is the guidance of your footsteps
thither."

Not turning towards her, his averted face rigid as a death-mask, he
moved on, saying coldly, "Follow me."

He measured his steps to the weakness of hers, but never once looked
back to see how she fared over the rough way. It mattered not how she
faltered or slipped, no hand was held out to her assistance nor further
word spoken; but if she could have looked beneath the cowl, she would
have seen that with a fierce grasp upon himself, his dark eyes burning
with passionate love, Brother Jerome was crushing down the heart of Leon
de Lrie; that the fingers, tightly clasped beneath the serge gown,
dared not touch hers, lest the chains of self-restraint snap and he make
shipwreck of his vows.

In unbroken silence they climbed the hill and reached the gate, and as
she was about to face him and say, "Accept my heartfelt thanks, good
Brother," he turned away abruptly, and keeping close to the wall,
disappeared.

With the falling of the night a solemn hush brooded portentously over
the Religious House of the Hospitalires, which not many hours before
had been alive with active, though stealthy, military preparations. The
refectory, which erstwhile had been the scene of feasting and rough
soldier life, was strewn with pallets, on which, moaning with pain, and
ghastly with bloody bandages, lay the wounded and dying. Some were in
merciful unconsciousness; others, with minds wandering, were calling
weakly for loved ones far away over leagues of forest and mountain; and
not a few lay silent in the calm of death.

Over one, whose brown curls were red and clotted, a young nun bent, who,
as she bathed the lacerated flesh and damp brow, wept as tenderly, and
with as keen distress, as a girl might over her lover. Edward
Vanrosfeldt, for whom she cared, with eyes shining and cheeks aflame,
muttered and raved in the wild imaginings of his fevered brain. He
tossed from side to side in his delirium, hindering the proper swathing
of his wound, so that the falling tears of the Sister would scarcely
permit of her ministrations. She listened to his incoherent wanderings
of speech, as he spoke of the past, to which in thought he had returned.

At one moment he fancied he was in the mad fury and rush of battle, and
anon he crooned a love song, at the sound of which the dark-eyed Sister,
who sat patiently and without weariness hour after hour by his side,
leaned towards him, and placing a small, cool hand on his burning brow,
tried to cheat herself with the fond fancy that it was to her he sang.
The love and longing within almost breaking bonds, her lips were about
to touch his cheek, when the fantasy of dreams suddenly changing, he
thought he was again on the treacherous river, seeing a young, fair
girl gliding over the gleaming surface, a dark gulf waiting to receive
her, and his voice of warning unable to reach her. Great drops of agony
started out on his brow, and he struggled with all his strength to rise.
Holding out his unbound arm, he cried in tones of anguish:

"Phyllis!--danger!--danger!--my love, my own!"

In his fevered illusion, as he thought she was about to fall into the
abyss, and through the mists that shadowed his mind, he saw the form of
a woman near, he threw his arm about her, and raved, laughing wildly,
"Saved! saved!" and then in the vagary of his sick brain, relaxed his
embrace and lapsed into a sleep of exhaustion.

Thrse, agitated almost beyond control, sank back in her chair, her
bosom heaving tumultuously. The dim light of the night taper showed her
face white and distorted with anger and jealous rage, while she dared
not utter a sound. Her hands moved involuntarily towards the bandages
that stayed the flow of his life-blood, as she muttered to herself,
repeating his words:

"'Phyllis,--Phyllis,'--'tis ever 'Phyllis!'"--and a wild desire, half
ferocity, half agony, seized her to unbind the swathings,--to grasp the
man's throat, and silence forever his lament for his Phyllis ere it
turned her brain to madness. Leaning quietly over him, beautiful,
tigerish, and white-lipped, her likeness to the picture of the wicked
_Comtesse_ of the _salon_ more striking than ever, her fingers touched
the fastenings by which his wound was bound. The movement, slight as it
was, disturbed him, and as he turned she saw that a knot of blue
ribbon, with a crimson stain upon it, was tied over his heart. As he
opened his fever-bright eyes, she looked into their shining depths, and
recoiling, her fingers fell powerless, as with streaming tears she wept,
with pain as sharp as ever tore a woman's heart, crying:

"_O Ciel_, I cannot, for I love him! I love him!"

With the dawn, her vigil ended, and the night light put out, she replied
to the enquiry of the lay Sister who was to take her place:

"The poor soldier has passed a restless night, his mind wandering at
times, but I besought Heaven on his behalf, and already I see signs of
recovery."

"Yes, Sister Thrse, prayers offered by one so pure of heart have
without doubt been heard, for see how he sleeps, breathing as sweetly as
a child upon its mother's breast."

As the days passed, the love for Edward Vanrosfeldt proved stronger than
the jealous hate, and she tended and watched him unweariedly, grudging
the slightest care to any other; but in the silence of her thought she
nourished a deep revenge, for "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

On an evening when the convent bell was calling to vespers, as with the
danger past, the patient lay weak and pale before her, laying her hand
on the locks, grown long and clustering above the white brow, she said:

"Monsieur is better, thanks to the favor of a merciful Heaven."

"And to your gentle ministering, sweet Sister."

"At times, monsieur, I feared I should scarce ever see you well again;
for besides your bodily ailment some weight of trouble seemed to press
upon your mind, as though some one had wrought you ill, or given you
cause for sorrow. Who is this Phyllis for whom you did cry continually
in your mad raving? I, too, have known one of that name. Is she your
sister? Or perchance she is your cousin, who will be glad when the fair
news of your betterment reaches her, for doubtless by this time she
mourns you as among the dead."

A warm color flooded the wan white cheeks as, grasping her hand, he
exclaimed in a dangerous excitement:

"Spake I her name? Then that I love her is no longer secret! It is not
that of sister or cousin, but of one even dearer, an' never sweeter,
fairer maid won a man's undying love. I would you could see her, Sister
Thrse!"

"Mayhap I have. What is her family name, monsieur?"

"Have you then seen her? When and where? Pray tell me!" Leaning toward
her, and clasping her hands in his, he exclaimed: "Oh, sweet saint, you
have never known the rapture and agony of love's thrall, but believe me
when I tell you that the life you have saved depends on the constancy
and truth of Phyllis Davenant!"

Shrinking back, and crossing her hands meekly on her breast, Sister
Thrse bowed her head, as she said with a trembling of pity such as the
angel barring the way to Eden may have felt:

"Ah, monsieur, it rends my heart to tell you the truth. If this
Mademoiselle Davenant, who has but just left these walls, is she whom
you love, better were it for you that I had loosed these bands and let
the life-blood ooze away in your unconsciousness, than that you should
live and wake to her unworthiness."

Then, as if every word were a dart piercing her own heart, she
continued, as his eyes, filled with an agony of apprehension, were fixed
upon her bowed head:

"This Phyllis Davenant, fair of feature and with hair like the cloud
when the sun is setting, a soldier--one of your own comrades--brought
hither out of pity and to save her from the perils of her own reckless
folly. He informed us that by signal, which had been prearranged, she
had run away from her home and friends, and was bent on meeting one
Captain Temple, meaning to join him on his ship, but by some
misapprehension he failed to keep his tryst. I counsel thee to think not
of her; she is unworthy of such as thee."

Her listener's face was livid, his eyes dry and hot, and through his
drawn, parched lips came in husky tones, as of a man stricken to the
heart, the agonized question:

"Speak ye the truth? She who told you this must have wantonly erred!
Tell me ye are in doubt! One word of uncertainty will exorcise this
demon of distrust tearing hope out of my tortured soul. Speak, holy
Sister, as you hope for heaven, say it is a black untruth, or that it
may have been another."

"Nay, I cannot. I myself have seen her, having met her in other days.
She is false to thee," and turning away to hide the heaving of her
breast and gleaming triumph in her eyes, she put her kerchief to her
face as if in sorrow for him.

Back like a flash of lightning, cruel memory darted over the past,
illuminating the dark cloud of suspicion with looks and words hitherto
unheeded and forgotten. Captain Basil Temple's intimacy with her family,
of which Phyllis had spoken, gave color to the story told by the nun,
who, he was sure, could have no motive but to spare him future pain, and
who in the telling of which seemed herself to have sincere sorrow and
distress. A lie that is partly the truth is ever the blackest of lies
and receives readiest credence, so with the blood surging with agony
through heart and brain, and with a groan of the deepest misery, he
turned his face to the wall, determined even yet to outwit fate and die.
He cursed the British bullet that it had done no surer work than to
spare his life, for better were it, he thought, with a groan, to be
lying under the sod by the riverside, than to live in an anguish which
neither lead nor steel had power to inflict.

But youth and Nature are at times stronger than even despair and
heartbreak, so that when the first tender green of spring touched the
hills with a soft relenting, and the scent of blossoms blew in through
the open windows from the convent gardens, he was able to leave the
hospice to join Colonel Arnold up the river, who though only partially
recovered from his own wound, had, on the reported arrival in the gulf
of British and Hessian reinforcements for the garrison, retired to
Montreal, which was still held by American troops.

In the chamber which had been occupied by Captain Burr, Thrse on his
departure had found a monk's gown. Carrying it to her cell, and throwing
it over her own, he being short of stature, it fitted not ill, the lines
of her slight figure being lost in the loose folds of the rough serge.
With her veil, coif and wimple removed, and her short hair curling in
rings about her face, she saw herself reflected from her only mirror,
the panes of her narrow window. Startled, she exclaimed under her
breath, "It is Leon, not Thrse!"

Suddenly a thought flashed through her mind, and her face was lined with
a quick decision, as carefully folding and secreting the robe in the
coverings of her cot, she resumed her veil and crept away to do her
allotted tasks, which throughout the day she performed with hasty
abstraction, her face flushed with an inward excitement.

That evening, as the last of the soldiers took leave of the convent and
passed out of the gate, a young black-robed priest followed them, his
presence arousing no comment. Edward Vanrosfeldt was again bodily fit
for active service, but there were lines of suffering upon his face
which marred its whilom comeliness. Feverish for action, he had been
impatient for the freeing of the river of ice, and felt something of his
old spirit return as he embarked on the transport waiting at the shore.
As he took his place in the sloop which was to bear him up stream, he
noticed a boyish-looking priest sitting in the stern, his face bent low
over the book of prayers in his hand, apparently oblivious to the men of
blood who were his fellow-passengers, and seemingly averse to holding
converse with them.

On learning that the enemy had finally withdrawn, Madame de Lrie,
anxious to once more behold her beloved child, and wishing with the
protection of Sir Guy's fleet to return to her home in Montreal,
hastened to the convent. There, aghast with dismay, she learned from the
good Abbess, who was prostrated with grief, that Thrse had
mysteriously disappeared, nothing having been seen or heard of her since
the American army had left the town. Diligent search and inquiry had
been made, but no trace could be found.

"And, my sister," the pious soul said, amid choking sobs, "it may be I
was not watchful enough of one so young and beautiful, but she was full
of good works, and so pure in heart, that I began to hope that she too
might have a vocation for the Church. Among the sick and wounded she was
an angel indeed, nursing the poor men day and night, with no thought of
weariness. To her care and prayers one soldier most surely owes his
life."

"Of what soldier do you speak?" asked Madame.

"He was a Major Vanrosfeldt, with hair brown and curling, and eyes as
blue as a babe's."

Quick as thought back to the mother came the memory of her child leaning
out of her chamber window, saluting a handsome soldier passing by, at
the returning glance of whose blue eyes crimson blushes had dyed her
cheeks. A horrible agony of fear tore at her heart, and leaning for
support against a pillar, she tasted the wine the frightened nun
hurriedly procured for her, but no word of the dark, miserable suspicion
forcing itself upon her was uttered, as sick at heart she said:

"Pray for my child, good sister, that no ill befall her."

"Oh, be of good comfort, I will say _aves_ without ceasing to the
blessed Virgin, who knew a mother's grief, that her young life may be
spared."

"I thought not of her life; death is not the chief evil to be feared,"
she answered brokenly; and with soul tortured with uncertainty and
anguish, the distracted mother returned to the city, to spend weeks and
months waiting for tidings, refusing to leave the place where she had
seen her child last, until hope itself died out.




CHAPTER XI.

_MORAL SUASION._


The amber sunlight of a morning in April was turning the waters of the
Hudson from pale gold to burnished bronze, and a small vessel, with
sails whitening from the soft rain of the night before, was sailing up
the river with four passengers aboard, who on dropping anchor at Albany,
disembarked from the sloop and proceeded to the home of General
Schuyler, which lay about a mile below the town. Its master, who by
continued ill-health had been compelled to give up active service,
received the travellers with a hearty hospitality, most grateful after
the fatigue of their journey from Philadelphia, in which city they had
been commissioned to proceed to Canada to endeavor to ascertain what
were the temper and attitude of the provinces toward the revolting
colonies, and whether the Canadian people might not be induced to make
common cause with the revolutionists. After a few days' sojourn the
party again set out on their route, which was continued by way of
Saratoga and Lakes George and Champlain to the British dominions.

Reaching Montreal after a journey which had consumed a month's time, and
in which much hardship had been endured from the ice floating in the
lakes and rivers, they sought guidance to the Governor's house. Clad in
sober browns and drabs, in knee-breeches and silver-buckled shoes, they
had the appearance of being simply a small company of private gentlemen
about to tarry in the chteau, which they were approaching, to enjoy a
friend's hospitality, and tarry for a time beneath his roof. As they
passed through the streets, however, loud huzzas from some of the
people, and a salute of cannon from the fort, belied the conceit, and
proclaimed that the occasion was one of public concern. Guests had been
bidden, so that the _salon_ of the chteau was filled with a
distinguished and genteel assemblage ready to receive them; and in the
doorway stood Arnold, the host, waiting to extend to them greeting, and
bid them welcome.

The members of the party of travellers were presented in turn, the first
being Master Benjamin Franklin, a printer of Philadelphia, who at the
age of seventy still apparently retained the vigor and energy of youth.
His eye was keen and piercing, yet withal kind and gentle. His hair,
which was unpowdered, and without the queue of the prevailing fashion,
fell in natural locks over his shoulders; which accorded well with the
extreme simplicity of his linen and raiment. With a countenance of great
benignity, and distinguished by an unusual breadth of brow, he looked
the scholar and the sage.

Accompanying him in somewhat less of the plainness which marked the garb
of the philosopher, was Samuel Chase, a lawyer of Maryland, who though
scarcely yet past the prime of manhood, had acquired a name for unusual
legal acumen and skill in logic.

Then in turn were introduced the other two members of the party, who
were brothers--one, Master Charles Carroll, the possessor of a princely
domain in the same state, and the largest and wealthiest landowner in
the Colonies; the other, the Reverend John Carroll, a prelate of Rome,
holding the office of Bishop of Philadelphia. His creed was that of the
Baltimores of his native state, the Baron and his son Cecil, who being
neither in sympathy with the royal Stuarts nor with Oliver Cromwell, had
sought to try the experiment of founding in Maryland a democratic
principality, conducted according to the Catholic tenets of faith and
practice. The churchman had accompanied the commission by special
invitation, his priestly calling being depended upon to give him
influence with the clergy and the people of the Canadian city and
province holding the same religious belief as himself.

Some of those of French nationality assembled to receive the visitors,
bowed with respectful cordiality when they remembered that their own
young compatriot, Gilbert Mottier de Lafayette, an officer in the Guard
of Honor in Paris, of high rank and title, vast fortune and powerful
connections, was burning to leave the most brilliant and fascinating
Court in Europe to fight as a volunteer in this struggle.

Colonel Davenant, who, broken in health and spirit, had returned some
weeks before to the quiet and retirement of his home in Montreal, and
those present of English birth, thinking of the inglorious flight of
their Governor by night, in darkness and storm, scarce six months before
from the same portals then open to receive their enemies, acknowledged
the introductions with courteous but cold formality.

Arnold, still lame from his wound, conducted his guests to the
banquet-room, where a feast was spread for their delectation; over which
Father Carroll pronounced a blessing according to the ritual of the
Church he represented.

As Vanrosfeldt glanced around the board, he saw seated on Arnold's
right, Franklin, and opposite to him Colonel Davenant, by whose side sat
his daughter. She looked white and anxious, regarding with concern her
father's face, which was flushed with the mental disturbance which his
being compelled to be officially present occasioned. Shrinking uneasily
from meeting Vanrosfeldt's eyes, which he persistently and purposely
seemed to avert, her agitation could not be controlled. Thinking of her
father's enfeebled state of health, her anxiety as to the result of the
strain under which he was evidently laboring increased painfully during
the course of the repast. In reply to Arnold's inquiries of his guests
regarding their purpose and plan for the carrying out of their
instructions, Franklin explained with a persuasive smile:

"With the co-operation of my colleagues, I am commissioned to endeavor
by all means in my power to present to the inhabitants of Canada such
cogent arguments for our position, that, seeing its justice, their own
reason will force them to join our cause, and throw off the tyrant
chains by which they now are bound."

At the treasonable declaration, Colonel Davenant could no longer
restrain his indignation, and with a hectic color mounting to his brow,
and the light of scarcely suppressed anger in his eyes, he curtly, yet
with politeness, remarked:

"Your purpose then, as I understand it, sir, is to accomplish by
argument what your General could not compass with his sword."

Smiling blandly, the Sage replied:

"It is my intention to prove the truth of what a certain philosophic
friend of mine has averred, that 'The pen is mightier than the sword.'"

Turning to Phyllis, who saw that he could no longer control himself, her
father said, in a half audible undertone:

"It is to be regretted that such should not have previously been the
opinion of our host. It would have saved much needless shedding of
blood, and his own limb's present incapacity."

Not appearing to hear the remark, Arnold again questioned:

"What is the method by which you intend to secure this end?"

"That our principles may have immediate dissemination, we purpose
printing and scattering them broadcast," replied the printer.

Interrupting sharply, Colonel Davenant again broke in, saying:

"Master Franklin seems unaware that this town contains none of the
apparatus needful for his purpose. A good steel blade, to my mind,
carries weightier argument than a quill-pen from the wing of a goose,
even though it be sharpened by Washington himself, and dipped in the
combined wisdom of his upstart Congress!"

Pointing to a large chest which the servants had brought carefully into
the adjoining room, Chase urbanely remarked, with a touch of satire in
his tone:

"Permit me, sir, to assure you that there need be no concern upon so
vital a point. Master Franklin, foreseeing such a contingency, has, with
his usual foresight, provided for it. In yonder case is his own
printing-press, and even were it not so, his native ingenuity would find
a way out of the dilemma, as he could proceed to manufacture his own
type and ink, as he has on occasion done before;" and turning to his
host, he continued politely: "We are, however, dependent on Colonel
Arnold's courtesy for a chamber where the work can be done without
needless interruption."

With a smile, Arnold replied:

"Master Franklin will find a safe and quiet apartment in the vaulted
rooms which lie below this building, where will be afforded him all
necessary assistance in his peaceful and bloodless campaign. I pray that
it may have a more favorable outcome than our most lamentable venture at
Quebec; but whatever be the means employed, we must all hang together in
order to accomplish the worthy and commendable end in view."

With a twinkle of the eye, and a raising of the eyebrows, Franklin
looked around the board, as he rejoined with a laugh:

"Most certainly, as has before been remarked, if we do not now hang
together, we without doubt will all hang separately later on!"

As the company repaired to the _salon_ for conversation and conference,
Monsieur de Lrie, who was present to meet the commission, singled out
Father Carroll, as being of the same faith as himself, and taking out
his snuff-box, said, as he delicately offered a pinch:

"My son, like your Grace, is in holy orders."

Accepting the courtesy, the prelate replied:

"I would then, sir, that he were here. His native tongue would be of
service to my present mission in conversing with the French-speaking
clergy of the town; and even if this present commission be abortive,
should France send troops to America to serve in our cause, some of his
creed and language will be a necessity to perform priestly duties among
them, should the need arise."

"The claims of the Church, Father, be assured, will ever come with him
before even those of country, if the call of duty bade him choose
between them. He is still in his novitiate, but ye can at any time
command him. Religion comes before even patriotism! I am a British
subject, but I am before that a Catholic."

His attendance over, Colonel Davenant, a-tremble with anger, and
Phyllis, in pained wonder at Vanrosfeldt's studied avoidance of her,
took an early leave, on the plea of his delicate health. Leaning heavily
on his daughter's arm, in the wan light of a waning moon, they walked
slowly through the quiet streets toward their home, which still bore
marks of its occupation by the departed Colonial officers; and which,
unlighted, would give them but a cheerless welcome. At last, breaking
the silence, in an excitement which made his hand, resting on her arm,
shake as in a palsy, he said satirically:

"Master Franklin and his accomplices or colleagues, as he dubs them,
need scarce be so sanguine of success. We are not a parcel of
soft-headed women to be so easily moved by his eloquent manifestoes,
even were they couched in all the wit and logic of this imaginary
philosopher of his--'Poor Richard' himself--to whose sayings albeit I
will not deny a certain sagaciousness and homely humor. I predict that
before a month's time he will be conveying his precious printing-press
back whence it came, but lacking a goodly supply of uselessly spilt ink.
He will then have to inform those at the head of this insane revolt that
they will not have occasion to place this loyal Tory province among the
stripes, which I hear they have impudently added to our flag to indicate
their rebellious colonies; for to such lengths have they already gone!"
The sturdy Loyalist refused to notice his daughter's gentle attempts to
divert his mind from the disturbing theme, and went on hotly: "In
conversation this evening I learned that even a treasonable standard of
their own has been made under the order of this Washington, by a Quaker
woman in a certain cottage on Mulberry Street in Philadelphia. This same
Betsey Ross, as she is called, has placed her audacious head in a noose,
and will not be forgotten when the King's troops victoriously enter her
town of 'Brotherly Love,' which is the meaning of their high-sounding
Philadelphia. 'Brotherly Love' forsooth!--a precious misnomer that for a
nest of pestilent traitors whose mischievous rebellion they vaunt as
patriotism. Nor is this the first time the flag of England has been
tampered with amongst them. In the time of King Charles, the blessed
martyr, one Endicott, a governor over them, in full light of day, for
some twinge to his Puritan conscience, whipped his sword from off his
thigh and boldly cut the red cross from the flag, the townspeople of
Salem looking on. The place is still called by that name--meaning
peace--and near by is Concord--truly they have at least a genius for
making choice of names that prove singularly inapt!" As Phyllis again
tried to interpose, he exclaimed irritably:

"Nay, child, do not seek to check me, I will say all that is in my mind,
albeit I was not slow to do so at the board from which we have just
risen. I was fain there to tell them that this Quaker woman will shortly
find that she had been wiser to have spent her time fashioning decent
garments for the tatterdemalion army of so-called Patriots, who went
hence to Quebec clad in blue homespun taken from our stores here. She
may yet find, that by discreetly confining herself to the flax of her
distaff, she might have saved herself later a less comfortable
acquaintance with hemp--that following the teachings of peace she is
taught in her Friends' meeting house, had been wiser than meddling
insolently with His Majesty's ensign! As to those printers and
lawmakers, or I bethink me, law-breakers, whom we have feasted with
to-night, I predict with certainty that the day is not far distant when
their saintly polls will decorate 'Temple Bar' on Fleet Street, in
London town, as a timely warning to all who would defy the just
authority of our Heaven-appointed Sovereign. They will then find that
whether they hang together or separately, Master Franklin's witless jest
was but a sorry one."

"Oh, father," at last interrupted Phyllis, as he paused exhausted, "in
spite of their disloyalty and rebellion, these Colonials seem to be
fair-minded gentlemen. A soldier on a gibbet! 'Tis too harrowing to
contemplate! Edward Vanrosfeldt, though seemingly most fickle in
friendship and strangely forgetful of past favor, is surely worthy
another death than that of a common felon!"

"Ingratitude is ever the blackest of sins! Were the rope already around
his neck, I would not raise a finger to save him!" was the angry reply;
Vanrosfeldt's studied coldness of manner, the reason for which he was
unaware of, seeming in a measure to warrant his opinion.

Not again responding to his vehemence of language, but timidly striving
to allay his still rising passion, Phyllis led him over the threshold of
their home, and then soothed him to slumber ere seeking rest herself.

The hour of two was chiming from the belfry of the Recollet Monastery,
whose gardens adjoined those of the chteau, when the light sleep into
which she had fallen was broken by the sound of a horseman riding
rapidly past toward the east of the town, in the direction of military
headquarters. Not many minutes after, the sudden relighting of the
windows where Colonel Arnold was lodged, augured that the rider, who had
hastily alighted at the door, brought news of serious moment. He was an
American officer to whom had been entrusted the command of a fortified
post on the north bank of the river, known as "The Cedars," and lying
about forty miles distant. The position had been occupied to watch what
they called "The Vulture's Nest," a British encampment further up the
river, the purpose of which was to descend and co-operate with Carleton
in driving the Continental troops out of Canada, and put an end to the
aims and purpose of the invaders.

In extreme agitation, with pauses for hurried breathing, the man related
that his scouts had brought him word that a party of one hundred and
fifty British, and a band of Indians, five hundred strong, were
descending the river to attack the American stronghold. As he proceeded,
Arnold's face grew serious and attentive, but hardened into lines of
angry severity as the miserable tale proceeded--that the garrison was so
paralyzed with fear of the bloodthirsty savages, and dread of their
atrocities, that the place would immediately surrender on the arrival of
the first Redcoat or copper-colored savage that appeared outside the
palisades, unless strong reinforcements were at once sent to its
assistance.

Looking sternly at the terrified officer, with lip curling in a fine
scorn, Arnold witheringly exclaimed:

"Schuyler hath well said that 'to take a post we must at times shoot a
general!' This craven act of deserting yours in a moment of such peril
may have saved your unworthy scalp, but it will make but a sorry show
when ye are called to answer for this night's work before the
Commander-in-Chief!"

Raising his fist, with a savage curse, he shouted:

"Begone, coward! ere I forget that ye wear the Blue-and-Buff and hold
the rank ye have disgraced, and I forestall that tribunal by flogging
you as I would the greenest drummer-boy in the service! But no, I swear
I wrong even such an one by comparison with such a varlet as ye are, for
the most chicken-hearted fifer or camp-follower in the army would blench
with shame at the thought of such a trick as this! However, I find
comfort in the knowledge that the relieving party, which will march at
daybreak to the help of your deserted post, will be under the command of
a man who would suffer the red fiends to kill him piecemeal in the slow
agony of their infernal fires, rather than surrender without a blow. To
Major Vanrosfeldt will be given the rescue of the place!"

Vanrosfeldt, 'tis needless to say, reckless of life, with a burning
desire for action, and the thirst for fighting and adventure of his
kind, was found ready and eager at sun-up to obey. The fierce joy of the
charge, with colors a-swing and sword aloft, were to him the very wine
of life. His spirit was caught by the rank and file following him, as
with stern faces they hurried to what they well knew might be torture
and death with nameless horrors.

By the sound of the forced march, Phyllis in the early dawn was aroused
from her restless, fitful sleep. Rising on her elbow in the great,
curtained bed, she parted the rose-chintz curtains to listen, uncertain
whether it were reality or but the fancy of a vanishing dream.

Slipping to the floor when assured that she heard the sound of men and
horses in motion, she threw a scarf around her shoulders and looked
timidly out. Leaning upon the sill of the open window with her cheek
aslant on her clasped hands, she felt the soft air of the morning fan
her face and caress her ruffled, golden hair. The first faint pink of
the breaking day was stealing over the river, touching the grey chimneys
and red roofs with the warm, ruddy color of dawn. A sweet smell of early
violets stole up from the garden below, where the budding apple trees
showered their white blossoms and the honey-locusts waved in the tinted
fragrant air. The beauty and calm of the sunrise soothed her spirit,
bringing a tinge of pleasure to her cheek, and the hour would have been
heavenly but for the rapidly approaching feet of armed men, toward whom
the Colonial soldier guarding the Recollet Gate looked with concern, as
he paused in his slow pacing to and fro. Hidden by the screening leaves
she watched the troop advance, until, catching sight of the man at their
head, her hand was laid quickly upon her breast as if to stay the mad
tumult of its beating; for there, with tortured wonderment as to what
had hardened his heart against her, she saw before her Edward
Vanrosfeldt marching out of her sight!

As he passed beneath the once familiar window, he looked up, wondering
behind which slumbered the girl he loved. Drawn by the fascination of
resistless memory, which would not be baffled, he lifted his eyes, and a
sudden gust of wind parting the tree-boughs, he saw, framed in the
tender May-green leafage, the sweet face of the only woman who could
make the life he was risking worth the saving. With the balm and
blossoming of the spring around her, and the sunshine filtering through
her hair, she was tenderly beautiful! For a single moment, with a
strange, wistful look, their eyes met, the slow paling of her cheeks
setting his heart a-throbbing with a mingling of pain and joy; but
turning away he thought with a smothered groan, "How can one so fair of
face be so false at heart!" Faint and stricken at his averted look, she
hastily drew back into the chamber and with a low moaning, fell
a-weeping bitterly.

With quick orders at the fortified gate, it opened and closed after him,
and he vanished from her sight; but if he could have seen the white
fingers waft toward it a kiss from lips a-quiver with the ache in her
breast, he would not so eagerly have craved the death to which he
believed he was marching.

The day following, the sun was sinking toward the west, behind hills
verdant in the bloom of the early spring, and the river flowed
majestically and peacefully on, here and there broken into foam by an
occasional rapid. Through the glades of the forest and across the
streams on their way, watchful against ambush, grudging even the delay
needful for rest and refreshment, the relieving force pushed on until
within gun-shot of the threatened post. Nothing gave them warning that a
few hours before, with scarce a show of resistance, it had fallen.
Unsuspicious of such a disaster, and hopeful that there was yet time for
its salvation, Vanrosfeldt and his men moved confidently and rapidly
toward it, when suddenly there arose from five hundred savage throats
the hideous war-cry which had presaged many a deed of horror, and
tortures, that to chronicle their details would pale the face of the
bravest. A momentary wavering, and the suddenness of the surprise past,
the voice of the leader was heard above the hellish yells of the
attacking savages, calling upon his men to rally; his own keen sword
sending more than one redskin dead to the grass. Soon under the feet of
white man and Mohawk, it became trodden flat and gory in the fierce
fight. Not until a third of the soldiers had fallen, were the remainder
surrounded and overpowered, but not before a messenger had broken away
and was speeding back with the tidings to Arnold, who was some miles in
the rear, following with reinforcements.

A muttered curse fell from his lips as he heard of the shameful
surrender forced upon the brave boys holding the post to the wanton
cruelties of the ruthless, savage foe, and although hurrying to the
scene of action, his speed was redoubled to wreak a swift vengeance for
the dead, and to retake the post and save the living, if such there
still were. Reaching the little hamlet of Ste. Anne's at the western end
of the island of Montreal, he stamped his feet impatiently on finding
that his boats were not yet in sight. No sound disturbed the quiet
beauty of the spot save the lapping of the golden-green waters on the
shingle, where long years before the song of the voyageurs had echoed as
they started for their wanderings in the pathless wilderness of the
western plains. With ears eagerly intent for any chance alarm or
surprise, Arnold, looking out over the islands which marked the
confluence of the Ottawa and the St. Lawrence, saw that from one at some
considerable distance the Indians were conveying their prisoners to the
mainland. Furious with impatience at thus being chained to the spot, and
unable to go in pursuit, he despatched a rifleman to hurry up the boats.
Scarcely had he disappeared, when the tinkle of a paddle was heard, with
the quick sweep of a canoe as it rounded a point of land near by, and
made for the spot where the troops were waiting. Luckily the boat
contained a small party of friendly Indians from Caughnawaga, with their
chief Red Deer at their head, who recognizing the uniform, paddled for
the shore. Pointing up stream, Arnold, with excited gestures, and the
use of a few Indian words with which one of his men was familiar,
conveyed the urgency of the case to his ally, who in a moment was ready
to go to the enemy, with a demand for the return of the prisoners to the
custody of Colonel Arnold, which, if refused, would result in his
destroying the Indian villages, and putting to death any of their people
who fell into his hands.

With teeth set and looks as malignant as those of the savage himself,
Arnold watched the canoe shoot up the stream to the point where the
embarkation was hurriedly taking place. He saw the Indian land, and
after a parley, paddle quickly back with the current. The reply he
brought was that they refused to give up the prisoners, and if the
Americans attempted to follow and attack the British, the Indians, it
was feared, would immediately put to death those in their power.

Words cannot express Arnold's feelings on receiving such an answer.
Maddened by the conflicting passions of revenge and humanity; knowing
that he had a force amply sufficient to take a deep revenge; raging for
action, yet restrained by pity for his unhappy comrades, who were on the
brink of destruction if vengeance were attempted, the situation offered
the horns of a dilemma, which to decide between was but a choice of
horrors.

A solution appeared in the sudden arrival of the boats, into one of
which he jumped and led rapidly to the island where the captives had
been confined. All had been removed except five, who had been deprived
of their clothing and left naked and starving.

Unaware of the exact position of their foe, themselves exposed, and
darkness closing in, there was nothing to be done but return again to
Ste. Anne's. As the slender rim of the young moon rose over the dark
line of the forest, the quiet air heavy with the evening odors and the
drowsy drone of homing insects, the calm and silence seemed only to mock
the hot impatience with which he prepared to bivouac for the night, with
the restlessness of those who long and wait for the morning.

With the first twitter of the birds in the pale light of dawn, a canoe
skimmed lightly down the stream, bearing a flag, and bringing a cartel
from the British. They proposed that an equal number of prisoners be
exchanged, the Americans to return to their homes and never again bear
arms against their rightful rulers; and that a certain number of
American officers be sent to Quebec as hostages until the agreement be
fully carried out. It also declared, that if these terms were refused,
the savages, enraged by Arnold's threat of wholesale slaughter, would,
it was feared, at once put to violent death those in their hands; the
Englishman humanely deploring his inability to prevent the carrying out
of the fiendish intention. The moment was one of frightful uncertainty,
and to one of Arnold's impetuous and passionate nature, well nigh
intolerable. Vanrosfeldt, he knew, would die a hundred deaths, with all
the torment the savage mind could invent, rather than enter Quebec on
terms which meant dishonor; for to submit to dictation with a force
adequately sufficient to punish the offenders, he knew savored strongly
of it. He was fully assured, too, that Daniel Morgan would rot and
perish in his Canadian prison rather than buy his freedom at such an
ignoble price!

Finally, to save the threatened slaughter, the document was signed,
contingent on certain modifications of its terms being accepted; the
British officer acceding to them with readiness and evident relief.




CHAPTER XII.

_DISCRETION THE BETTER PART OF VALOR._


Valor, however daring and seemingly reckless of consequences, must at
times yield to the dictates of discretion; so when it became known that
frigates had arrived at Quebec, bringing English, Irish and German
reinforcements, thirteen thousand strong, and that they would no doubt
shortly sail up the river, it seemed evident that to continue further
offensive measures in Canada was entirely without hope of success.
Arnold's proud and masterful spirit would not have quailed before even
this, had not want of supplies in the necessaries of life and field
equipment, such as meat, bread, shoes, clothing and tents, with the
prevalence of malignant types of disease, formed invincible allies to
his enemy. When it was positively known that Carleton and his forces
were making their way up the St. Lawrence, not only to drive out the
invaders, but also to assist in making, with other portions of the
British army, a concerted invasion of New York, Arnold realized that the
junction of Canada with the colonies was an utter impossibility.

Addressing Vanrosfeldt, with whom he was in conference, and who
protested against the abandonment of the enterprise, he exclaimed
impetuously:

"Vanrosfeldt, let us retire and secure our own country before it is too
late. There will be more honor in making a safe retreat, than in
hazarding a battle against so much superiority. Our past endeavors must
have shown we are not lacking in spirit; let us by now withdrawing and
embracing our own safety prove that we are not wanting in sense. Be
assured that I do not thus argue in fear of my personal safety. I am
content to be the last man to quit this province, and am willing to fall
myself, that my country may rise."

"We must, therefore, Colonel, fall back on Fort St. Johns, and then
proceed to Lake Champlain," Vanrosfeldt unwillingly assented.

Accordingly the retreat was reluctantly begun. The leaders watched their
men dejectedly enter the transports, refusing to do so themselves until
the last bluecoat had left them on the shore alone, except for the
straight form of "Red Deer," the faithful Caughnawaga chief, who
stoically stood beside them, the only Canadian who accompanied the army
in retreat. As the last boat disappeared on the stream, the two officers
mounted and rode back to reconnoitre; when coming in sight of the
British columns under Burgoyne, and satisfied of their character and
number, they wheeled on their horses just in time to escape. Galloping
rapidly back to the shore, and stripping his horse of saddle and bridle,
Arnold took a pistol from his holster, and patting the animal's neck,
said:

"Ye shall not fall into the enemy's hands. Better like Caesar to perish
by a friend's! Could ye speak, ye too might say '_Et tu, Brute_!'" and
pointing the fire-arm at the head of the horse, which had so gallantly
carried him through charge and defeat, a bullet went crashing through
his brain, and he fell dead at the feet of his master, who silently
extended the still smoking pistol to Vanrosfeldt that he might do
likewise. Hastily pushing off his boat with his own hands, they leaped
aboard and pulled out into the stream, to overtake the troops, who had
already disappeared in the darkness. Looking back through the gathering
gloom, they saw the savage mournfully regarding them, ere he turned and
vanished in the depths of the forest.

Not many hours afterward, the British regained possession of the fort of
St. Johns, which commanded the Richelieu. This river was the great
highway of war-parties on all occasions of hostility. The fortress,
which was of considerable strength, was surrounded by a ditch sixty feet
broad and ten feet deep. In front of the gateway on the southern face
was a glacis, which, with two drawbridges connecting the north and south
gates with the outworks opposite to them, added materially to the
strength of the defences. The rest of the moat being lined with a
stockade, the approaches were well guarded. The place was of great
strategic importance, controlling one of the gateways into the country,
as, with Lakes Champlain and George and the Hudson River, it formed the
natural route by water to New York. Sir Guy Carleton knew full well the
necessity of obtaining naval supremacy on these waters, that he might
bring his troops within convenient distance of Albany, and by a junction
with the King's troops from the city of New York, isolate New England
from the other States. Both sides being aware that they formed the
easiest route for invasion, both parties during the summer prepared to
vigorously contest their control, and add as materially as possible to
their naval strength. General Carleton contracted with skilled
shipbuilders from Britain, and naval stores were gathered from the fleet
on the St. Lawrence, to supplement which three vessels of war, fully
equipped, had been sent from England. Twenty gunboats and more than two
hundred flat-bottomed boats were constructed at Montreal, the larger
ones, unable to ascend the rapids, being taken to pieces and
reconstructed at St. Johns, making in all a formidable force.

The largest vessel in the fleet was the _Invincible_, a three-masted
ship, carrying twenty twelve-pound guns and ten of smaller size. About
seven hundred well-trained sailors and gunners, commanded by officers of
known experience and tested skill, manned the boats, upon which was to
embark an army of twelve thousand soldiers and marines.

Washington, looking anxiously toward the same purpose, committed to
Arnold the apparently hopeless task of opposing the overwhelming force
in course of preparation. Although every stick of timber for the little
flotilla would have to be cut from New England forests, where in June it
was still growing, and stores have to be carried from the tidewater of
the Atlantic, over roads which were nearly impassable, yet, without
questioning, he enthusiastically commenced operations.

His father having been a seafaring man, with that early association, and
a knowledge of shipbuilding and seacraft, he became the life of the
dockyard, keeping adze, calking-iron and oakum constantly busy night
and day. Continually going to and fro, he urged on the work with burning
zeal, making estimates for mechanics, seamen, naval supplies, and, in
fact, everything needful to equip, build, man and arm his little fleet
of "gundalows" that bore no semblance, save in name, to those that
floated on moonlit Venetian lagoons. Their builder, unsustained by the
faintest hope that he could accomplish anything that would at all
compare with the well constructed armament preparing in British waters,
nevertheless resolved to oppose to the utmost of his power its reaching
Ticonderoga.

With colors flying from the masthead of his battleship, General Carleton
had landed at the port of Montreal in the early summer. Standing on the
deck, he glanced over the fields and green woodlands lying warm in the
Canadian sunshine, and on the water flashing in a golden sparkle in the
westering sun, upon which his last voyage had been made in the dead of
night as a fugitive. With the inspiration of the contrasting
circumstances lighting up his countenance, he said, addressing Captain
Temple:

"The natural elation which this occasion cannot fail to excite, together
with the report that Arnold and his men are hurrying south, is tempered
by a matter of personal concern, namely, my anxiety in regard to the
health of my friend Davenant, whom the trials and troubles of our late
siege have woefully shattered, both in mind and body. I would I had
tidings of his present condition. I am aware, Temple, that ye stand in
friendly relations to his family, so feel that we have common interest
in their well-being. If by any means ye can obtain information as to
their state, I beg your service in the matter."

"It shall be my first duty, General, as soon as I can leave my ship, to
make the needful inquiries, and immediately report the result; as not
only my desire to serve Your Excellency, but my own fears and interest,
render me concerned to seek out their whereabouts and learn of their
condition and circumstances. I shall, at the earliest moment possible,
proceed to their late home and seek to gain tidings of them."

In accordance with his promise, a few hours after reaching port Basil
Temple bent his steps to the nearest gate of the town, entering which,
his way lay by the grey stone walls surrounding the Chteau de Lrie.
The garden was redolent with the breath of flowers, and the sweet,
seductive smell of moist, green earth, bringing to his mind the scent of
English orchards in May. A sigh escaped him as he thought of that
moonlit November night, when on the withered leaves he had last trodden
its walks, with heart sore and bruised, that though he had wooed he
could not win sweet Phyllis Davenant. He remembered her gracious,
radiant loveliness as he pleaded his suit, and the gentle answer of her
guileless heart, as pure as the lilies growing in stately ranks beside
the garden paths; and at the vision of her winsome maidenhood, war-tried
sailor though he was, he could have wept with longing for one tender
word from her lips. As the breeze came to him filled with the scent of
roses, there came memories of other roses, brave, red, English roses in
another garden far over the sea, where he had once dreamed she might
some day walk by his side.

With bowed head and heart heavy with misgiving, and aching with bitter
thoughts, he went along the familiar way. He heard not the chirp of the
robin nor the vesper fluting of the wood-thrush; he felt not the
sweetness of the summer evening; his mind in all ruth and tenderness was
only on the grey-gabled house near the Recollet Gate, that had once held
the bright presence of the girl whose image still filled his heart, and
for whom he would willingly give up his life, if so be hers would be the
happier. The great chimneys at length came in view, and with a throb,
half joy and half pain, he approached the door and knocked. His pulses
beat in a tumult of excitement which no roar of cannon could produce,
lest the fears which he would scarce own to himself should become a
sickening certainty, and with almost a sense of suffocation he waited an
answer to his summons.

The door quietly opened, and with all the English bloom fled from her
cheeks, and with face white as a lily, Phyllis stood before him. Without
waiting for greeting, she held out her hands, saying tremblingly:

"Oh, Captain Temple, come and help me in this my hour of sorest need,"
and burying her face in her hands, she tried in vain to check the sobs
which shook her slight form like a reed in the wind.

Closing the door, and striving desperately to hold back the mad longing
to take her in his arms, he asked in a voice deep with pity and alarm:

"Phyllis, my Phyllis, what is it?"

"Oh, my father!" was all she could gasp in reply, and silently beckoning
him to follow, she led him to an upper chamber, where on a couch lay the
once soldierly form of Colonel Davenant. As they entered, a look of
recognition and relief lighted up the wasted features of the man, fast
sinking into death. With a gleam of returning consciousness, he
stretched out his hand and laid it on the sailor's strong, brown one,
saying feebly:

"Basil Temple, ye are a good man and true. With the insight which comes
to the dying, I know I can trust you to help my daughter, my little
Phyllis, to leave this distracted land and reach her kindred in old
England, whose quiet vales, alas! I never more shall see. Promise me
that ye will not betray my trust, and I will die content."

Through the quiet of the chamber, in which the clock relentlessly ticked
the moments of her father's life away, to the ears of the girl leaning
over him in speechless grief, came the low, earnest words:

"I solemnly promise, on the honest word of a sailor, and by the holy
memory of my dead mother, to do your will and bidding, by the help of
God, though it cost me life itself; and may heaven be denied me if I
willingly or heedlessly betray the sacred trust."

A faint pressure of the hand, a few moments' waiting and watching, and
Basil Temple led away the sorrow-stricken girl, who then owned no kin
nearer than those in a land across leagues of rolling ocean.

As soon as the first violence of grief had spent itself, and as
immediate action was necessary, he inquired:

"If I can find safe means to send you to my cousin, Anne Temple, now
sojourning with kinsfolk in Philadelphia, will ye be willing to go to
her?"

"Oh," she sobbed, "I would I had again my mother! I am so lone, so lorn!
Could I tell you the weary anxiety and grieving of these long, sad
months which have passed, you would understand my craving for a woman's
sympathy, and how good it is now to hear a kind friend's voice. I have
heard of this sweet cousin of yours, from those who have met her in that
city, and have learned that her beauty of form and feature in no wise
exceeds her kindliness of heart. I will gladly go to her."

Noting his look of surprise, she added:

"I have heard you make mention of this fair cousin of yours, and too,
Major Vanrosfeldt hath spoken in her praise;" and the man, looking at
her, felt as if a sword-blade pierced his heart at the sight of the
faint color stealing into her pale cheeks on the mention of that name,
and a light it brought to her tearful eyes, which he himself would have
given a king's ransom to be powerful to do. But for this he might have
again besought her to give him the right to bear her over the seas to
the old, ivy-grown hall among the fair meadows of Kent.




CHAPTER XIII.

_SHIPS IN BATTLE._


The dreaming October woods had burst into scarlet and golden-yellow,
like the bloom of tropic flowers, here and there touched with the warm
pink of the heart of the northern rose; and the British fleet was
entering the crystal-green waters of Lake Champlain. In front, under
full sail, rode the _Invincible_, with two schooners, the _Lady Maria_
and the _Carleton_, in her wake. Following them came the rest of the
fleet, gunboats and transports, all fully equipped with men and guns.
With a strength in fighting ships more than double that of the enemy, no
practical opposition was anticipated from them.

In the cabin of the flagship, a young girl, with the pensiveness of
recent sorrow upon her, sat gazing out over the water, to where the
shores lay calm and beautiful under the clear blue sky, and the wooded
banks, in all the brightness of crimson, russet and bronze, faded away
into the dark evergreens and mist of the distant hills. The still
serenity of the peaceful scene seemed to accord ill with the warlike
attitude and hostile atmosphere on board a battleship. Although the
tender melancholy of autumn, speaking of death and decay, brought the
tears unbidden to her eyes, Phyllis entertained no fears nor felt any
apprehensions for her safety, for, fully confident that the superior
strength of the British fleet precluded the possibility of any material
resistance being offered, Captain Temple had prevailed upon her to take
the risk of running down to New York, whence it would be easy, with a
flag, to proceed to Philadelphia.

She had accordingly taken advantage of the fleet, and gone on board as
it set sail for Lake Champlain. On the deck above, a young priest paced
to and fro, at the moment of starting having offered himself as chaplain
to General Carleton, who commanded the squadron. A number of the troops
being of the Roman Catholic faith, his services were accepted, in case
any poor fellow, mortally wounded, might wish to be confessed and
shriven ere he died.

Arnold, aware of his inferiority in ships and weight of metal,
determined to avoid meeting the enemy in the open lake, where he might
be flanked and surrounded, so he proceeded to a strong position between
Valcour Island and the western shore. There both wings would be covered,
and he could be attacked only in front. Then, with three schooners, two
sloops, three galleys and eight "gundalows," fitted out with fighting
men and such seamen and gunners as he could get together, he waited to
resist by as furious an opposition as possible the expected advance.

In the blue haziness of daybreak on October eleventh, a small guard-boat
stationed as a sentinel on the lake brought him word that the British
fleet was approaching, and soon it was perceived moving over the water
in all the majesty of full sail in a favoring breeze.

On board the _Invincible_ Carleton suddenly became aware of the masts
and hulls of shipping hidden between Valcour Island and the main shore.
Captain Temple at the same moment made a like discovery, and turning to
the commander he said confidently:

"It is as I have surmised, Your Excellency; that insignificant fleet of
whale-boats skulking in the lee of yonder island can offer no serious
opposition to our course. With a fair wind, not many hours hence will
see us holding the key of the situation;" but Sir Guy, remembering the
desperate valor of his adversary, said slowly:

"The man in command of that fleet will defy any odds. I do not forget
his admirable audacity before the walls of Quebec; and observe, even
now, without waiting for our attack, he is moving forward to resist our
smaller vessels in front; but we will soon bring upon him the
consequences of his incredible assurance."

At mid-day, the British being ranged within musket-shot of the American
line of battle, the action opened and soon became general, and from the
shore of the mainland to the island, the hostile fleets fired at close
range. Arnold, in the _Congress_ galley, to which he had gone after
abandoning the _Royal Savage_, which had been run aground, anchored in
the hottest part of the fire, utterly regardless of risk or danger.
During the long hours of the afternoon a terrible cannonading was
continually kept up with round and grape shot, accompanied by a
constant blaze of rifles from Indians hid in the depths of the adjacent
forests. The sounds of the heavy guns reverberating over the water and
rolling among the hills, made a din so horrible that those holding Crown
Point could there hear the struggle upon which their fate depended. The
_Congress_, upon which Arnold and Vanrosfeldt were fighting, the latter
pointing the guns for the clumsy and inexperienced gunners, was kept in
the thickest of the combat, and bearing the brunt of the battle, and
although it was torn by repeated shots between wind and water, hulled a
dozen times, the rigging riddled to pieces, and the deck strewn with the
dead and dying, those commanding it had no thought of submission. By
their example of reckless daring and wild cheering, they sustained, by
word and act, the courage of their men until sundown, showing themselves
still unbeaten, though terribly crippled. Turning toward Vanrosfeldt, in
whom hope was at last beginning to give way, Arnold shouted defiantly:

"Major, we may go down, but it will be with our flag flying! I will
never surrender!"

Feeling confident of ultimate success, and the early darkness of autumn
fast falling, Carleton posted his ships across the channel, by which, if
escape were attempted, it would have to be made, but which he fully
believed was impossible, and that with morning the capture of the whole
flotilla was certain.

Such, however, was not the view held in the shattered, dismantled little
fleet lying in the deep haze which was gradually rising and hiding the
hulls of the belligerents from each other.

On the deck of the _Congress_, slippery with blood--the yards adrip with
the clammy fog--Arnold and Vanrosfeldt took council together. Their
faces were blackened with powder, and their clothes torn and stained
with the blood of their fallen comrades, who had gone down in the water
surging blue and white around them, when suddenly the latter said
tersely:

"There is but a single course open to us, Colonel,--it is but one chance
in a thousand--and only one! With our ammunition almost spent, we must
run for it! This fog, now rapidly rising and thickening, may be our
salvation."

Silently then towards midnight--in the darkness made ghastly by the
white, wavering mist--the first ship, like a phantom of the air, glided
out, the others following with lights out, save for a single lanthorn in
the stern of each, to guide the one in its wake. In a breathless silence
they passed, one by one, unperceived, between the hostile vessels.
Bringing up the rear, the _Congress_ was the last to steal through the
danger line. Undiscovered, she too sailed by the last spar; and heeling
to the breeze which at the moment arose, they all bore swiftly over the
lake.

On the rising of the sun, the lifting mists spread rainbow tints over
forest and lapping water, when it seemed to the English tars, with not a
thread of hostile rigging in sight, as if the American fleet had been
swallowed up in the waves. Finding instead, that it had stolen away in
the favoring fog and darkness of the night, sails were immediately set
and pursuit taken up. The fugitives were at length sighted, with every
inch of canvas spread, flying toward Crown Point, hoping to be able to
attack the British from that defensible position. In a reckless frenzy,
to give the others time to escape and utterly heedless of consequences,
the _Congress_ was kept in the rear, and allowed to receive the
incessant fire poured upon her, and which she returned to the best of
her ability. Although so disabled that she could not fly, yet she would
not surrender, or strike her flag, which those in pursuit could see
through the smoke of their guns still flying gallantly, though torn to
tatters and black with powder. After sustaining broadside after
broadside, and a complete wreck, the ship was run boldly between the
opposing vessels into a small bay. On passing by the _Invincible_,
determined that his last shot should tell, Vanrosfeldt fired at the
deck, where a naval officer who was directing some gunners received the
full charge, and fell with a groan.

Beaching his then useless craft, Arnold ordered his marines to jump
overboard with their small-arms and wade ashore, and handing a torch to
a seaman, it was applied to the tarred sides and rigging, and the ship
was soon ablaze. Lingering until the fire had made sufficient headway,
the sailors leaped from the bowsprit, and with a last look at the
flagstaff, up which it was already creeping, all took to the woodland
paths.

Setting fire to the buildings at Crown Point on their way, they pressed
on to Ticonderoga, the lurid flames behind them leaping red against the
smoke-dimmed sky. Thus was partially destroyed a post of great
importance among northern defences, it being strongly built, some
fifteen hundred yards square, with stout walls sixteen feet thick, by
twenty feet high.

Through the din of the fierce fighting, Phyllis had found shelter below,
panic-stricken as the awful sounds of the bloody conflict reached her
ears. In the terrible months since the gay, light-hearted days in the
sunny gardens at Montreal, she had become familiar with the cruel
features of war, and capable of the brave bearing and self-repression,
which to tender women are possible, in times in which even men's souls
are tried. No cry of alarm had fallen from her pale lips; only the drawn
lines around them, a low moaning, and the occasional wringing of her
hands, told of her mental torture, as, pacing to and fro in the narrow
space, she listened to dying shrieks of agony or cries of pain mingling
with the hoarse shouts of battle. Toward evening the noise of the fight
gradually lessened, the sinking sun sending crimson shafts of light
across the wet, red decks, when she saw four marines carry below a form,
bleeding and disabled. She at once knelt beside the wounded man, seeking
if haply by some means she could do aught to ease his misery. She
shuddered, but showed no sign of shrinking, even when the sailor, who
had received Vanrosfeldt's last shot, turned his face toward her, and
she saw the pallid, pain-distorted features of Basil Temple. Bleeding
from wounds in the side and right arm, he lay with closed eyes, but he
forgot the cruel torment of the lacerated flesh and weakening of the
flowing blood as he felt her soft fingers bathe and bind his wound, and
warm tear-drops fall upon his brow, as Phyllis, bending over him, spoke
words of gentlest pity. Through the pain came to him the thought of how
he would fight to win back life if the love of that woman were but for
him, and how less hard it would be to die under the touch of that hand
than live to see it claimed by another, and then a blessed
unconsciousness crept over his senses, and love and jealousy and pain
faded away in the mists of forgetfulness, and he knew no more. The night
passed, and with an overpowering sense of weakness he again opened his
eyes, and in the dim light of the cabin, saw sitting watching beside him
two figures in black. At first he thought the face nearest him must be
that of some fair angel come to minister to his passing soul, but
emerging from the lethargy that held his senses, he whispered,
"Phyllis!"

Immediately she leaned over him, and forgetting the conventionalities of
mere friendship, called him by the name his mother, who slept in the
little Kentish churchyard within sound of the sea, had given him.

"Basil, I am here."

A light of rapture shone from the half-closed eyes as he heard the
intimate, familiar word, and with a great effort he said:

"Phyllis, I am a dying man--I love you--love you, dear."

She bowed her head and bent towards him, compassionate tears flowing
fast as she thought of the mental pain added to his bodily anguish. The
priest arose and went to the farthest corner of the cabin, seemingly
buried in prayer. The silence was broken again, the words coming
faintly:

"I would die happy--could I know--that for the brief moments I have left
on earth, you were my plighted wife; but even these few seconds of
happiness may not be mine."

"If it would ease in any wise your pain and misery, gladly would I grant
this grace," she whispered softly, her eyes wide with awe and a sweet
compassion. Quickly, from the recess to which he had retired, the priest
stepped to their side, and in a low voice said, as he still kept his
features hidden in the shadow, which hitherto prevented their being
seen:

"Sister, the man is dying--soothe his last moments by granting his
prayer."

With face as colorless as the one regarding her with a wistful longing,
she quietly placed one hand on the wounded one, and the other on the
book of prayers the monk held in his hand, and in the silence whispered
solemnly and sweetly:

"I promise, while your life shall last."

As she finished, a faint whisper came to her ear:

"Kiss me once, my sweet love," and she put her lips to his cheek, with
all the tender grace and gentleness which were her dower. He smiled, and
with a sigh of indescribable content lapsed again into a state of
unconsciousness.

A sudden movement of the Jesuit caused her to raise her eyes, and as he
turned, as if to avoid meeting her glance, a ray of candlelight fell
upon his features, and starting she exclaimed:

"Leon de Lrie!"

Frowning and taking no notice of her outstretched hand, he said coldly,
in the passionless restraint of the monastery:

"Know me as Jerome, the Jesuit; I bear no other name."

Stunned and bewildered, she shrank away, not daring to inquire if, from
what seemed a blood-mark upon his brow, he too had been wounded.

Day followed night, and the surgeon did his work without question from
the girl at the bedside. At last, weary and worn and faint with
watching, she whispered tremulously to him:

"Is the end near?"

Turning quickly to search her face, he said:

"The end is far off, I have good reason to hope. Though weak and sorely
wounded he will recover. I am glad to be able to assure you that when he
awakes from this healing sleep he will be past danger."

Her slight start, as of fear, caused him to pause as he was turning
away, and his medical skill was at a loss to account for the sudden look
of dismay which overspread her features. Fearing that the unexpected
revulsion of feeling might end in a collapse of her overwrought powers,
he encouraged her with every possible hope, until seeing her, by a great
effort, rally, he passed on to attend to other more critical cases.

Hours passed, and as Basil slept she sat motionless, in a numb despair,
realizing she was bound, by a promise circumstances made sacred, to the
man who lay before her, while all the love of her heart belonged to
another. Conscious that the evil had been wrought unwittingly, she felt
only a tender compassion for him, who had not then, nor ever could have,
from her aught save pity for the cruel wrong a wayward fate had dealt
him.

At length, a faint moan escaping from his lips, she found his eyes fixed
sadly upon her. Great drops of misery beaded his brow, as regarding her
he said:

"Phyllis, I have acted a dastard's part. Thus unworthily have I
fulfilled your father's dying trust. I cannot fling away the life which
is coming back to me unsought, but I pray heaven the bullet is already
cast that will rid me of it. One kiss is all of plighted troth that I
have craved, and I swear by all a man holds honorable and most holy, it
shall be the last. In the face of what seemed certain death, I laid
these unwelcome bonds upon you, but trust me, the vows of yonder
priestly celibate are not more sacred and binding than this I now take
upon me--of holding you to them only for the right to protect your
innocence from harm until you are safe with friends or kindred."

Leaning towards him, with a look and tone which made more keenly bitter
to him the keeping of his promise, she said quietly, with a gratitude
but all too apparent:

"Basil Temple, as my dying father said, 'You are a good man and true.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

The British found Crown Point when they arrived unfit for occupation,
and the ruins still smouldering from the burning by Arnold. Their
repair so late in the season was thought to be unadvisable, so word was
at once sent to Burgoyne, who was encamped some miles away, summoning
him to confer as to the wisdom of proceeding to Ticonderoga, to which
Arnold had fled.

No sooner was it night, and the sky above them darkened by the smoke
from the ruined buildings, than the British troops, exhausted by the
tumult of the day, hurriedly prepared to bivouac on the field. Unnoticed
in the confusion, a dark form from among them stole into a half-ruined
cellar, and, creeping from stone to stone, hastily took the trail along
which the Continentals had fled a few hours before. All through the
hours of the night he hurried light-footed in the damp and rustling
woods, starting at even the sound of his own footfalls. From time to
time he stopped and hearkened, lest the far-away cry of the wild
creatures of the forest, or the distant whistle of the brown deer from
its hemlock covert, might be the running of pursuers on his track,
suspicious of his deserting to the enemy.

Without food, and with only water from the lake, which he ventured to
the shore to hurriedly drink, the morning brought a lagging of energy in
the slight frame, almost womanly in its delicacy. As the grey dawn
defined the scene more clearly, the fugitive, weary-white, scanned the
lake shore anxiously for a sight of the walls of Fort Ticonderoga, which
he knew could not be far distant, only twelve miles lying between it and
the one he had left. As the sun rose he pressed on, until, among the
crimsoning green of the dreamy woods, the abutments of the fort could
be distinctly seen; but a full half-mile still lay between the gate and
the tired feet dragging themselves toward it. The stones and brambles on
the way had torn his flesh and wounded his feet, but with the goal in
sight he rallied again, righting with a dimness in the eye and a sound
of rushing water in the ear for which the placid lapping of the lake
gave no reason. But a few more rods were left, when, with a sudden
darkening of the skies and a feeling of helpless sinking, he fell.

A few minutes after, a small body of soldiers, detailed by Major
Vanrosfeldt to scout along the narrow path on the shore, and report if
any fresh movement on the part of the British was apparent, came upon
the prostrate form of a Jesuit priest, senseless, white, but still
breathing. Stooping over him, one of them exclaimed:

"A monk, and none other! I have not seen one with this cut of coat since
I left the white convent at Quebec, where but for the good nursing of
some of his faith, more than one of us lads would now be lying within
sound of their chapel bell. Now it is our turn, boys, and we will carry
this holy man into the fort."

As they lifted the prostrate and helpless form, the cowl fell back,
revealing the delicate, marble-like features, and the same speaker
exclaimed:

"By my faith, if he is not the Brother Jerome who, though he be not
quite to the mind of a staunch Puritan, spoke holy words when neither
parson nor deacon could reach my bed!"

Bearing him in their arms they carried the light burden, and laid him,
dressed as he was, on one of their own cots in the barracks. By Major
Vanrosfeldt's commands, light nourishment and stimulants were given on
the return of consciousness, when he was left to recover from his
exhaustion and exposure by rest and sleep. At nightfall, when lying in
the dim light of a single candle, and able to give an account of
himself, the boy-Jesuit recalled to that officer's mind the presence of
a priest in the sloop in which he left Quebec, saying he was one and the
same, and that he was desirous of attaching himself to the Patriot army
in order to reach Philadelphia, where he was, when required, to do
churchly duty among the French allies.

The same day General Burgoyne joined Sir Guy Carleton to consider the
advisability of an immediate attack on the fort. The assault was
reluctantly abandoned for reasons which seemed valid and weighty,
namely, that the place was well garrisoned and supplied with stores and
ammunition; that stormy weather was threatening, which would interfere
with the passage of the bateaux; that supplies needful for the
sustenance of a force sufficiently strong to hold possession of the
place until spring, would have to be carried by land through an
unsettled region, one hundred miles in extent, exposing those conveying
them to attacks and ambushes, all of which rendered the undertaking of
doubtful wisdom.

Accordingly the British fleet set sail for Canada to go into winter
quarters, the Hessians to lie along the banks of the Richelieu and Lake
St. Peter, their leader, the Baron Fredrich Adolph Von Riedesel, to
take up his temporary position in the vicinity of the little cluster of
houses known as Three Rivers. There his wife, the Baroness, and her
children were expected to join him, they having left Wolfenbutten, near
Brunswick, the May previous.

As the _Invincible_ drew near Quebec, Phyllis stood in the bow gazing at
the grey walls, the tears almost blinding them from her sight, as
poignant memories of the past rushed to her mind. From yonder ramparts
had fluttered her signal of distress; from yonder gate she had fled for
protection to the man standing on the deck a few feet from her. He was
apparently intent on the docking of the ship, but she could not but know
that he was sharing her thoughts--remembering her terror and perils on
that day. As she thought of his gallant efforts to succor her in her
helplessness, she was filled with a deep pity and gratitude, which she
might have thought was love, could she have forgotten a winter eve on
that same river, and the words of another: "Remember, there was one man
who loved you with a love than which no man can ever feel a greater."
Alas! she knew it was not love that set her heart a-beating, but rather
some measure of fear, as turning, with a few quick strides he stood
beside her. His own was weighted with a heavy oppression, and still pale
from his wounding, his face bleached to a deadly hue, as knowing that
the hour of parting had come, he wot not when he might again look into
those blue, troubled eyes, with their tear-wet lashes. Scarce daring to
meet their gaze, he bent over her. Looking down to hide the signs of her
emotion, she held out her hand in silent farewell. Suddenly he grasped
it and holding it fast, as if he could not let her go, he said in a low
voice, in a tremor that would not be restrained:

"Phyllis, Heaven alone knows when we two may meet again. You are my
plighted wife; but those words spoken to one whom ye thought to be a
dying man shall not bind you to me if your heart says otherwise. With
the help of God I will strive to forget them, to think of them as
unsaid, but my darling--that kiss--its sweetness and tender pity burn
and break my heart! I, a sailor who has seen battle and death in many
forms without flinching, am weak and unstable as the water flowing
around us, in the intensity of my love for you. Have I even the faintest
hope that I may ever win a measure of yours in return? Can ye love me,
Phyllis?"

Gently withdrawing her hand, laying it upon his arm, and looking up as
once before she had done in the old chteau in Montreal, her grief and
distress scarcely less than his own, she answered:

"Basil Temple, between us there should be nothing but perfect
understanding. In sight of those ramparts and with our mutual memories,
I would speak to you naught but the simple truth. You are too gallant,
too chivalrous and noble to have aught else. Less than a woman's whole
heart would be unworthy your acceptance. Alas! it is not in my power to
give it to you."

At that moment the vessel was moored, and leading her silently to the
gang-plank, unable to accompany her ashore himself, he placed her in
charge of an inferior, to conduct her to the city. Taking her hand in
parting he bowed low over it, in fashion as courtly and deferential as
if at the throne of his Queen. Not a word was spoken to detain her--not
a syllable of entreaty--only a low-breathed "God keep you--may all fair
fortune attend you," and he was alone with only taunting longings and
haunting memories. As he watched the slender figure ascend the steep
road and at last disappear, he groaned: "Heaven help me!"

Within the city walls, to which after the lifting of the siege they had
at last found ingress, Phyllis sought and found asylum with Monsieur and
Madame de Lrie. The once handsome face of the mother was pale and wan,
and sadly lined through sleepless nights and days of grieving. Taking
Phyllis, who was weeping bitterly at the sight, into her arms, the
forlorn woman said:

"Ah, my dear child, to see your sweet face brings back to me my lost
Thrse. Stay with me, child, and we will be mother and daughter. Raoul
is well-nigh mad with grief at the mystery surrounding the fate of his
betrothed, whom he has loved since her childhood. He lives but for
revenge, and there is promise of good opportunity therefor, as the great
lords in England are planning a grand _coup d'tat_, which will utterly
quell this insane revolt. General Burgoyne, with the German mercenaries,
as some call them, is to proceed by the Richelieu and Champlain towards
the Hudson, up which General Howe will advance to meet him, and a third
contingent will sail up this river to a point called Oswego, on Lake
Ontario, and there will be joined by Sir John Johnson, and the Indians
of the Mohawk valley. The three commands will combine forces near
Albany, and thus cripple the enemy, so that they must be utterly
crushed, and taught a lesson they will not soon forget. It is to the
last named expedition that Raoul has offered himself, and if this Major
Vanrosfeldt, who retreated with Arnold, and who, he has learned, is in
command of one of the forts he is to attack, ever meet him face to face,
there will be a short shrift for the destroyer of his happiness and our
innocent Thrse."

In the weeks which followed, it somewhat weaned Phyllis from dwelling too
much upon the nursing of her own sorrows to have to soothe and cheer the
drooping mother, to give her hope after repeated disappointments, and to
ward off despair when that seemed all that was left. The childish
dependence upon herself, a mere girl, of the once gay, self-reliant
woman, was pitiable to behold, and called out all the tenderness of her
nature.

The one break in the monotonous seclusion of their lives was when the
New Year's eve again came round, and Quebec was to celebrate with
thanksgiving and rejoicing her deliverance from the menace of the year
before. The town had again resumed its old-time social atmosphere and
_habitant_ life. The streets were alive with people in holiday garb. The
petty noble, with flashing black eyes and grand air, strode along in his
rich furs and silken sash, or drove over the snowy roads in his
gaily-robed carriole, by the side of some pretty demoiselle in her
bright winter dress. The half-wild woodsman, in his embroidered
moccasins and leggings, had come in from camp or forest trail to keep
the festive season in family gatherings around the home hearth.
Long-robed, cowled friars hurried by, between vigils and prayers, in
striking contrast to the picturesque scene.

In the morning, with the January sun shining unclouded and clear, the
church bells called to special services, ringing out joyously over the
snow-white streets; and from nave and choir, through cathedral chancel
and transept, the "Jubilate" swelled and echoed. There were prayers of
thankfulness and songs of praise--then a solemn hush and the measured
tread of feet, as eight unhappy wretches, with downcast eyes and halters
around their necks, marched toward the altar-rails, and knelt upon the
steps. To show their penitence for having sympathized with the invaders,
they had, in the sight and hearing of the people, to crave the pardon of
God, the Church and their King. After the masses and services were
ended, there were promenading, marching and parading, the guns of the
fortress, above which floated the standard of England against the wintry
sky, roaring a _feu de joie_.

In the evening the city was ablaze with light and revelry, and the
streets gay with guests in festive attire, hieing them to Castle St.
Louis to hold revel with dance and feasting.

At Governor Carleton's board, sixty guests sat down to a banquet, and
amid toasts and a merry tinkling of glasses, with flowing Madeira and
old sack, he was felicitated upon the change of fortune the twelve
moons had brought around. Phyllis, in her sombre black, was seated
beside the Baroness Von Riedesel, the wife of the commander of the
Hessian allies. She had some time before arrived in the Colony to join
her husband, a brave soldier who had been shamefully sold by his own
prince to fight in a foreign war.

In no mood for revels or merry-making, Phyllis had tremblingly shrunk
from the thought of taking part in a scene of gaiety, but Madame de
Lrie, whose mind was breaking down under the strain of sorrow and
distress, insisted that she do the Lady Carleton's bidding, showing a
childish delight in the thought that it was to hold high festival for
the repulse of the hated foes who had stolen her child and broken her
heart. To please her, Phyllis had overcome her repugnance and allowed
the poor weak-minded woman to dress her hair, and put on her here and
there an ornament, being scarcely able to keep back her tears as the
bereft mother, seeming at times to think that it was her own Thrse she
was decking for a fte, called Phyllis by her child's name.

In her place among the guests at the castle, in spite of her utmost
self-restraint, the tears there would not be controlled, but filled her
eyes at the sight of her father's vacant place being filled by another.
Noticing the fluctuating color of the girl's face and the trembling of
her hands, the kind-hearted Baroness turned to her and said:

"This night is strangely in contrast to this hour a year ago."

"Yes, Madame, that terrible night leaves hard and bitter memories," and
glancing at her black dress, and thinking of what it betokened, she
sighed:

"Alas, Madame, war, whether it bring victory or defeat, means sad hearts
and empty places."

Seeing the restraint the girl was putting upon herself in striving to
control her feelings, the considerate German gentlewoman strove to lead
her thoughts away from the crowding memories of the past by telling her
of the sunny Rhineland, of her own home among the vineyards of Germany,
and the old castle on the cliff where her children were born. As Phyllis
listened, the tense lines of her face softened, and as the good lady
told her humorous anecdotes of her rough voyage, and of her reception at
the English court, she smiled, and even a silvery laugh rang out, as
with an amused _moue_, the Baroness told how the King had kissed her at
the drawing-room at his royal palace.

"You see, _meine liebe_," she said, "the Queen had graciously expressed
a wish to see me, so my Lady Germaine, whose husband, as you know, is
the minister for these colonies, with great tact and kindness presented
me with a court-dress, in which to appear worthily before their
Majesties in their London palace, which, when we arrived, to speak the
truth, I thought was somewhat old-fashioned in its furniture. At the
hour appointed, the ladies and gentlemen all took their places in the
audience chamber, when the King, with three gentlemen walking in front
of him, came into the room, the Queen following with a lady holding up
her train, and attended by a gentleman-in-waiting. The King proceeded
to the right and the Queen to the left, speaking graciously to every one
as they passed. At the end of the room they met, bowed low, each then
going to the side left by the other. I whispered to my Lady Germaine,
who was presenting me, and asked: 'What shall I do?' She replied: 'There
is nothing to be done but stand in our places.' When the King came up to
me I was much astonished to have him kiss me, and I blushed scarlet, not
expecting so much condescension. His Majesty then inquired about my
husband, saying kindly: 'Every one is pleased with the Baron, and I
trust the cold in that country will not hurt him,' and with a pleasant
bow he went on. The Queen was also very kind, asking me if I were not
afraid to cross the sea. I replied that it was the only way I could see
my husband, whereat, smiling and praising my courage, she too moved
away."

When at last the ladies withdrew from the board, leaving the gentlemen
to their wine, the Baroness kept Phyllis at her side, and with words of
sympathy drew out her story. Her interest did not end with the evening,
and in the days of the new year Phyllis's chilled and burdened heart was
warmed and eased under the tender words of her new friend. With that
strange, unaccountable attraction, which at times ripens a chance
intimacy of a few days into a friendship which seems to have the
maturity of years, the two women were closely drawn toward each other,
the exiled Baroness thinking that Phyllis's Saxon blue eyes reminded her
of the fair-haired maidens of her Teuton kindred.

Whether it was the anniversary memories or a sudden giving way of the
mental faculties, Madame de Lrie grew rapidly worse. The last few
months became a blank to her, and she was possessed by the illusion that
Thrse was still in the convent, and thither she begged piteously to be
taken. When opposed in her desire, she fell into such a frenzy that it
was deemed advisable to put her in retreat. As she longed for the
convent, thither she was taken and placed under the care of the Abbess,
her sister, who, overcome by what she protested had been brought about
by her own lack of vigilance and wisdom, gave the poor, mind-beclouded
creature, who was quite passive in her hands, the most tender care. Each
night as she placed her securely in the cell next to her own, where
Thrse had once donned her veil of disguise, the nun bent her steps to
the chapel and there knelt, with hands clasped in an agony of prayer and
penitence, the grey dawn creeping through the narrow windows often
finding her still on her knees prostrate on the altar steps.

Phyllis, once more left friendless and homeless, was taken to the
motherly care and domestic circle of the good Frau Von Riedesel, and
when early in the year they returned to their temporary home in Three
Rivers, she journeyed thither with them and became a member of the
Baroness' household.

       *       *       *       *       *

With the coming of spring the sap once again ran sweet in the maples of
Canadian woods. Under the blue skies the bee sipped from the pink and
white of flowering fields, and the swallow dipped its wing in the sunny
air. With the opening of the streams and lakes, the Baron, impatient
for action, had once more led his Hessians into the field, leaving
somewhat unwillingly the women and children in the rustic quiet of their
humble and unfamiliar surroundings.

Along the paths of the quaint little French village of Three Rivers the
matronly form of the German gentlewoman, with her blue-eyed children,
and the gold-haired English girl, with her sweet, sad face and sombre
garments, soon became objects of familiar interest to the peasant women
of the hamlet. As they sat at their doors spinning in the sunlight,
singing little Breton lullabys or crooning folk-songs to the babe
rocking in the cradle at their side, they were glad in their simple
hearts when they could offer them kindness or civility.

In the peaceful and sequestered seclusion of the spot, the weeks passed
without event, until the summer suns of mid-July were yellowing the
fields of rye and barley, and the wind shaking the ripening young apples
to the ground, when the little hamlet was thrown into a frenzy of
excitement at a flotilla of frigates sailing up the river to proceed as
far as it was navigable by such craft. It was soon known that the _coup
d'tat_ had begun, and that Colonel St. Leger was making for Oswego, to
join with the other British commands in simultaneously crushing what
they looked upon as an insane and mad revolt, which they were confident
could hope for nothing save ultimate disaster. The women prayed and
waited, until at length, when the maize in the fields was filling in the
ear, and the August twilight lengthening the purpling shadows in the
forest, a body-guard of soldiers arrived in the village. They brought a
message from the Baron, who was camped at Fort Edward, conveying his
desire that his wife and her household should immediately join him
there. He would have them change the dull picturesqueness of an obscure
Canadian village for a share in the army's anticipated triumphal entry
into New York.

With loving alacrity the summons was obeyed, Phyllis to accompany the
Baroness, who, assured by her confidence in her husband's success in
arms, looked upon the venture as a mere summer jaunt of pleasure.
Blithely they embarked in the boats provided for their conveyance over
the first stage of the progress, which was to be by water; the remainder
of the journey to be continued by land over roads which had been
purposely obstructed by the enemy to hamper and retard as much as
possible the movements of the British troops. So successfully had this
been done that it had taken the general's men a month to compass the
twenty-five miles lying between Skeensborough and Fort Edward. To the
travellers it was so exhausting that their arrival at last at their
destination was most grateful. Expecting shortly to hear of the fall of
Fort Schuyler, which it was St. Leger's purpose to reduce, and fully
believing that Howe was moving up the river, General Burgoyne, with the
wit of a man of fashion, and the gallantry of a soldier who was certain
of victory, in his bravest attire welcomed the ladies to the fort. He
assured the baroness that it would be a mere sojourn of pleasure, as
British soldiers never retreat, and the crushing of those impudent
rebels being then, he was confident, but a matter of a few days, the
noble baron, her husband, would ere long receive the thanks and honors
of the British Sovereign; the only precaution he deemed it desirable to
take being the preventing of the enemy's intercepting St. Leger, and
thus retarding this desirable culmination, of whose certainty, to his
mind, there could not be the shadow of a doubt.




CHAPTER XIV.

_DO OR DIE!_


When Colonel St. Leger with his chasseurs landed on the lake shore of
northern New York, his force was small, but he was soon joined by Sir
John Johnson with his famous "Royal Greens," and a body of Rangers. The
tribes of the Mohawk valley, with their great chief, Thayendanega, a
pure-blood Mohawk, known to the whites as Joseph Brant, also swelled the
number.

As St. Leger approached the neighborhood of Fort Schuyler, with these
strangely assorted ranks under his command, a fierce light of hate
burned in his eyes, and a fire of revenge consumed his whole being, as
ruthless as the lust for blood in the copper-colored savages under him.
He had learned that the lonely fortress lying at the head of boat
navigation on the Mohawk River, and which had been but partially
restored and strengthened, was commanded by Colonel Gansevoort, with
Major Vanrosfeldt next in rank and authority. Addressing himself to the
two other leaders, and pointing in the direction of the stronghold, he
said fiercely:

"When yonder fort falls, the fate of the mob of rebels is in your hands;
I ask for but the life of one man within its walls. There are scores to
settle 'twixt us other than those our insulted Sovereign and country
demand, and which only his blood will wipe out. It will be war to the
hilt! Edward Vanrosfeldt will answer to Raoul St. Leger for the foul
deed that blackens his rebel soul, in the theft of my betrothed bride!
When we come face to face he shall breathe only long enough to answer to
my demand as to her whereabouts and fate!"

Impatient of delay--"On to Fort Schuyler!" he ordered, and marshalling
his nondescript following, the march was at once taken up. Brant's
redskins, with eyes gleaming, tomahawk in hand and hungry for plunder,
led off at a wolf trot in single file. Alert and cautious, the force
stole through the forest trails, ready to concentrate on the slightest
alarm, but fully expecting soon to be in possession of the post, in
which it was understood there were only about seven hundred men, with,
it was thought, but slender supplies. Well situated on the watershed
between the great lakes and the Hudson, and strongly built of timber and
earthworks, it was, however, a somewhat formidable defence.

St. Leger and his men coming at length in sight of its log bastions,
stealthily approached, their movements hidden in the blurring mists of a
rain that was dismally falling. Halting within safe distance, a council
was held, and within an hour an officer, bearing a white flag, boldly
advanced over the sodden ground toward the great gate, demanding a
surrender in the name of His Majesty the King, which imperious order was
laughed to scorn by the men of the garrison. The following morning three
officers from the Canadian camp arrived with a message to be delivered
in person to the commander of the fortress. They were led blindfold
within the walls, conducted to his presence, and received in a room with
the windows shut, and lighted by candles, to prevent an accurate
knowledge of the place's strength being gained. The message which they
carried was at once made known; its weight being strengthened by dark
suggestions of eagerness for slaughter on the part of the Indians; St.
Leger, in a manner unwarrantable and unprecedented in a British soldier,
allowing his own implacable desire for personal vengeance to overrule
his instincts of humanity, and make him for the time forget the high
standard of honorable warfare which had ever distinguished the army he
served, in defence or attack.

At the threat, Vanrosfeldt strode forward, hot with passion, and
addressing the speaker, looked full in the man's face, saying with
cutting emphasis:

"Do I understand you aright, sir, that you have come from a British
Colonel who commands the force that invests this fort? By your uniform
you appear to be an officer in the British service, although your words
belie it. Have you come to the commandant of this garrison to tell him
that if he does not deliver the post into the hands of your Colonel, he
will send his Indians to murder all within it, not excepting the women
and children? Such, I am bound in honesty to say, are not the customary
temper and tactics, as I remember them, of the army in which he holds
command, so you will be pleased to reflect that their blood will be upon
his head and his alone!

"We are doing our duty here. This fort has been committed to our
charge, and we will take care of it. After you get out of it you may
turn around and look at the outside, but never expect to come within it
again, except as a prisoner. For my own part, before I would consent to
deliver this garrison to such a murdering set as your red-skinned
allies, by your own showing, are, I would suffer my body to be filled
with splinters and set on fire, as has been practised before by these
savage hordes of brutal women and children scalpers! This is your
answer; take it back to your commander!"

Throughout the valley of the Mohawk were scattered a number of
settlements, peopled by Germans, the descendants of those who had
endured the endless miseries of the "Thirty Years' War." They had left
their black-timbered homesteads in the dark forests of their fatherland,
where their tribe-folk had wandered and fought in the dawn of history,
and with the old sea-kings' love of roving, had faced the storms of the
ocean, and sailed away to find in the forests of the new world the peace
and prosperity denied them in the old. But again there was war!

When news of an invading army spread to hamlet and homestead, the quiet
rural settlements became suddenly hostile. Grandsires related by the
broad hearthstones almost forgotten tales of foray and siege; of ancient
village-moots where strifes were settled, and of feuds when warriors had
boldly clashed in mortal combat.

In the feudal strongholds of the old fatherland, the petty German
princes--the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, the Duke of Brunswick, the
Princes of Hesse and Waldeck--with the spirit of mercenaries, had been
willing to barter their fellow countrymen to fight in America; but in
those colonists arose the old Gothic spirit with which their fathers had
dared the invincible military genius of the Caesars. The old
battle-cries were again shouted: "Death is better than a life of shame!
If life be short, the more cause to do bravely while it lasts!" Leaving
the plough in the furrow and the upland white unto harvest, they
doggedly took down the old flintlocks from beneath the strings of dried
apples and herbs hanging from the chimney ledges; and sharpening blades,
rusty from long disuse, prepared to drive back the foe--or die! By
common consent the leadership was given to Nicholas Herkimer, a veteran
of threescore years, who, with his men, thereupon stoutly set forth. As
they marched the uneven ranks were swelled at every by-path and
cross-road in the valley, until on reaching Oriskany, some eight miles
from the post, his followers numbered about eight hundred. Communication
with the fort to secure concerted action being imperative, three
messengers were dispatched thither to tell of the advance of a relief
party to its aid. Unaware that an attempt for their succor was being
made, the garrison thought that the surrounding forest, alive with the
red and green of the regulars and the paint and feathers of the savages,
teemed with death for them in its most revolting forms, until the trusty
messengers from the German camp, floundering through a dangerous swamp,
tottered half-dead into the fort, and told of the reinforcements on the
way.

It was accordingly arranged that a furious sortie be made from the fort
upon the Canadians, and at the same time Herkimer make an onslaught upon
their rear, and thus crush them at a single blow. Upon absolute
co-operation the success of the scheme depended. To ensure it, a
discharge of three guns from the fort was to be the signal; upon hearing
which the Germans were to start at once in order to time their arrival
to the right moment for attack. The beleaguered garrison meantime were
to make such demonstrations as would concentrate the whole attention of
the enemy upon themselves, in order that Herkimer be not surprised, and
a proper interval of time elapse before they sallied forth in full
force.

It was reckoned when the messengers set out that they should reach Fort
Schuyler at about three in the morning, but it was almost noon when,
utterly exhausted with the danger and difficulty of stealing through the
morasses which lay in their way, their errand was there made known.
Through the passing hours of the morning it had been with difficulty
that Herkimer could keep control of his volunteer force. Unused to camp
discipline, and filled with alarm as to what was taking place a few
miles distant, they were in an agony of impatience to march on at once.
Frenzied by the delay, and doubting not that their messengers had fallen
into an ambush and perished, mutinous whispers and dark looks among the
men began to threaten the taking of authority into their own hands. The
father of one of the youths who had offered himself for the carrying out
of the task, with eyes in which a dull, fierce anger burned, advanced to
his neighbor, Herkimer--who waited in stolid silence for the expected
signal--and with clenched fist, looking hotly into his face, said:

"_Mein Gott_, Nicholas Herkimer, thou art a coward to bide here when
death marches but a few miles on!"

The commander looked around, and seeing a dogged determination on the
sullen faces, and a mutinous movement as of shouldering of arms, he gave
the order, and the column moved on; not knowing that at the moment their
comrades, toiling and struggling, were yet two hours distant from the
post, where their message was still undelivered. Cautious as they had
been, however, the approach of reinforcements had already been
discovered by St. Leger's scouts, and a strong detachment of the Royal
Greens, together with Brant and his braves, were on the way to intercept
them. They had reached a point about two miles distant from the fort,
where there was a semicircular ravine, through which a causeway of logs
traversed the swampy ground, with steep banks on either side covered
with trees and underbrush. The experienced eye of Brant at once saw the
extreme strength of the spot as an ambuscade, and under his direction it
was soon prepared with the deadly skill and intelligence for which he
was famed. Silently then in the ambush they waited.

Herkimer and his raw army reached the brink of the ravine, and unwitting
of the awful welcome awaiting him, he led the way down into the valley
of death--the very mouth of Hell! Before the rearguard could follow from
the rising ground, a murderous fire opened upon him, pouring death and
destruction into his ranks. Johnson's Greens charged down upon them in
front, and the Indians closing in behind, those still in the rear, some
of whom had been loudest in demanding the hurried advance, were obliged
to retreat and leave their entrapped companions to their fate, who,
though stunned and confused, soon rallied and formed into a circle which
neither bayonet charge nor musket could break. The dark hollows of the
ravine were then filled with a mass of fifteen hundred human beings,
wrestling, crushing, struggling and dashing out each other's brains with
inhuman fury. The Satanic din, the horrible cries, groans and
imprecations, the shrieks of agony and hatred, caused the wild denizens
of the wood to forget their own prey and flee away to hide in fear of a
fury which even their own savage natures could scarcely parallel.

Brant, though possessed of many gentle traits and of superior
intelligence, gave way to his savage instincts for the moment in
directing the butchery, his unerring tomahawk cleaving the skulls of
more than a score of patriots. Early in the struggle a musket-ball slew
Herkimer's horse and shattered his own leg just below the knee; but
undaunted and bating nothing of his coolness in his dire extremity, he
took his saddle and placing it at the foot of a great beech, seated
himself upon it, and lighting his pipe, shouted his commands in a voice
of a stentor. Ordering the fight, he set his men in pairs behind the
trees, that each might defend the other when loading.

The frenzy of battle became a mad fury when they discovered that a
party of Tories from their own valley had joined the Indians; and those
who were their neighbors and had been their friends fought against them
for two mortal hours of carnage. In the gloom, neighbors went down in
the slippery, yielding bog clasped in a death struggle, their hands
grasping the knives plunged in each other's hearts, as they desperately
cursed or as despairingly prayed.

As if in sympathy with the fearful carnival of death, nature added to
its terrors. The heat of the summer morning was intolerable, and dark
thunder-clouds hanging over the ravine at the beginning of the conflict
soon enveloped it in a gloom as of midnight. The wind howled through the
trees, and the rain poured in torrents down the sides into the swamp
below. Lightning in sheets, and with sharp flashes, illumined the scene
with lurid horror; but the crash and crack of terrific peals of thunder
scarce served to drown the wild clashing and uproar of hundreds of men
in mortal strife below.

Down went the gallant regulars of England, the Indians and Germans, some
pitching forward on their faces, others reeling backward, clutching at
their wounds and writhing in pain, or falling instantly dead, struck
true to the heart; for those farmers, too, shot straight and well. All
around on both sides there were dismal groans, moans of anguish, and
cries of despair. Here and there, silenced by a quietness that was never
to be broken, the dead lay in heaps like the windrows of the peaceful
meadows. The wet muskets becoming useless, the bayonet and the knife
finished the work of slaughter, until more than five hundred men were
killed and wounded.

So determined and firm had been the resistance offered, and so
unexpected the prowess of the farmer-soldiers, that the Indians at last
gave way and fled in all directions. The remnant of the regular troops
thus finding themselves deserted, became disconcerted and began to
retreat up the western road; the blood-stained Patriots, too weak to
pursue, remaining in possession of the hardly-won field.

At that moment the warfare of the elements, too, ceased, and the clouds
rolled away, trailing like veils of lace over the hills. As the first
ray of sunshine flickered through the wet leaves, through the air came
the booming of guns--one!--two!--three! the signals for which they
should have waited! Following it came the crackle of musketry from the
direction of the fort, where it was expected the relief force would
shortly appear to its aid, and to whom it sounded as the stroke of doom.

The Canadians also heard the ill-omened reports, and made all possible
haste to return and join their own army under St. Leger. The remainder
of the Patriots, making litters of branches, bore back their wounded to
Oriskany, the point from which they had goaded their leader to make a
premature march, and which had led them to the ambush; the man who had
called Nicholas Herkimer a coward, being left behind in the valley of
the dead. The sortie was made from the fort, and the disaster in the
ravine having weakened the British strength, it was, although without
assistance, a brilliant success, and they were completely routed,
leaving large spoils of ammunition, clothing, food and drink to be
carried into the fort. As a sign of victory one of the captured
standards was ordered to be run up over the fortress. Major Vanrosfeldt,
turning in protest, said abruptly:

"Colonel, if we would hoist a flag, it is only fitting that it should be
the one our country has adopted!"

"But, Major, we have none such, so must perforce content ourselves with
this."

"No other flag, Colonel, should now float above this fort, save that for
love of which so many of our gallant bluecoats lie dead yonder on the
grass!" was the stout reply.

"Hold, I have a thought!" exclaimed the officer addressed, and turning
to the color-sergeant, who stood irresolute, he commanded: "Bring hither
the red coat of yon poor fellow, who, alas! this day fought well and
hard for his flag. He will never need it more, an' it must now serve
another purpose." As the man made haste to obey him, he called:

"Go to my luggage and from the befrilled shirts therein bring me the
best among them; and you, Vanrosfeldt, must furnish a field for stars in
that blue coat of yours."

Soon with nimble fingers the man was tearing the red and white into
strips, which, deftly tied upon the blue, he ran up as the banner of the
united colonies of America!--the men making the breeze that unfolded its
starless tatters tremble with their huzzas.

In the murderous fight each side lost about one-third of their number,
mainly in hand to hand struggles; as at Bunker Hill, they could see the
whites of each other's eyes as they clinched for life or death.

Almost all who were carried back to Oriskany died of their wounds
through lack of skilful treatment. Among them was the brave Nicholas
Herkimer. A few days after the battle, propped up on his couch, he
calmly read from the thirty-eighth psalm: "I am feeble and sore broken,
they that seek after my life lay snares for me; mine enemies are lively;
they are strong."

As he reached the words: "Forsake me not," he quietly laid down his
pipe, which he had been smoking, and closing his eyes, passed peacefully
away.

Raoul St. Leger, though badly crippled, was not yet crushed, and still
meant to hold his ground; maddened that only the walls of the fort were
between himself and his revenge. To still further increase his
discomfiture, the loss of over one hundred of their best warriors made a
growing discontent among the Indians, until their refractory behavior
became a source of great anxiety.

Another tempest sweeping down the valley and raging with great violence,
a few nights after the battle in the ravine, Major Vanrosfeldt and two
of his men crept out of the sally-port at ten o'clock at night. Crawling
on their hands and knees along a morass to the river bank, they crossed
it upon a log, and passed unobserved beyond the line of drowsy
sentinels. It was a cloudy, moonless night, and their way lay through a
dense and tangled wood, in which they were soon lost, when the sudden
barking of a dog told them they must be near an Indian camp. Alarmed and
fearful of being discovered, they crouched in hiding, not knowing
whether to advance or retreat. At length towards dawn the sky began to
clear, and to their joy, by the light of the pale morning star, they
discovered the course they wished to follow. Taking a meandering route,
they reached at length the German flats in safety. There, mounting fleet
horses, they hurried down the valley to the headquarters of General
Schuyler, who, having already heard of the terrible encounter in the
ravine, was trying to devise some means of succor for the fort.

Being then implored for assistance, he at once called a council and
urged that a detachment be sent forthwith to retain possession of the
important post and save their comrades in arms from a bloody defeat.

Although a man of exalted character, with a courage which no reverse
could shake, and always ready for action in his country's need, some of
the officers who regarded him with disfavor treated his appeal with
irresolution and lack of ardor, although he earnestly besought them to
do as he proposed, and hasten to the relief of the fort bearing his
name. As he paced the floor in anxious solicitude, the silence around
was broken by a whisper which reached the ears of all present and fell
upon his own: "He only wishes to weaken the army."

As the vile and utterly unmerited insinuation was spoken, he swung upon
his heel and confronted the slanderer, his face blazing with indignant
passion. So fierce was his anger that the stem of the pipe he was
smoking was crushed between his teeth and fell in pieces to the ground,
as he thundered out:

"Enough! I will assume the whole responsibility of this! Where is the
brigadier who will go?"

All sat in sullen silence; but suddenly, Arnold, who for some time had
been brooding over what he considered the unjust course pursued by
Congress, in promoting his juniors in rank to positions above him,
jumped to his feet impetuously and exclaimed:

"Here am I! Washington sent me to make myself useful, and I will go!"

Schuyler grasped his hand gratefully, and immediately the drum beat the
"assembly" and twelve hundred volunteers were enrolled for the service.

The next morning the expedition started up the Mohawk valley. Arnold
pushed forward with his characteristic energy, but was, however, so much
retarded by the natural difficulties of the way, that full three weeks
passed ere he found himself within twenty miles of the fort. Chafing at
the irritating delay, when it was so imperative that no time should be
lost in bringing encouragement to the threatened garrison, and in
disheartening as much as possible their lurking enemy, he heard with
disquietude of strategic movements on the part of the British army. He
became aware that Burgoyne, to interfere with his designs and prevent
the carrying out of his intentions, was detaching a force of German
mercenaries to intercept him, a second contingent to follow to the
support of the first.

These foreign allies found they had a difficult task to perform, and
their progress was slow over roads that the heavy rains had made almost
impassable. They were at the same time handicapped by the clumsiness of
their accoutrements, their brass helmets and heavy sabres alone
weighing more than the full equipment of a British soldier. Mounted on
horseback in the open, those Brunswick chasseurs, with their short,
thick rifles, were a formidable foe; but afoot in the humid heat of the
month of August, trying to march over rutted cart-tracks, those military
Goliaths in armor were hardly a match for the native Davids in shepherd
coat and sling. This events proved, for soon the second troop on the
march descried ahead of them their comrades of the advance body, in full
retreat, bringing tidings of a terrible disaster. They related that the
day before small squads of men, mostly in shirt-sleeves or farmer's
smocks, were seen gathering. Armed only with fowling-pieces, they were
assumed to be British sympathizers seeking the protection of the troops,
and apparently unable to defend themselves.

Deceived by appearances, by the middle of the afternoon the unsuspecting
Germans had found themselves surrounded by a desperate and determined
foe, who rushed upon them in the spirit of their leader, Starke, who, as
he led them to the charge, shouted:

"We will either beat the British, or Molly Starke will sleep a widow
to-night!"

The Americans had fought with the abandon of a forlorn hope; the
Hessians resisting stoutly, until, their ammunition beginning to fail,
their firing slackened. Perceiving this, the Yankees rushed into the
entrenchments, and it was then gunstock against sabre, and on the fall
of the British leader, his men becoming discomfited, a rout ensued, many
of them being left behind as prisoners.

Alas! men must die for the wrong as well as the right! Some one may have
blundered, but 'twas theirs but to do or die--and when the smoke, which
lay heavily on the hillside, had trailed away, its green slope was a
ghastly sight, with the wounded and dying of both sides. The farmers in
their smocks were many of them among the dead, lying quietly among the
bodies of those splendid chasseurs; but the rest, looking with fierce
triumph into each other's blackened faces, and grasping hands, hard and
stiff with toil, cheered and waved their straw hats above heads that
were wet and glistening with heat and damp with blood.

The Jesuit, Brother Jerome, since his rescue by the party of
Continentals, had remained attached to the troops, and had followed the
detachment which, led by Vanrosfeldt, had gone to the support of Fort
Schuyler.

Early in the morning on which St. Leger's chasseurs and Indians arrived
before its walls, the priest, who frequently wandered in the woods
around, his solitary habits and avoidance of intercourse with the
soldiers being attributed to his religious calling, had ventured further
than usual from the post. His only companion was a half-witted youth,
Yan Yost, a nephew of General Schuyler's. Returning at nightfall, they
found, to their surprise and alarm, Green Rangers and Indians encamped
about the fort, completely cutting them off from its shelter.
Cautiously, and fearful of detection, they crept back into the dim
depths of the forest, and following a by-path in order to reach the
cabin in which Yan Yost lived with his mother, they found it deserted;
the woman, having been alarmed, had evidently taken refuge with
neighbors in some less lonely place. There the two oddly assorted
companions obtained shelter, and day by day they ventured forth to learn
what was taking place, not aware that Arnold was marching up the valley
to the assistance of the fort. Chancing to cross the path of one of his
scouting parties, the priest and his companion, not giving a
satisfactory explanation of their presence, were carried before him.
Something in the Jesuit's effeminate appearance and slight French accent
aroused suspicion, and despite his frantic and hysterical protestations
of innocence, he was summarily sentenced to pay the penalty of spying,
and swing for it.

Falling on his knees, and calling upon Heaven to witness to the truth of
his words, he vehemently asserted his willingness to give any proof
demanded of him to show his hatred of the British cause, and his
sympathy with the Continentals.

Arnold, keenly searching his pallid countenance for signs of
dissimulation, said in a voice of thunder:

"If spy you are, I swear you shall hang, and that ere another sun
set!--but if not, prove the truth of what ye say by carrying out my
orders, an' ye shall find full pardon."

"Name your wishes, and I shall conform to them," was the trembling
reply.

"Then mark them well, Sir Monk, but I have no appetite for
double-dealing, so it behooves you, if ye would save your holy neck, to
go to the camp of this St. Leger, and so weaken his courage by creating
a panic among his troops, that he will forthwith abandon his intended
siege. I will send an Oneida scout to watch your movements, who, on the
first breath of suspicion of your cozening me, will instantly murder you
in cold blood."

The garrison of the fort, in the meantime, ignorant of the fate of
Vanrosfeldt and his companions, and finding the provisions much reduced,
became uneasy, and what was to be done as a last resource was
concernedly discussed. Some advised surrender as the only humane course
open, but Gansevoort refused to entertain the thought for a moment, and
declared that if the food gave out, and no relief were in sight, he
would himself sally forth at night and cut his way through the enemy's
camp.

In accordance with Arnold's instructions to the supposed spy, a few
hours afterwards, St. Leger's scouts, as they stole through the woods to
reconnoitre, heard mysterious rumors, which had been diligently spread,
of Burgoyne's having been completely defeated, and that a great American
army was coming up the valley to the fort's relief. They carried back
the ill tidings to the camp, and toward evening, as the officers were
grouped together in anxious conference, Yan Yost, who was known
throughout the valley to have Tory sympathies, rushed in, accompanied by
a priest. Panting for breath, he gasped out that they had barely escaped
with their lives from a resistless American force, which was close at
hand, and showing his coat, which he had had riddled with bullets before
leaving Arnold's camp, said a companion had fallen.

"How large is this force?" asked St. Leger, turning with white, set
lips to the priest of his own mother Church, whose features the
gathering twilight obscured from his questioner.

With nimble wit, and without uttering a word, the monk pointed
significantly to the leaves of the trees that fluttered in multitudes
above them, and solemnly shook his head as if in warning, and in the
consternation which followed, stole away into the forest paths and made
his way back to Arnold's camp.

The Indian, who had come by a circuitous route, also appeared, and at
once corroborated the story. When the savages, who were holding a
religious feast to crave for the protection of the "Great Manitou,"
heard that the army of Burgoyne was cut to pieces, and another of three
thousand men was coming upon them, they prepared to fly, uttering their
weird cry, "Oonah! Oonah!" It was in vain that St. Leger tried to weaken
the effect of the men's words, which spread rapidly through the camp. He
exhorted, entreated, threatened, and sought to bribe the Indians; but
already disaffected, they began to desert in scores, those remaining
proceeding to open the camp-chests and get at the rum. On the liquor's
taking effect they began to assault the soldiers, some of whom, joining
with the rioters, caroused with them, and all night long the camp was a
perfect pandemonium of heathenish debauchery, which it was impossible to
control.

The next day St. Leger, in despair, took flight, rushing for safety to
the Canadas, and the whole army, becoming disheartened, dispersed, the
remaining tents, stores, ammunition and artillery falling into the
hands of the American troops.

The garrison of the fort, when apprised of the mutiny among the enemy,
sallied forth and pursued the flying force; and the faithless Indians,
enjoying their reverse, and willing to curry favor with the strongest
party, kept up the chase almost as far as Oswego, laying ambushes every
night, and with glittering knives diligently scalping all stragglers.
Arnold himself returned to the Hudson on hearing of the success of his
ruse, accompanied by Vanrosfeldt, who was thirsting for action in the
field.

St. Leger, heart-broken at the discomfiture of his expedition, and more
that he thought his rival had triumphed over him, embarked with the
remnant of his chasseurs for Montreal, and thence to Quebec, where his
miserable tale crushed out the faint hopes that some traces of the lost
Thrse might be found.

Frenzied, and unable to remain inactive, he again offered himself for
service in a squadron which was leaving for the Atlantic coast. As side
by side with Captain Temple, in whose ship he sailed, they together
silently looked at the grey cliffs and ramparts fading from their sight,
neither man knew that the heart tragedy of the other was hidden behind
those walls.

When the news of the continued and unlooked-for disasters reached
General Burgoyne, chagrined but unable to determine what the next
manoeuvre should be, his camp remained without movement for some four
weeks. It was then desperately determined that the army take up line of
march southward, in three distinct columns, the light horse on the
right, under Malcolm Fraser, then Brigadier-General, and the left, near
the river, under Baron Von Riedesel. The centre was to be commanded by
General Burgoyne himself, who, with the grenadiers and infantry,
strongly flanked with Indians, should, on Fraser's making a circuitous
march through the woods, join him, that together they might fall upon
the rear of the American army. It was arranged that three minute-guns
should be fired when the junction of the forces was thus made, as a
signal for the artillery to make an attack on the American front and
scatter them in confusion; for Burgoyne swore it should never be told in
England that he was "bested by a parcel of raw country bumpkins."

At an early hour on September nineteenth the American pickets observed
an unusual activity in the enemy's camp. There was a glitter of bayonets
and sabres, and a flashing of scarlet and gold uniforms in the morning
sunlight, as through vistas in the forest the troops were seen to go
through their evolutions of marching, countermarching, and forming the
various lines of battle as had been arranged.

Arnold, becoming aware of the meaning of the manoeuvres, detached
Morgan from his division to charge the British and Indians, he himself
resolving to turn the enemy's right and cut off Fraser from joining the
main army. So dense were the woods and so broken the face of the
country, that neither realized their contiguity until suddenly they met
face to face, when Arnold, with the fury of a jungle lion leaping on its
prey, fell upon his foes, disputing the ground inch by inch, until they
were forced to entrench themselves in a sheltering pine forest.
Burgoyne, on the arrival of Riedesel's infantry, valiant soldier that he
was, with true British spirit and pluck disdained to fight under cover,
and ordered the woods cleared; and soon, at the point of the bayonet,
with flashing of steel, column after column, fighting fiercely, dashed
upon the enemy's lines.

Phyllis, with the Baroness and her household, who had followed the
troops on the march, found refuge in a house hard by. With that
fascination which the horrible possesses, they tremulously listened to
the noise of the struggle through the clash and clamor of hours.

When they knew that the Baron, at the head of his men, was in the thick
of the fight, the wife's courage gave way, her brave heart quailed, and
the strong woman, weeping, leaned her head on the shoulder of the frail
girl. Phyllis, with tender words of hope and comfort, bade her bear up
for the sake of the frightened little ones, who were hiding their pale
faces in her arms, and with their small fingers trying to shut out the
sight and hearing of the awful struggle.

With night came the tramp of returning men, and the heavy rumble of
cannon, and the two armies lay down on the ground, so near that the
sound of their drum-beats and shouts could be plainly heard in either
camp.

Day after day they lay watching each other. The British sent out spies
to ascertain the strength of the Continentals, which, however, the
density of the woods rendered it impossible to ascertain. All attempts
to discover if there were any indications of help coming from the south
were likewise futile. At last a messenger made his way in with a
communication from Sir Henry Clinton, stating his immediate intention of
attacking Fort Montgomery and other fortified points. The tidings were
hailed with delight, and an answer was sent, enclosed in a silver
bullet, which opened with a small spring, urging Sir Henry to advance.
With stringent orders for extreme caution and circumspection in passing
the hostile territory, the messenger departed. The imminent danger of
the mission and its urgency seemed to interfere with the man's
discretion, for when in the dusk he encountered a body of troops near
Fort Montgomery, and heard them mention the name of Clinton, he threw
aside all precaution, and asked to be conducted to the presence of Sir
Henry. Led into the fort, alack! he discovered his error too late, as
the General Clinton he confronted was not Sir Henry, but, by an
unfortunate coincidence of names, the American commander of the post.

Indiscreet, but brave, he refused to give up his despatch, and when the
silver bullet was about to be seized, he hastily placed it in his mouth
and swallowed it. A liberal dosing of tartar emetic soon effected what
the commands of his enemies could not compass, and the bullet being
recovered, the compromising contents of the missile fell into the hands
of his judges. There was a short trial for such an offence. The poor
fellow was sentenced to be hanged as a spy, and on October eighth, when
Sir Henry stormed and took the place, the soldier's body was still
hanging from the bough of the apple-tree near by, to which he had been
strung up a few hours before. On the same day, unaware of what was
transpiring, General Burgoyne, tortured with anxiety, with desertions
occurring daily, which even the death penalty did not affect, determined
that tremendous risks must be taken. Distracted by the disaffection of
the Indians, who were disappointed in their hope of plunder, and were
anxious to leave the war-path for the hunt, to supply their wigwams with
food, he resolved that a desperate course must be followed. With no base
of supplies he was compelled to cut off one-third of his men's rations,
trying at the same time by every means in his power to communicate his
condition to the garrison in New York and implore assistance, but which
the vigilant American pickets made abortive. Howe's procrastination
seemed incomprehensible, and the dilatoriness of the Colonial minister
in issuing the requisite orders to him was certainly most reprehensible.
What did it boot that the gallant army, the army of his king, who would
rather die than retreat, lay wasting and starving in suspense and
inaction; that Howe sailed away, apparently unaware of the imperative
need of supporting the army to the north of him, when my Lord George
Sackville Germaine, the Colonial minister, who had written in his London
office the despatch with the requisite instructions, had been in haste
to attend a dinner party in Richmond! He had been bidden to feast there
right royally and make merry and jest about the "beggar war" and the
audacious impertinence and unwarrantable assurance of those ragged
rebels over seas. The pleasure barge awaited--his elegant silk and lace
toilet had to be made--the matter could wait--he could not tarry,
forsooth, to sign the paper, but hurriedly thrust it into a receptacle
in his desk, until a more convenient season, where, whether from the
wining or the dining, it lay forgotten until too late to save the cause
of his king and alter the fate of two nations. Thus was changed the
history of the world, for on such small happenings do momentous events
and stupendous issues sometimes seem to hang.

So on the field it was either fight or fly--and on October seventh
fifteen hundred men, made up from all the regiments, with eight brass
cannon and two howitzers, and led by the four generals, advanced to a
clearing about two miles from the American right flank--General Fraser
moving by an indirect route to cover the by-paths by which small
foraging parties were seeking means of relief for their pressing and
imperative wants. In the cool of the morning, as he passed a wooded
hollow beneath a hill, which was crowned by a redoubt, he said to a
clansman near him:

"Yon bonnie glen reminds me of the banks an' braes of our native
Highlands," and pausing a moment as he looked at it, he continued:

"If Malcolm Fraser falls to-day, bury me here."

Within an hour the conflict began, fast and furious on both sides, the
Americans rushing up to the very mouth of the cannon and struggling
wildly for their possession. Five times were they taken and as many
times lost, for both sides were brave, valorous and skilful. Morgan,
with his corps, dashed to the hills where he saw Fraser's flanking
party, and opened on them a fire so destructive, and bullets so
unerringly aimed, that they were forced to fall back. Then, with
appalling force and impetuosity, he wheeled and fell on the British
right flank, so that they broke and fled, but soon rallying, returned to
action.

Arnold, who thus far had only watched the trend of the battle, leaping
on his large brown horse, spurred the animal full gallop for the thick
of the fight, the men greeting him with frantic cheering as he placed
himself at their head.

Dashing at the British centre, which until then had stood unbroken, and
mad with the frenzy of battle, he rushed along the line, brandishing his
sword above his head. At his first assault the Hessians stood firm, but
on his second furious charge, they broke and fled in dismay, and then
the battle became general along the whole line, with Arnold and Morgan
the ruling spirits among the Americans, and Fraser the directing soul of
the British. Mounted upon a splendid iron-grey horse, and dressed in the
full uniform of a field officer, the latter was conspicuous for his
appearance, and the way in which he rallied the troops by word and
example.

Morgan soon perceived that the fate of the day depended upon the gallant
Scot, and in an instant his purpose was formed. Calling a file of his
best shots around him, he pointed with his gun to the man on the great
grey horse, and said:

"That gallant officer is General Fraser. I admire and honor him, but it
is necessary he should die. Victory for the enemy depends upon him. Take
your station in that clump of trees, and do your duty."

Those men could shoot to a hair-breadth. Each of their bullets meant one
British soldier less; so riding along, although at long range, a ball
hit the crupper of General Fraser's horse, and another passed through
the animal's mane, just behind the ears. Noticing it, the officer who
rode by his side said with concern for his safety:

"It is evident that you are marked out, General, for special aim. Would
it not be prudent to retire to a less exposed place?"

"My duty, Major, forbids me to fly from danger," he replied, grasping
his broadsword. Scarcely had the words passed his lips, when he fell
mortally wounded, his foot caught in his stirrup. He was carried off the
field by two grenadiers; and when the news of his fall spread through
the British lines, and also of the arrival of three thousand American
troops, a general rout ensued. General Burgoyne, taking command in
person, endeavored to spur the sinking courage of his men, but all in
vain. They fled precipitately to their entrenchments, followed by a
furious shower of grape and musket balls, Arnold's voice in trumpet
tones urging his followers on in the flame and smoke of the savage
pursuit. Burgoyne tried with despairing valor to once more make a rally,
but although British courage and discipline had so often wrought marvels
of prowess, and accomplished almost superhuman achievements, there are
some things which even they cannot do, and his commands were fruitless.
His men, stumbling among the bodies of their own dead, gave way, and the
British ranks--another name for reckless hardihood and heroic devotion
to king and country--weak from fasting and broken by disappointment, by
the decrees of an inexorable fate, were forced to fall back despite the
threats, prayers, oaths, and even sword-pricks of their officers, who
themselves, brave to the last, were furious with shame and crushed with
humiliation.

Night at last closed in, and the only sounds succeeding the awful day
were the feeble moans of the wounded, the heavy tread of retiring
columns and the deep breathing of the weary armies asleep on the field.
Over both a single star kept watch in solemn, heavenly radiance, as over
so many of earth's bloody fields it had done in the passing centuries of
the world's struggles.




CHAPTER XV.

_A MOURNFUL DINNER PARTY._


That morning, when breakfasting, the Baroness, whose alarm was ever on
the alert, had fancied she saw a hurried and preoccupied air on the part
of her husband, which she fain would have accounted for. Being assured
that he was merely contemplating a _reconnoissance_, the high-sounding
word had so allayed her fears that she had promised to provide a dinner
as elaborate as their slender resources allowed for his officers on
their return. In the afternoon, when the table was set with its common
and meagre appointments, and Phyllis was returning from a short walk to
place some wild grasses upon it, being all the October fields could
furnish, she saw a band of Indians in war-dress hurrying by. Their
excited looks and gestures told her that they were hastening to take
part in action somewhere. Scarcely had she reached the door of the
cabin, and told her fears to the Baroness, when they heard the sound of
skirmishing, and knew that somewhere a battle was raging. In a sickening
suspense the hours dragged slowly on until the one in which they had
expected their guests to arrive. Looking for the hundredth time toward
the distance, where trailing smoke and the dull roar of ordnance told
their accustomed ears that an engagement was in progress, they saw the
first guest brought to their door. It was poor Fraser on a stretcher,
covered with blood, and borne by his grenadiers. Hastily the dishes were
removed from the table, and he was laid moaning feebly upon the board by
which he had thought merrily to sup. The noise of the battle growing
louder and nearer each moment, the children, clinging to Phyllis's
skirts, cowering and trembling, were too much terrified even to cry.

At last, night coming on, sleep mercifully soothed them, and they were
laid on little beds made for them in the passage-way, that they might
not disturb or witness the last agonized moments of the brave, dying
soldier. Following their small forms as they left his sight, he looked
after them wistfully. Calling the surgeon to his side, and looking
steadily into his eyes, he asked: "Must I die?"--and as the answer came
in a silent bowing of the head, he turned his face away, sighing
wearily, "Oh, miserable ambition! Poor Mistress Fraser! My fatherless
bairns!"

He lingered until midnight; at the last rambling in his talk, thinking
at times he was a boy again playing among the heather and bracken of his
Scottish hills, or wandering with the lass he loved by its lochs and
tarns; and anon he was in the mad rush of battle, cheering on his men.
Just before the turn of the night he rallied somewhat, and signed for
Phyllis, who had never left his side for a moment, to draw near. With
face well-nigh as white as the sinking man's, she bent over him to take
his last words, to be sent to his wife and his "bonnie wee bairnies." It
was soon over, and tenderly, as if they were wreathed lilies, she
placed beside him the soft grasses of the meadow, and the crimson
leaves of the maple.

As the sun set the next day, in the calm of the October evening, the
bearers carried him out, to lay him on the braeside overlooking the
quiet glen by which he had ridden the day before. As the cortge moved
up to the redoubt, the eyes of both armies followed. The Americans,
seeing the party, but unaware of their purpose, at once opened fire, but
through it all the chaplain read on unmoved. The soil raised by the
cannon-balls rained upon his uncovered head unheeded, as over the group,
with bowed face, he uttered the words: "I am the resurrection and the
life"--his voice almost drowned in the roar of the guns.

The shades of night fell sombrely around them like a pall, and the
watching stars came out like funeral tapers o'er a bier.

Suddenly the firing ceased, and the solemn boom of a single gun rolled
at intervals through the valley, and awakened the echoes of the hills.
It was the minute-gun of the enemy, firing a salute for the gallant
dead!

When it had become known that the silent group was a burial-guard, the
enemy's cannon were at once silenced, save for the rendering of homage
to the brave, as the fearless leader of the Light Horse troop was left
to sleep with his martial cloak around him. There was little time for
mourning, and at ten o'clock the same night the British army, falling
back, took up its way northward, and less than forty-eight hours
afterwards was again under fire from the Americans. Word was at once
sent to the ladies to fly for shelter to a house near by. Getting into
a carriage, the horse was put to his greatest speed, the swaying of the
vehicle over the rough road adding to the misery of the awful situation.

When they were a few rods from the door, Vanrosfeldt's command appeared
upon the further side of a small stream flowing near by, and at once
took aim at the trembling occupants, doubtless thinking them fugitives.
The mother, frenzied with fright, threw her little ones into the bottom
of the carriage, and placed herself over them with the mother instinct,
willing to receive in her own body any bullet which might perchance
reach them. Phyllis, with the sudden perception and courage which
imminent peril often gives, brave, pale and beautiful, rose to her feet,
and exposed herself to their fire, knowing that as soon as it was seen
that she was a woman they were safe.

With the glint of the setting sun upon her hair, Vanrosfeldt,
understanding her intention, but little thinking it was the golden head
he would have died to save from harm, immediately, for its sake and
because he saw she was a maiden and unarmed, dropped his sword, and
commanded that the firing at once cease in that direction.

Unmolested they then safely reached the shelter, and the girl who first
saw the light in a peaceful old English manor-house, and the woman whose
children were born under the buttresses of a feudal castle, well guarded
by warder and keep, were glad, in the tumult of war, to find sanctuary
under the roof of the half-ruined hut. With the approach of darkness,
they huddled together, without light or beds, the poor little girls
laying their heads in the laps of their mother and the "Fraulein
Phyllis," as they had grown to call her.

As night came on the wounded were brought in, and Phyllis, forgetting
her own misery, tried to lessen the greater agony of those around her.

The second night of horror approached, and thirst began to add its
terrors to the miseries of the unfortunates, cooped together in what was
fast becoming a pest-house. Some of the wounded cried piteously for
water, the small quantity of Rhenish wine having long since been given
them. When the morning again broke, a soldier offered to go and try to
fill a bottle at the river. He went out; the minutes passed slowly, they
lengthened, and no sound of returning feet came to the strained
listeners. Another volunteered, the click of a gun was heard, and he,
too, was seen no more, and still the fever-parched lips cried for
"Water, water, if only but a drop!"

A third soldier, ghastly with a festering wound, was rising slowly and
tottering from his bed of straw to follow his comrades; for better, he
thought, would be the swift, sure death from an enemy's ball, than those
slow tortures of Tantalus.

Phyllis, who was at his side in a moment, laid her hand upon him to
restrain him, saying:

"Give me the vessel, I will go; they will not fire upon a woman," and
with the children sobbing and trying to detain her, she opened the low
door and passed out.

It seemed as if each could hear the other's heartbeats, so still and
harrowing were the passing moments. One poor fellow broke down and
mingled his tears with those of the crying children. When unable longer
to bear the silence, little Freda threw herself upon the cold, hard
floor pitifully wailing: "Our _Fraulein_ is shot too!" but a quick step
was heard at last, the door flew open, and with eyes shining, and with
cool, pure water overflowing the cruse she carried, Phyllis stepped over
the threshold.

Again and again she left the darksome hovel, and went out into the
sun-flooded plain, her fear of mind being forgotten in the joy of
cooling the dry lips, and bathing the burning brows and open, aching
wounds. Another day and night thus passed, and the suspense as to the
fate of the army seemed almost harder to be borne than the suffering of
hunger and mortal pain.

An ensign, but slightly wounded, assured Phyllis that even if the
British bugles sounded the retreat and it came to the worst, they would
not be deserted, for, disabled as they were, he and his fellow officers
would take the ladies and children and try to escape with them.

At length, with peril thickening around his doomed army, General
Burgoyne called together a council of his officers and staff, and on the
morning of the thirteenth they assembled in a tent for conference. With
musket balls flying overhead, grape shot striking the ground around the
canvas, and a cannon-ball almost sweeping across the table around which
they were deliberating, they were warned that their council must needs
be brief; and on the English general was forced the unwelcome
conviction that those rebel "Homespuns" were in no wise the despicable
rabble he had deemed them to be.

Afire with anger and chagrin, those deliberating hurriedly determined
that steps must be taken at once to open a treaty with the commander of
the American army.

Accordingly, toward evening, a flag was sent to General Gates, with a
note intimating that General Burgoyne was desirous of sending a
field-officer to him upon a matter of great moment to both armies, and
wishing to know at what hour on the next morning it would suit General
Gates to receive him. The reply came promptly: "At ten o'clock at the
advanced post of the army of the United States."

Then the army of redcoats, dusty, dishevelled, thirsty, hungry and weary
from their marches, their fights and reverses, sat down on the crest of
the hill, under the skies dim with rain, and knew that the gallant
English blood, which made a long, crimson track behind them, had been
shed for naught but heart-breaking defeat! The grime of battle on many a
brave cheek was channeled white with the brine of tears, as forgetting
their own misery and despair in the love of King and country, they
thought, none daring to ask the other, "What will they say in England?"
when the dire news reached the royal and ducal palaces and the lowly
cots among her dales from which they had marched so blithely.

The result of the convention, as it was politely styled, was: "That the
British troops march out of their camp with all the honors of war, their
artillery to be moved to the bank of the Hudson and there left, together
with the soldiers' arms, said arms to be piled by word of command of
their own officers." In accordance with this order, with sad and
sorrowing countenances, rank and file left their camp among the hills,
and with slow march reached the green plain below. The different
companies, by order of their several commanders, there ground their arms
and emptied their cartridge-boxes.

Those who lifted their downcast eyes looked in vain for the sight of an
exulting bluecoat, or a single contemptuous glance, for, with the
exception of those who had charge of the surrender, every man had been
ordered within camp, that no needless burden might be added to the
humiliation of a beaten foe, but a boldly brave and ever magnanimous
one.

The American staff officers, General Gates in a plain blue frock coat,
advanced to meet General Burgoyne and his suite, in their rich uniforms
of scarlet and gold lace. When within a sword's length of the British
they were presented by Major Vanrosfeldt, who had been active in
arranging the negotiations between them.

General Burgoyne, with his native grace, lifted his hat, and bowing to
General Gates, said: "The fortunes of war, General, have made me your
prisoner," and at once the generous reply came: "I shall always be ready
to testify that it has not been through any fault or lack of valor on
your Excellency's part!" Turning to Daniel Morgan, with equal
magnanimity, Burgoyne held out his hand, saying: "Sir, you command the
finest regiment in the world."

A few hours afterward, the American army was drawn up in two lines
parallel to each other. Between them the British marched, escorted by a
company of light dragoons, preceded by two officers bearing the American
colors. They stepped to the notes of a spirited new tune called "Yankee
Doodle," composed by a British sergeant at Boston town, to ridicule the
raw army when it was encamped under Washington at Cambridge.

The two commanders gazed in silence as the brigades filed past. Without
a word, Burgoyne stepped back, and, drawing his sword, in the presence
of the two armies presented it to his conqueror, who, receiving it with
a grave inclination of the head, immediately returned it.

Active hostilities being thus at an end, Baron Von Riedesel requested
that his wife and family be released and united to him once more. An
orderly was sent to carry the message, and they were soon again seated
in the carriage in which they had escaped.

Not knowing the temper of the victorious troops, nor the terms entered
into by the two armies, the women felt some fear in meeting those whose
guns were so recently pointed against them; but discerning no appearance
of resentment, they began to be somewhat reassured. On arriving at the
tents a handsome officer, with a look of deepest commiseration, lifted
out the Baroness' children in his arms and held them, kissing them
affectionately. Only the thought of how the sight of her emotion would
affect her soldier-husband, enabled the mother to keep back her tears,
as General Schuyler, austere with men but tender with women, said
chivalrously:

"Do not tremble, do not be afraid. Your sorrows are now at an end," and
added, turning to Phyllis, "As it may embarrass this young lady to dine
with so many gentlemen, I pray that ye come to my home and partake of a
frugal dinner, which we will there serve you with a free will."

Surprised at the gentle courtesy from one of those whom she had thought
to be but an underbred parcel of rebels, the grateful mother said, with
a tremble in her voice:

"Ah, sir, you yourself must be a husband and father!"

"A kind Heaven has vouchsafed me that unmerited though valued privilege,
madam, of which I would be utterly unworthy did I not feel keen sympathy
for your calamity. General Burgoyne has consented to do me the honor of
sojourning under my roof; I trust I can prevail upon your family and
guest to do likewise."

Accepting with gratitude, Phyllis and the rest of the war-worn party
arrived at the Schuyler mansion, where the Baroness was received as
cordially by the general's wife as if their husbands had never crossed
swords. Although not many weeks before her palatial home, with its
orchards and gardens, had been put to the torch and made pitiful havoc
of by order of General Burgoyne, no hint of the natural resentment,
which the loss could not fail to excite, was apparent in the reception
she accorded to those by whom the ruin had been wrought. Though not,
like the Baroness, of noble birth, Mistress Schuyler was the
granddaughter of the first patroon, the lordly Killian Van Rensselaer,
whose lands of Rensselaerwyck had run full two score miles on either
side of the river, and well nigh fifty miles inland. A certain
gentleness and thrift had come down to her through generations of
calm-eyed Dutch housewives, who had gone their homely round of duty
where the windmills swung in the salt winds blowing over the Netherland
dykes. Her stately dwelling had been one of the finest among
Knickerbocker homesteads, built entirely of brick, with steep hipped
roof and heavy gables. The entrance hall with its wide double doors was
of noble dimensions, the walls and cornice being finely carved in oak.
Rows of grand chestnut trees shaded the ample grounds, and its gardens
had been widely noted for their rare flowers and choice fruits.

Since the destruction of her home, she and her family had found
temporary shelter in another, to which she proffered welcome with the
same Dutch decorum and dignity as if it were to the stately dwelling of
her ancestors. She had already given to the place a homelike comfort and
even elegance, so that the little German Thekla, the youngest of the
Baroness' children, being led into the principal room, and thinking it
quite magnificent after her life in deserted huts and log cabins,
clapped her hands, and dancing about in childish glee, asked with
delight: "Is this the palace that we are to have in America for fighting
for the English king?" Noticing a look of confusion on the faces of
those around, she ran to her mother's arms, saying in a frightened
voice: "Did not the king promise us a palace when at his castle in
London town?" Before the embarrassed listeners could reply, Mistress
Schuyler patted the child on the head, and with a smile reassured her,
saying:

"When you are a little older you will find that even kings cannot always
keep their promises, however fain they might be to do so."

Looking on in silence, with a flush of honest shame reddening the bronze
of his cheek, General Burgoyne, turning to his American host, said with
a noble-minded humility:

"Ye are taking, sir, a strange revenge in thus receiving with courtesy,
hospitality and unmerited consideration, those who not long since
rendered this family homeless; for which keen regret is but a poor
reparation!" and Schuyler at once answered: "Say no more! It was but the
fortune of war!" when withdrawing and leaving the refugees to obtain the
rest and quiet they so much stood in need of, the women soon found
themselves alone.

Scarcely was the door closed upon them, when it was again thrown open to
admit an American officer, who, as he saw the ladies, started violently,
first turning pale and then a deep red, with uncontrollable agitation.
Regaining his composure with an effort, he advanced, and holding out his
hand to Phyllis, said: "By what strange fortune do I find you here?" and
then not taking the one she offered--cold to sternness, his own fell
suddenly to his side as the words of the nun came back: "She is unworthy
such as thee! She is false to thee!"

The strain under which she had so long struggled, the emotion which the
sight of Edward Vanrosfeldt caused, his evident joy, and then his sudden
coldness, with the memory of his previous avoidance of her and his
vengeful pursuit by Raoul St. Leger, broke down the barriers of her
self-restraint, and burying her face in her hands, the girl, proud and
sensitive, hurried from the room. As in moments of extreme excitement
the almost forgotten tongue of childhood comes most readily to the lips,
Edward Vanrosfeldt turned, and in the German which he had heard at his
mother's knee, said:

"Tell me, Baroness, of the _Fraulein_ Davenant, and how came she
hither?"

In gentle words she told him what she had learned of Phyllis's life in
the months since they had met. He hearkened with a chivalrous and tender
pity to the tale of her sorrows and of her flight from Quebec--his hand
clenching at the recounting of her forcible detention there by a comrade
in arms, whose name, as well as his own, he observed she had evidently
refrained from mentioning; but the memory of her desire to join Basil
Temple--racking, long cherished doubts and some faint glimmerings of
hope that the pious nun, unwitting to herself, might have been in error,
crowded confusedly on his brain. With clouded brow, the lines of his
face tense and drawn, he hung on the woman's words. At the recital of
the betrothal in the cabin of the _Invincible_, turning deadly pale, he
seized the narrator's arm, who, startled, wonderingly begged to know the
meaning of his perturbation. Looking at her imploringly, he hoarsely
cried:

"Say she is not pledged to him! In pity tell me it is false!"

"Alas! 'tis but too true; but, oh, sir, if in any way you have the power
to now befriend the poor, forlorn child, I pray that ye do so, as it is
no longer possible for me to protect her, for as prisoners of war we
must soon take up march to Boston."

"In what way can I do her service?"

"Procure her safe escort to Philadelphia, where there are relatives of
this man, who will, when the times allow, doubtless become her husband,
and to whose care he has commended her; and thus save her from this
rough following of a soldiers' camp, which ill befits one of her gentle
breeding and delicacy."

"Madam, be assured these desires shall be at once carried out. To-morrow
I leave on the business for which I am now seeking instructions from
General Schuyler. I shall be the bearer of despatches touching this
surrender to General Washington, and will charge myself with her safe
conduct to this man's kinsfolk, if it meet with her wishes."

For a moment he stood in deep thought, the color of his face turned to
deathly pallor, and speaking slowly and with difficulty, he said:

"_Frau_ Von Reidesel, pardon me if I seem dull-witted, but this
betrothal on board a warship in time of action, must there not be some
error here? Perchance the sweet maid's innocence and friendlessness have
been imposed upon, and she may not be bound willingly to this man."

"Alack! I would it were so, but no, if I understood aright, she herself
consented in the presence of a priest of the Church of Rome, who
sanctioned her promise to become his wife. He was one Brother Jerome,
whom she had known in her childhood as Leon de Lrie, her playfellow.

"Brother Jerome! Did she say Brother Jerome? He it was who, after the
burning of Crown Point, attached himself to our troops and ever seemed
to be where least expected. I myself had suspicion of his honesty, for a
man, be he priest or soldier, who is a traitor to his own cause and
people, deserves not the trust of any other. Although I ever sought to
avoid him, he with persistence seemed to seek my presence. Why, I know
not; but of his verity or falseness my mouth was sealed; for, from a
certain look he bore, if I mistake not, he is the Brother Jerome of whom
I heard from his sister, the sweet saint in the convent at Quebec, who
nursed me, when wounded sore in body and spirit, back to life again."

A sudden light of understanding flashed across his listener's face, as
she whispered:

"Have a care! You had best be on your guard, for I have heard that,
which I know now cannot be true, through some misapprehension, the
mysterious disappearance of this same Sister Thrse is laid at your
door and there are those who would avenge her and call you to account."




CHAPTER XVI.

_A GALLANT SIGHT._


Philadelphia, to which Phyllis set forth, was in those days a larger
city than New York, and one of the most important and influential towns
in America, being held in great repute for the wealth, culture and
courtly deportment of its social circles. Upon the shaded streets, named
for the trees of the forest, were many handsome, commodious buildings
and dwelling-houses of elegance, built to stand the test of centuries;
Chestnut Street being the favorite promenade of society and fashion. On
sunny afternoons it was bright with maids and matrons going a-shopping,
chatting gaily as they bartered in glistening brocades and shimmering
silks and satins for their gowns, or chose gauzy sarcenet and lutestring
ribands for their bonnets. Philadelphia belles, careful to appear in the
latest modes, were critical as to the newest fashion of bodice and cut
of scarf, and appeared decked out in hats as large and extravagant as
those of Paris or London.

Nor was this frivolity confined to the wearers of petticoats alone, the
dandies allowing themselves to be in no wise outshone in the
gorgeousness of their dress. As they strolled out to take the air, aware
of the perfection of their attire from queue-riband to shoe buckle,
conscious of the elegant turn of their silken calves and the rich
fashion of their garments, the more foppish among them fairly swept the
ground with their modish, smartly-laced hats in salute to the ladies of
their acquaintance; not forgetting to glance occasionally with
satisfaction at what they deemed the irresistible charms of their own
reflections in the shop windows.

Dashing gallants who sought a name for rakishness, stood on the street
corners staring audaciously at every pretty woman passing by; or when
the mood seized them, rudely jostling staid Quaker-folk, whose decorous
ears they shocked with the loud oath or broad jest, which with coxcombs
passed for wit.

On the footpaths, simpering macaronies with arms linked minced their
steps as they sauntered affectedly along, attending fair damsels
returning from piquet or afternoon tea and gossip; or with a languishing
smirk and heels together in stiff-backed bows, handing them to their
sedan chairs.

The Quaker town, in contrast to its artificial phases of social life,
was renowned far and near for the beauty of its gardens, in which the
women took especial pride. Many tended them with their own hands;
sowing, planting, gathering rose leaves for the still, herbs for
savoring and tinctures, and fruit of different kinds to be made into
syrups and cordials, dried, or otherwise prepared for winter use.

The early settlers, coming from flowery England, had made it one of
their first cares in the new land to have a garden. In tender memory of
it, they had reared from seed and cutting the homely flowers they had
loved by its hedgerows and doorsteps; and soon the brier and dog-rose of
England had lifted familiar faces to cheer their homesick, exiled
hearts. Under American skies, lavender, spearmint, sage and thyme, which
had been pungent sweet along old English garden-paths, mingled in
Colonial flower-beds with the foxglove, Canterbury bells, marigold,
bachelors' buttons, heartsease (of all flowers the sweetest named) and
lovelies-bleeding, with their familiar cottage names and smells.

The homes of Philadelphia, which they surrounded, with their ample halls
and beautiful winding staircases of the Georgian period, were notable
for the magnificence of their style of entertaining, and especially for
the stately splendor of their dinner-parties, over which the high
colonial dames presided with their dignified, well-bred courtesy and
native grace.

Phyllis, arriving duly in the city, under the careful conduct and formal
guidance of Major Vanrosfeldt, was kindly and hospitably welcomed to one
of the most substantial and well-built houses in the town, the home of
General Henry Knox, who was absent on the field, in the staff of General
Washington. Mistress Lucy Knox, being aunt to Anne Temple, had in charge
her lovely niece, whose vivacity, and at times wilfulness, gave her much
ado to manage and guide discreetly. With repute as a beauty and
well-dowered belle, the pretty maid was much sought after, and her aunt
accounted herself fortunate that she had found for her, in Phyllis, a
companion both gentle and retiring.

Scarcely, however, had the doors of her new home closed upon their
guest, when a feeling of deep gloom settled down upon its inmates, in
common with the other patriots in the town; for, to the sound of British
fifes and drums, their enemy marched in and gaily took possession of the
city.

Looking through the drawn curtains, with eyes dim with tears, Phyllis
saw the gorgeous cavalcade advancing in all the pomp and brilliance to
which as a British soldier's daughter she was familiar. They were her
countrymen--in that cause her sworn protector served; for it her father
had fought, and in it died--but the man she loved wore the blue and
buff; and, as perforce we must honor where we love, inclination and duty
fought a hard battle in the heart of the young girl. With the silent,
tearful group of women she looked quietly on; the conflict in her heart
seeming to her louder than the noise of the street, where the rumble of
heavy cannon, cheers of men and trampling of feet mingled with the
clamor of the band playing jubilantly the "British Grenadiers." Her
pulses kept time with the familiar air as she thought of how many a time
she had seen her father marching to it at the head of his men. She loved
the gallant red coat of the British. She gloried in their common
country, its annals of great deeds and peerless record of imperialism
and conquest. She remembered its magnificent charges on the field; its
warriors who had crossed swords with Roman, Frank, Saracen, Dane and
Saxon; its valiant soldier-kings, Alfred and Richard of the Lion Heart;
its Edwards, Henrys and Williams; and she could not conceive that there
could be aught but ultimate victory for it still. Looking at the ranks
approaching, she proudly knew that not a man among them would ever be
shot in the back, but would fall, if fall he must, with face to the foe;
that not a drummer boy, beating with such spirit, knew how to play the
"Retreat"; and she was torn with the feelings at war in her heart, her
love for England and her king wrestling with her love for the man
fighting against them, and she asked herself piteously: "Which would I
have win? Alas! 'tis a bitter choice!"

As they drew near she saw at their head men whose names had been to her
as household words, but whom she then looked upon for the first time.
Lord Cornwallis, whom she knew to be a high-minded man and competent
officer, leading his tall Grenadiers in their blue-faced red coats, his
own figure stout and thickset, she could not but acknowledge looked
somewhat ungraceful upon his horse; his well-formed, strong features
making some amends, however, for lack of stature and presence. Sir
William Howe, the Commander-in-Chief, a better soldier, she had heard,
than man, with his fine form, full six feet high, was striking and
attractive in his person and mien. He carried himself with such easy
dignity and was so admirably proportioned that Anne Temple, who had a
keen taste for good looks, whispered to Mistress Knox: "How like he is
to our General!" but Mistress Lucy drew herself up and somewhat sharply
made answer:

"Like General Washington, forsooth! Surely not! To my mind for natural
dignity of carriage and majesty of bearing, he has no peer among living
men!" and looking at the passing pageant of red and gold, and thinking
of the blue and buff her Henry wore, with a toss of her head and curling
lip, she said scornfully: "He would disdain to be tricked out in such
gaudy frippery as this!"--the Puritan strain in her asserting itself
even in her patriotism.

As in the case, which Phyllis well remembered, of the Colonials
billeting themselves upon the inhabitants of Montreal, so the British
troops proceeded to quarter themselves for the winter, which shortly
would set in, it being then already November. Public buildings and the
private houses of the Whig gentry were confiscated without ceremony or
apology to their owners, many of them, with prudent foresight, having
previously had their silver plate and valuables buried.

General Howe, for the headquarters of his brilliant staff, selected one
of the finest houses in the city, and being given to easy living and
fond of comfort, appropriated a private coach and pair for his personal
use; his brother, Lord Howe, Admiral of the Navy, retaining a banking
house on Chestnut Street above Spruce.

With the unfurling of the British colors over Philadelphia, the majority
of the Patriot sympathizers resolved to leave the town, but what was
known as the fashionable set adhered to the crown, and gave cordial
welcome to Howe and his redcoated officers, in the stately receptions
which the women knew so well how to conduct, and to the suppers and
gaming tables of the men.

These, with the play-houses, dancing, dicing and cock-pits for the
livelier spirits, made the winter a gay and festive one; the old Penn
house in which Howe resided being the centre of the social life of the
town.

One of the principal loyal citizens, and a red-hot Tory, was Master
Edward Shippen, a gentleman of rank, character and fortune. He was the
father of a bevy of pretty daughters; Peggy, the youngest and flower of
the flock, for her beauty and sprightliness, queening it as a belle of
the town; her uplifted, haughty, little head and look of high breeding
giving her a certain regal air and deportment. She would not be refused
when she desired that Phyllis, being English-born, should accompany Anne
Temple in her visits to the Shippen mansion, which kept open house for
the British soldiers of rank in the army. A favorite guest among them
was a certain dashing and popular Major John Andr, who, besides being
an efficient officer, possessed so many gentle graces of demeanor,
charms of person and natural gifts of mind, that he was soon an intimate
friend of the family, and welcome in every fashionable Tory
drawing-room. He had been sent a prisoner from Canada to Philadelphia by
Montgomery, after the reduction of Fort St. Johns, and on the arrival of
the British troops in the city had established himself in a retired and
beautiful mansion in a quiet court in rear of High Street. Being of an
artistic and poetic temperament, he found the modest elegance of the
home of the philosopher, Benjamin Franklin, well suited to his turn of
mind. On Andr's making choice of it, the Sage's daughter discreetly
withdrew. She was made welcome by the hospitable Shippen household, who
had known Sally Franklin since her birth, until the times should permit
her again occupying her father's house, he being absent on diplomatic
business in France. Word had come to the colonies that he, the Puritan
son of the New England candle-maker, born in an obscure cottage in a
green lane in Boston, had become the idol of the gay, giddy, French
capital. 'Twas said that court artists were kept busy decorating the
fans of noble ladies and the snuff boxes of courtiers with his portrait.
That coats and neckcloths _ la Franklin_ had become the fashionable
rage, a momentary fancy for simplicity having suddenly swept over
brilliant Paris. These reports had confirmation in a letter received by
the sprightly Sally from her father, and which she read with much
merriment to Peggy, when she, with her friends and cousins, met together
for morning gossip under the pretence of doing tambour-work.

"Read it, Sally dear!" Peggy had pleaded; "doubtless your father's wise
words would be to our benefit and instruction as well as your own."

"As ye will," answered Mistress Sally, and nothing loth, she unfolded
the pages and read:

     "'Dear Sally,--

     "'Figure to yourself an old man, very plainly dressed, with thin,
     grey hair, very straight and long, and wearing horn-bowed
     spectacles, here among the powdered heads of Paris. The clay
     medallion of me was the first of the kind made in France. A variety
     of others have since been manufactured of different sizes; some to
     be set in snuff boxes and some so small as to be worn in rings.
     These, with the pictures and prints, have made your father's face
     as well-known as the moon, so that he durst not do anything that
     would oblige him to run away, as his phiz would discover him
     whenever he should venture to show it.'"

"That is monstrous amusing," interrupted Peggy, laughing. "It is
true then that plain bands and a quiet manner of dressing in Paris
have become the style. One can scarcely imagine that gay town in
sombre raiment."

     "He says," continued Sally, smiling and dimpling, "that 'it is said
     by the learned that the word doll, used for the images that
     children play with, is derived from the word idol. From the number
     of dolls made of me, your father may truly be said to be
     i-doll-ized in this country; but I could scarce believe my eyes on
     reading your letter, that there was so much pleasure and dressing
     going on among women in Philadelphia, and that you yourself wished
     to appear in the mode. I cannot in decency, at such a time, when
     frugality is necessary, encourage my children in foolish whims and
     luxuries. I would not care to see you in either lace or feathers.
     If you will wear cambric ruffles, as I do, and take care not to
     mend them, the holes will come in time to be lace; and feathers, my
     dear girl, may be had in America from any cock's tail.

     "'If it happen that ye see General Washington assure him of my
     great and very sincere respect, and say that the old guard here
     approves of his conduct.

     "'Write often, my dear madcap, to your loving father,

                                                      "'B. FRANKLIN.'"

"I trust," said Mistress Peggy demurely, as a little murmur of laughter
went round the room, "that good Master Franklin may not hear the price I
paid for my new pink 'Calamanco shoes.'" Then glancing at herself in a
mirror opposite, she pouted, and looking around for sympathy, continued:

"'Tis scarce to be expected that we, who make some pretence to fashion
and gentility, should appear in linen kerchiefs and wear the
close-fitting, kiss-defying poke-bonnets one sees in the Friends'
meeting-house. I, for one, am glad that the old 'sumptuary laws' of the
early days in these colonies are no longer in force. In my grandmother's
time they were forbid to wear thread lace, ruffs, or silver and gold on
their girdles or garments. They were laid under correction if the women
appeared in 'silke' scarfs or tiffany hoods, which were dubbed 'wicked
apparel.' I hope that no whisper has reached your father's ear, Sally,
of the grand tourney the British officers talk of giving as soon as the
spring opens, and for which Major Andr is already considering the
decorations. I fear the writer of 'Poor Richard's Sayings,' which hang
over the chimney-niche yonder, would have somewhat to say in its
disfavor."

"I would there were some means of preventing the carrying out of this
project, Peggy," said Phyllis, who sat by her side in sweet seriousness.

"And wherefore, Phyllis?" queried Peggy, letting her work drop in her
lap, as she looked up in surprise.

"To me it is scarcely seemly at such a time of strife and uncertainty to
thus make merry. Though British-born, I agree with wise Master
Franklin, and should this extravagant diversion take place, I, for one,
will not give it countenance. Methinks soldiers, carrying swords, ought
to be more intent on their use than the artist's pencil, and on serious
plans of battle than light tripping in the minuet!" was the fearless
answer, even though, with the color deepening in her cheeks, she saw
that her words were not heard with approval.

"Well, Phyllis, I am far from agreeing with you," replied Mistress
Peggy, her temper somewhat ruffled. "Nothing short of a West Indian
hurricane, such as Betty Schuyler here has just been telling us her
lover, Alexander Hamilton, hath often witnessed when a boy, will hinder
my taking part in it. You had best change your mind, Phyllis."

As frequently as duty and decorum permitted. Major Andr left the lonely
grandeur of the Franklin mansion for the gayer domestic atmosphere of
the Shippen homestead, where the romantic maidens and their friends
treated him with especial friendliness. They were enamored, not so much
of the man himself, as of the sentimental pathos of an unhappy love
affair with a young English girl, which had sent him to the army in
America. Even there he could not wholly destroy the glamor of the
hopeless attachment, and the tender-hearted Peggy's pretty eyes filled
with tears when, describing his misfortune at St. Johns, he turned to
Phyllis, saying:

"I was stripped of everything save the picture of my love, one I had
myself painted of her sweet face, and which hath a look something of
your own, but I was lucky enough to be able to conceal it in my mouth,
and having that I still thought myself fortunate."

Although the Patriots were compelled to endure the investment of the
town by the British, and every Whig who had anywhere to go had left it,
those who remained made the redcoats in some respects none too
comfortable by having recourse to various stratagems for their
annoyance. Between the British drummer-boys and some of the youths of
the town continual and persistent hostility was maintained, heads being
broken in many a rough bout and scrimmage. The occupation of the city,
however, was not altogether unbearable, from the fact that it was known
to be of no practical advantage in the campaign in furthering the cause
of the British. Supported by this consoling conviction, the people, with
what patience they could, lived through the weeks of winter, until it
passed away before the soft breath of spring.

In northern woodlands the crocus again put forth its white buds, and
over the beautiful southland there was the odor of magnolias and orange
groves; the song of the mocking-bird in the deep woods of Kentucky,
Virginia and the Carolinas making the air liquid with melody.

The gay months in Philadelphia, with their balls, routs and plays, and
the grim, awful sufferings of Valley Forge were ended at last. The
British officers had determined with the coming of spring to fte
General Howe, who was returning to England, with the most splendid
military pageant ever seen on American shores, preparations for which
had been in progress for some time. It was to be in the form of a tilt
or mediaeval tourney, according to the rules of ancient chivalry. For
the time it was superseding in interest all other topics of converse
over foaming flagons in the taverns and in the tea-drinking and chatter
of the drawing-rooms. All the beauty and gentility of the town were
bidden, and although some had left the city, many of the belles
willingly accepted the elegant cards of invitation tendered them, and
which had been artistically designed and gracefully executed by Major
Andr. He was skilful with the brush and had produced the various
sceneries used during the winter in putting on the boards, dramas, which
the London ladies had greatly admired, written by "Handsome Jack
Burgoyne," as he was called, who had a gentlemanly passion for the
stage. Andr had full scope for his talents in the mural paintings of
woods, waterfalls and flower garlands for the adornment of the great
festival, his talents, youth and fine presence making him the life and
inspiration of the project.

By common consent Mistress Peggy, the darling of her family circle and
of the social life in the city, was chosen to receive the coveted honor
of acting as Queen of the Tournament. Some of the most exclusive of the
Patriot ladies having graciously signified their intention of being
present. Anne Temple, although unable to induce Phyllis to do so,
prevailed upon lively Lucy Knox, who was still as fond of pleasure and
full of romance as when a girl, to accompany her. Accordingly, three
o'clock on the fine May afternoon, than which no day could be fairer,
found them at the King's Wharf, where the company was assembling. The
river flowed sunny and glittering down from the wooded hills; far away
over meadows golden with buttercups, white clouds drifted like the great
round sails of Netherland barges, and in the dim thickets the cuckoo
called, and mating wood-pigeons cooed their love-songs. On the water the
richly furnished galleys, with streaming ribands and bands of music,
each floating the British flag, were receiving the brilliant throng of
gaily-bedecked men and women.

There was a dainty lifting of silken skirts as the ladies tripped the
planks, and their safe embarking made much holding of gloved and
mittened hands seem pre-eminently needful, as the sound of their
delicate laughter and the deeper mirth of the men rippled upon the
May-day air.

When all was ready, at a given signal, the whole fleet lay upon their
oars, while, to the lifting of hats cocked at the most fashionable
angle, with a crash of brazen harmony, the musicians struck up the notes
of "God Save the King," the sound tingling unpleasantly in the ears of
some present.

Mistress Lucy Knox, whose words were drowned in the loud chorus from the
shore, her patriotism in arms, covertly whispered to Anne, as they in
turn stepped aboard:

"A pretty piece of assurance that, quotha!--but let them sing and cheer
their lustiest, for this may be the last time that tune will be heard
within this town, unless it be put to the praise of liberty, or at least
to other words than these. 'Yankee Doodle,' as they call this new ditty
which has so caught the fancy of the people, I venture to predict will
be the next we will here listen to."

As she spoke the cables were loosed and the magnificent fleet of ships,
galleys and barges, with flags and ribands gaily streaming, set sail and
glided onward.

At a late hour of the night, with the quiet stars in the silent, solemn
blue soothing their minds after the dancing and junketing of the great
fte, Lucy Knox and her young charge returned along the shadowy streets
to their home, the familiar scents of dew-wet thyme and lavender,
rosemary and musk blowing sweet and pure over the garden walls. Phyllis,
at the bed-time hour, had partly disrobed, and unlacing her bodice and
loosening her comb, had lain down, keeping a single candle alight for
their welcome. On their return, hearing the sound of their slippers
tapping on the stairway, and rubbing into wakefulness her soft eyes
heavy with drowsiness, she begged to be told of all the wonderful
happenings of the day.

Anne Temple, with the gauzes of the gorgeous Oriental costume she had
worn somewhat dampened by the night dews, with sparkling eyes, began,
nothing loth, a running description, as she took off the broad silk sash
and jewelled turban of what Mistress Knox had called "a silly and
outlandish garb." Untying her spangled slippers, she said eagerly:

"Oh, Phyllis, words of mine can scarce picture the scene. The great
arches, with their decorations and mottoes, and the pavilions, with
lines and double lines of Grenadiers and Light Horse, were monstrous
fine. The ladies, with their knights and attendant esquires in elegant
trappings, the blue uniforms of the navy, the gold lace and scarlet of
the staff officers and the chasseurs of Brunswick, were gay beyond the
telling, not to speak of the dancing and toasting with beaker and bowl.
Ye should have heard the compliments to our grace and beauty; it fairly
turns my head to think upon it all. Margaret Shippen made a lovely
'Queen of the Tourney'; among the pretty show of loyal dames none
equalled her."

"None looked better than yourself, Anne," interrupted her aunt; "albeit
your dress, with its Turkish trousers instead of decent petticoats, was
somewhat scandalous, as were also the robes of the silly-named knights,
who themselves wore the gowns instead of the women, for whose favor they
made pretence to fight in full career with lance and shield."

"Hoopskirts and farthingales were not the mode, aunt, in the days of
ancient chivalry, and according to its usages, and as Major Andr said,
'were not befitting this tournament,'" replied Anne, a little pettishly.

"This John Andr, child, is, as I have observed, a well-mannered,
capable youth, but he had best curb his doings somewhat, else if he let
them thus run riot, he may venture one day into something he would fain
undo," was the ominous rejoinder.

"Well," said Anne warmly, "in this at least, aunt, I think he was much
to be praised, for I am sure that the pretty French Queen in Paris could
have had no more beautiful fte." Turning to finish her description,
she continued: "Oh, Phyllis, ye should have seen the scores of mirrors!
One could scarce turn around without seeing one's face and form
somewhere framed about with festoons of ribands and garlands of flowers,
in the light of hundreds of candles!

"But even the ball-room was surpassed when supper was served. Instead,
forsooth, of a banquet in this beleaguered Quaker town, it seemed to be
a feast in the fairy palace of Queen Mab. I would scarce have been
surprised to have seen her and her train riding in on a moonbeam, so
dazzled were my eyes with the brilliance of the company, and the beauty
of the board. Even the black slaves, bowing in obeisance, as they served
the wines and dishes, wore silver collars and bracelets, like those of
eastern lands. 'Tis said in the Assembly that Major Andr can make the
most delicate verses ever printed in Master Franklin's 'Evening Post,'
so it seems that he has equal skill with the pen and brush."

A sigh from Mistress Knox showed that she was wearied with the
excitements and surprises of the day and night, and Phyllis at once
hastened to aid her in removing the festive garments she had worn.
Troubled with certain twinges of conscience which had tormented her
through the revelry, she threw herself upon her dimity-curtained
tester-bed, a tear trembling on her lashes. Turning to Phyllis, who,
tender in a moment, was bending over her, she said, taking the girl's
hand in her own:

"It was a brave sight without doubt, and the tilting and trumpeting
stirred one's blood, but Phyllis, child, you were wise to bide at home;
'twere better, too, had I done likewise. As Anne has said, this redcoat
ball they call a 'Mischianza,' or some such heathen foolishness, was
more like a night's revel in a houri's palace in the Orient than a feast
in a colony founded by a simple, God-fearing Quaker. One could scarce
believe that the land is torn with strife, that war-clouds darken the
skies, and the Dove of Peace, with bleeding wings, hath not where to
'rest the sole of its foot'! Strive as I would I could not make it a
merry meal!"

Phyllis sighing with her in silent sympathy, she continued:

"Like a death's head at a feast, through all the reveling and
prodigality, unbidden would arise before my mind a camp hard by, where
in nakedness and bitter want, our great Chief, with my Henry and their
men, suffered throughout the bitter cold of the long months of winter.
As I looked around and saw the bejewelled and silver-buckled shoes
lightly beating time to the sound of lively music, methought I saw the
snows of Valley Forge crimson-stained by the bare and lacerated feet of
their soldiers.

"As we sat at the gorgeous banquet, in a blaze of red coats, sashes and
ribboned orders, with even the black servants doing trencher service in
silken raiment, I thought of the famine-pinched faces of those who
crouched around the fires through the long night-watches, in ragged,
threadbare blue coats, rather than lie down in the huts bare of covering
from the wintry blast. As they sipped their wine and passed their toasts
with jest and laugh, methought I saw a solitary figure, with calm,
saint-like face, wrap a cloak around him, and climbing the hillside in
lonely solitude, call on the God of the down-trodden and oppressed for
help and defence; but mark me, child, Valley Forge will shine in history
with the light of heroism, when all the glitter of this tinsel show we
saw to-day will be forgot."

Smoothing her pillow and drawing her bed-curtains, Phyllis soothed her,
saying:

"Thank heaven the winter is past in camp and town. Strive to rest now in
mind and body whilst I go and make ready a sleeping cordial for you,
when you must seek to slumber, for the night is already far spent."




CHAPTER XVII.

_CHALLENGED._


A month later, the British, at last realizing that the holding of the
place was of no strategic value, prepared to evacuate the city, and
forthwith they marched out on June eighteenth, and within twenty-four
hours afterward, Benedict Arnold, not yet recovered sufficiently to take
the field, by authority of Washington entered and took command. The last
echo of the footsteps of General Howe's lackeys had scarcely died away
on the threshold of the Penn house, when Arnold's servants arrived to
make ready for the state in which he there intended to live. The house,
built by William Penn in the year 1700, was a singular, old-fashioned
structure, laid out in the style of a fort, with abundance of angles and
two wings projecting out into the street, in the manner of bastions,
enclosing a spacious yard filled with rows of lofty, venerable pines.
Arnold was still young, being only thirty-six years of age, and already
covered with military glory. His manly bearing, unrivaled daring and
almost reckless bravery in action, with the romantic interest of his
still troublesome wound, invested his person with uncommon
attractiveness; notwithstanding which, Tory ladies thought it prudent to
retire behind curtained windows and closed doors.

The spell which made him the hero of the hour was felt by all, even by
those whose political tendencies had caused them to cultivate the
society of the officers of the army which had just withdrawn. On his
appearance, starred flags which for months had lain hidden were brought
out and thrown to the summer breeze. Some of the shop-keepers, with an
eye to future profit, hastily pulled down the "King's Arms" from above
their doors, as was also the sign of the "Harp and Crown Inn," by its
worldly-wise and time-serving host.

Then, in the heart of the city, as its resident military governor,
Arnold began a most sumptuous and extravagant style of living,
establishing likewise a fine country seat on a bluff overlooking the
Schuylkill, to the banks of which the beautifully wooded park extended.
It was known as "The Slate Roof House," and with its broad walks, drives
and grand old oaks, was one of the finest places in the colony.

Within the month, in the hazy blue of a mid-summer evening, his doors
were thrown open for the giving of a ball, for which, in a bed-chamber
in the Knox mansion, the ladies were prinking and putting on their fine
array. Phyllis, with cheeks as pink as the June roses swaying in the
open window spaces and in the great Nankin bowl she had filled from the
garden earlier in the day, was growing prettier with each stage of the
dressing and donning of silk and lace. Her eyes seemed to have caught
the blue of the sky, the harebell and forget-me-not, and her hair, which
was piled high in shining puffs, the golden glow of the sunset. It had
been put up by the hairdresser, who had been busy since dawn in
carefully fashioning the coiffures of pads and curls so much in vogue
among ladies of fashion. A black maid, simpering in smiling admiration
of her task of assisting in the dressing, was giving the finishing
touches of paint and powder, and deftly placing here and there little
black patches on the ivory of chin or brow.

For some weeks previous Anne Temple had been absent from town,
sojourning in the rural quiet of Mistress Washington's seat at Mount
Vernon, trying with her youthful gaiety to beguile somewhat the tedium
and loneliness of its mistress in the four years' absence of its master,
who in that time had not once crossed its threshold.

She had frequently made visits to the country-seat on the Potomac, and
from her childhood had been familiar with the box-bordered paths of its
quaint gardens, and the peacocks flaunting their green and gold finery
by the weatherworn sun-dial on the green. On sunny mornings she had
often followed its mistress, as she tended and gathered her flowers, or
gave directions in the spinning and smoke-houses. Many a time had she
stolen away from her task at the harpsichord to run into the wide
kitchen to watch the spits turning before the hearth-fire, or laugh at
her pretty features reflected in the shining brass of the warming-pan or
copper skimmers hanging by the dresser.

It had been her unfailing delight to ride through the Virginian woods in
the early morning hours, on the pillion behind Master Washington, when
he set out to oversee his plantations; but in the dreary time of war,
with spirits dampened by the quiet yet busy pulling of lint and making
bandages, the days lagged so wearily, and she found Mount Vernon so
extremely dull, that she gladly welcomed the one of her return to town.
Even there, in the more lively home of Mistress Knox, with little enough
of gaiety, she found it somewhat mopish; so, as she dressed, her cheeks
were aflame, and her eyes sparkled at the mad distraction of an
evening's frolic and dancing.

As she stood at her dressing-table, with lavender-scented delicacies of
raiment on bed and chairs, humming the burden of a new minuet, with the
candles shining upon her from either side, she was a winsome creature.

Dowered with the sunny beauty of her Huguenot ancestry, who had fled
their native France at the terrible knell which had rung from the church
belfry of the old town of St. Germain de l'Auxerrois, her piquant
features had an air of refined and gentle breeding. Upon her hair, which
rose over a cushion, she wore a satin and gauze head-dress, coquettishly
adorned with roses, and her pink satin gown, spreading over a wide hoop,
made her waist, with its pointed bodice, look the most dainty the heart
of maiden could desire. Below the flounce appeared two little slippers,
with red heels, the highest the fashion would permit, encasing, in
openwork silk stockings, a pair of arched feet, said to be the smallest
and most perfect owned by any belle in the colonies. On her bosom was
folded a kerchief of filmy Italian lace, which shaded without hiding the
graceful neck.

Adjusting a bow of riband, and shaking out her perfumed scarf of lace,
in her tender little vanities, she contemplated her sparkling reflection
with innocent gratification. The prospect of a dance had gone to her
pretty head like wine, and laying down her powder-shaker, she suddenly
turned, and bowing with a low, sweeping curtsy, said with a gay laugh to
Phyllis, whose admiration shone in her eyes:

"Am I not fine--and to think that this is the first new gown I have had
since Lexington! Our dear Mistress Washington would be aghast were I to
whisper to her how many golden guineas it has taken to deck me for this
rout, but one cannot wear linen tuckers, fustian or homespun to a ball.
I am sick to death of spinning-wheels forever whirling in the
chimney-corners and of brewing tea from ribwort, sage and other herbs
and simples. Bestowing high-sounding names on these decoctions to my
mind in no way improves their flavor. 'Tis true that some of our
acquaintances praise them as being most excellent and delicate to the
taste, but I am far from patriotic enough to relish this 'Liberty tea'
made from the four-leaved loosestrife that grows by the roadside, or
'Hyperion tea' brewed from raspberry or currant leaves from the garden."

"Is there not a vow upon you in regard to this?" asked Phyllis.

"Aye, of a truth I am under covenant, and at Mistress Washington's
tambour-secretary, signed my name in full, Anne Prudence Temple, with my
most clerkly flourishes, albeit with something of a pang. With her eyes
upon me, an' in my ears her words: 'Subscribe to it, my child, 'tis our
woman's charter an' will bear results as weighty as that the Barons
signed on Runnymede meadow,' I had perforce to sign myself thus: 'We,
the daughters of patriots, do with pleasure' (pleasure, mark ye,
Phyllis), 'engage with them in denying ourselves the drinking of foreign
tea, in hopes to frustrate a plan which tends to deprive a whole
community of all that is valuable in life,' and I have kept it as if it
were writ in the catechism, that to drink a dish of tea, or wear even so
much as a thread of English-made linen, were falling into a snare of the
Evil One.

"When Master Franklin said: 'I do not know a single article imported
into the colonies but what they can either do without or make for
themselves,' he did not consider that we do not all share his taste for
sober grays and browns. If, to be sure, Virginia had not long since
given up the cultivating of silkworms and mulberry trees for the raising
of cotton and tobacco, we might have spun our own silk gowns, but as it
is we must depend on what the foreign packets bring us. Even that is
becoming so burdensome that I do not expect so much as another pair of
silk hose until this war comes to an end. If it does not shortly, we
two, Phyllis, will be like a pair of old-fashioned spinsters who have
quite forgot that we ever walked one of these new French cotillions,
curtsied in a minuet or tripped it in a Virginia reel."

"Well, Anne," smiled Phyllis, "despite all this, for the time being at
least you are as fine and well decked out as any great court lady, and
not at all like a simple New England maiden, born in Puritan Boston
town."

With face suddenly breaking into a mischievous smile and with a defiant
toss of her powdered head, Anne continued:

"And to-night we will sip whip-syllabub and apple-toddy; nibble to our
heart's content at coriander comfits, seed cakes and spiced ginger-nuts,
the men drinking their sack-posset and arrack-punch from great steaming
bowls; and we will forget all else save the merry tapping of our heels
to the maddening, pulsing music of the bands."

Running on in her gay prattle, she glanced at Phyllis, whose heart was
out of tune for such a mood, and complained:

"I prithee look not so demure, as if you were a prim Quaker maiden,
instead of what I venture to suspect, the betrothed of Captain Basil
Temple, in ball attire. These grey skirts, though of this lovely Indian
taffeta, seem more of the Quakeress than suits one of your blood and
breeding, not to mention what, if I am not wrong in my conjecture, will
be your future rank as the wife of an English knight, who is in the
direct line of a peerage."

Phyllis, embarrassed how to reply to the sally, sighed:

"I care little for gauds or fangles now, and am not likely to wed," but
not regarding her words, Anne still ran on:

"But despite this obstinacy in dressing in this sombre tint and
eschewing gay colors, you are none the less rarely sweet to look upon,
for ne'er was maid more comely than my sweet cousin, for such I hope
ere long to claim you. In truth Basil is not blind if he hath chosen
Mistress Phyllis Davenant as the future lady of the old hall in Kent."

A smile at the kind raillery and the caress which accompanied the words,
struggled with a sigh that Phyllis could not but give, that at the wish
of one calling herself her future kinswoman, she had laid aside her
black dress and consented to accompany her to the ball. Anne assured her
that they were under debt of gratitude to that fascinating Colonel
Arnold, whose wit, romance and bravery were on every tongue, who thus
sought to provide a diversion for their minds from the continual
dwelling on battles and bloodshed.

"Come, let us banish the thought of them," she said; and picking up her
petticoat between finger and thumb, the French in her blood tingling to
the tips of her little slippers, she caught Phyllis round the waist and
skimmed about the chamber, saying:

"Let us see that we have not quite forgot the glide and languish of the
minuet," then letting her go, she sank low in the circle of her skirts,
saying:

"Now sink deep in the curtsy, from which, until we rise, no gentleman
may lift from his bow;" then whirling around alone, her color coming, as
her heart beat faster and faster, her red lips parted, she exclaimed:

"I feel as if I could dance on and on till daylight breaks, and my heart
is as light as my heels." Suddenly stopping, she bent towards Phyllis
and whispered:

"Tell me I too look fair to-night, for I have set my heart on
captivating this friend of yours, this Major Vanrosfeldt, whom I have
met before, for his handsome blue eyes have caught my fancy. His steps
are ravishing, no other gentleman can dance a minuet with grace like
his, and none is more sought after in the drawing-rooms. 'Tis well you
are already as good as pledged, else I might fear a rival. So tell me
truly that my looks please you."

Phyllis, startled, the patch-box she held fell from her hand, scattering
the contents on the floor, which, to cover her embarrassment, she
stooped to gather up and replace ere she could trust herself to speak.
Then, with a sharp pain clutching at her heart, and the color fading
from her face, she answered softly: "In this land or those across the
sea, there is no fitter frock, nor one more prettily worn."

Lifting up her face to kiss her for the sweet words, Anne said hastily,
noting her sudden pallor:

"But, cousin, these cheeks of thine are too pale for one of your fair
looks and years, and much too white, I trow, for the giddy air of the
ball-room." Turning to her dressing-table, she said coaxingly: "Here is
my rouge-pot, come hither an' I will make them bloom with the English
rosiness that fitly belongs to them. We must not have the vapors
to-night, an' it is time we set forth."

An hour later, descending from their chair as it was set down at the
Penn House, they joined the gay company entering the garden-paths, which
were sweet with the scent of the rose leaves scattered upon them by the
evening breeze.

In the confusion of the coaches as they rolled up, the jostling of the
footmen and chair carriers, and dazzled by the chaise lamps, Phyllis for
a moment stood bewildered among so many strangers. Seeing her evident
timidity, a quietly but elegantly dressed gentleman separated himself
from the crowd of arrivals, and with graceful but studiously formal
courtesy, tendered his finger-tips to conduct her to the house, which
was ablaze with candles and a-tremble with music. In the fading
daylight, as she gratefully gave her hand to her conductor, she looked
daintily sweet in her soft, grey silks, with petticoat and slippers
a-sparkle with silver. In her low-cut frock, and sleeves to the elbow,
beyond which it was considered indecorous to bare in ladies of gentle
breeding, her neck and arms gleamed fair as the white flowers in the
darkening night.

Discovering in the light of the hall lanthorn that she was leaning upon
the arm of Edward Vanrosfeldt, the color that flashed into her cheeks
was so engaging that she attracted the aim of the quizzing-glasses of
the gallants who considered themselves judges of a pretty face and
well-turned ankle, which last the short petticoat then in vogue gave
opportunity to display. In her turn for being received, as with
demureness and gentle dignity she made her deep reverence of sweeping
curtsy to the dames, who in pity of his wifelessness, matronized for
their host, a pleased murmur came from some of the men nearest in the
brilliant throng.

One especially, a marvellous fine gentleman, fixed his bold, dark eyes
upon her with a debonair, impudent stare. He was handsomely dressed, in
a way that showed him possessed of uncommonly good taste, in
claret-colored velvet coat and small-clothes, and vest of white satin,
richly embroidered. With hose elegantly clocked, shining pumps with
silver buckles, and full ruffles of delicate Mechlin lace on the bosom
and at the wrists, he was one of the most conspicuous and dashing
figures in the room. After the roughness of camp life, and the
retirement which she had voluntarily sought, the scene to Phyllis seemed
bewilderingly enchanting, for Benedict Arnold was lavish in his tastes,
a very prince in hospitality, and stinted no expense when bent on
entertaining. The pink color tinting her cheek deepened to the hue of
the blush-rose, in the pleasure of beholding the splendor of the rooms,
filled with the changing effects of the varied damasks and brocades of
the dresses and flashing petticoats of the women, and the handsomely-cut
velvets and shapely silk stockings of the men. The witching flutter of
fan and scented kerchief, the swish of skirts, with the archness of
paint, powder and patches, in the air heavy with the odor of green
myrtle-berry candles, thrilled her senses with the unquestioning glamor
of youth and innocence in unrestrained delight.

Towards midnight, as the dancers moved in tempered grace to the swaying
music of the players, the company was vastly entertained by a series of
novel evolutions, which had been especially arranged for the occasion.
The figures were led by Colonel Arnold and Mistress Margaret Shippen,
with whom he had opened the ball, and whose names the gossips had linked
together, whispering that it was plain that the Penn house would shortly
have a sweet young mistress. The dance was intended to symbolize the
happy union of sentiment existing between France and the United States,
whose independence had been first recognized by that country some two
years before, and as a compliment to the French noblemen on the field,
alliance with whom was making their language the fashion of the day.

A company of eight couples formed in an ante-room and entered the
dancing-hall, two by two, four of the gentlemen dressed in the
regimentals of the French army, and four in the blue-and-buff of the
American. Four of the ladies appeared in blue ribands and American
flowers, and four in red ribands and French flowers. They danced with
clanking of spur and rustle of gown, sometimes two and two, sometimes in
figures of four couples, and then by a sudden movement, all blended
together in ordered rhythm to the music of flutes, viols and drums
beating on the heated, perfumed air.

As the strains died away, and the dancers gracefully withdrew, a loud
murmur of admiration broke from the men, with some soft clapping of
mittened hands and waving of kerchief or fan from the pretty groups of
women. A young sprig of fashion, airing his travelled graces among them,
posed against an ombre-table in the latest London affectation,
addressing the man who had so boldly admired Phyllis on her entrance,
exclaimed with a favorite oath:

"Egad, Burr, that was monstrous fine and----cleverly done! Paris could
scarce do better."

Stroking his ruffles as he admired the cut of his waistcoat, and
slightly flushed with wine, Burr agreed, saying:

"'Twas assuredly an uncommonly happy conceit, and one carried out with
consummate tact and charming effect." Hailing a guest standing a few
feet away on his right, who with a measureless gloom in his eyes was
gazing at a slender figure in grey gauze draperies, he laughed, raising
his voice:

"This Vanity Fair, Vanrosfeldt, seems not to your mind. You appear to
have obtained little pleasure from the pretty show of grace and skill,
or from Mistress Peggy's lightness of foot, as it was meet you should."

"Have you observed," he continued, "that she seems not to stint the
smiles she bestows on Arnold, cripple though he be? I would not be
averse to such favor myself. I have long coveted the winsome Peggy's
sweet lips. I had her to wine a half hour since, and would willingly
have tippled mint-julep with her till morning, just to gaze on the
brightness of her eyes. It seems a strange and cursed piece of fortune
that a man with two good comely legs, and not called ill-favored, should
have less chance than that limping apothecary and erstwhile pill-monger.
If all we hear be true, I trow he would be more at ease walking the deck
of a smuggler than treading a minuet or whispering a love-sonnet in a
woman's ear."

Suddenly changing his tone and lowering his voice, he asked, with a
broadly flattering glance at Phyllis:

"Vanrosfeldt, who is yonder fair damsel in grey? I would beg her for a
reel. A plague on't! but since her entrance, I am pursued by the
conviction that we have met before, by one of those tormenting memories
which sometimes capture the fancy and yet elude the mental grasp."

Receiving no answer, he followed his companion into the curtained
alcove, to which, on being thus questioned, he had withdrawn, as if
desirous of being alone, and quickly slapping his satin-clad knee,
ejaculated, with a sinister look in his handsome eyes:

"Ha! I have it at last! She is a certain Phyllis Davenant, and as I
rightly surmised, we have met before."

Wincing at the lack of respect in thus speaking her name, Vanrosfeldt
said slowly, but with a menace in his voice unnoticed by the other:
"Your mode of address, Captain Burr, betokens unwarrantable and undue
familiarity."

Glorying in always painting himself guilty of intrigue, even when
innocent of it, he replied: "Split me, familiar or not, just as ye may
call it, but yonder demure and innocent-looking maiden was my guest for
a full week in the barracks-convent at Quebec. She would not take it
amiss were I to press her hand in the dance which I will shortly crave;
albeit I would lay odds that she is not a whit more lavish in her favor
to suppliant lover than others of these prudent-looking dames now
comporting themselves with such decorum before us."

Realizing that at last the persecutor of Phyllis Davenant was before
him, his listener, in a blind anger, the blood rushing crimson to his
temples, hissed under his breath:

"She did it not willingly, ye foul filcher of the fair name of woman!
You lie, Aaron Burr!" and raising his right hand, with a blow swift and
sudden, he savagely slapped the sneering, laughing lips, from which a
warm, red stream of blood fell on the satin of his vest. With face as
white as the lace handkerchief with which he staunched the blood, Burr
muttered through his clenched teeth:

"A curse on ye, ye shall hear from me, and that before sun-up!" to
which, as he withdrew, Vanrosfeldt flung back:

"Nothing under heaven would give me keener pleasure than to hear from
you or any other such slanderous villain. If not afraid to fight, choose
our weapons, pistols or blades, but be warned, take not her name upon
your perjured lips, nor let a thought of her rest in the blackened pit
of your accursed heart!"

With eyes blazing with a wrath which swept over him like a hot flame,
and before which the effrontery of the other cowered, Vanrosfeldt passed
quickly through the ball-room, and hastily took his leave. With the
bloodstains upon his clothes and desirous of finding a second, Burr
found a low window affording egress to the garden, through which he
passed out unobserved. Although possessed to an unblushing degree of the
baser passions, and an inordinate audacity, he was not without the
nobler attributes of bravery and physical courage.

Before the last merry-maker, therefore, had returned home in the soft
summer night, the time and place for an exchange of shots were fully
arranged; Edward Vanrosfeldt accepting with impatient readiness the
opportunity of meeting the traducer of Phyllis Davenant, and making him
answer at the pistol-point for his most foul and dastardly slight of her
innocence.

Through the remaining hours of the night a light burned in the quarters
occupied by Vanrosfeldt. Brother Jerome, who lodged with Father Carroll
in a religious house on the opposite side of the street, seeing the tall
shadow of a man pacing to and fro in the room, watched it sleeplessly
until just before dawn, when he saw a covered coach drive quietly up and
stop at the door of the dwelling. The man in the long military cloak who
emerged and entering the vehicle, drove away, he knew to be Vanrosfeldt.
Suspicious of the nature of their intention, the priest hurriedly drew
his cowl over his head and was quickly in the street. There was no need
for caution, as seeing his clerical habit and haste, the night watchman
concluded the holy brother was hurrying to receive a dying confession
from some poor sin-burdened soul, or to administer "extreme unction" to
one who fain would die within the pale of the Church.

Following the direction the coach had taken, and guided by the sound of
the wheels in the quiet of the early morning, the priest hurried on. By
crossing some garden-spaces and fields, and taking a by-path through the
woods, he shortly arrived at a sheltered spot behind a church, where the
determined men stood face to face.

Hiding among the trees, aghast, yet fearful of uttering a cry, he
breathlessly watched the ground paced off, and the two principals,
pistol in hand, await the signal.

There was an awful pause, then on the dewy air, sweet with the first
twittering of nesting birds, it fell. There was a shot, a puff of smoke,
and the monk in the shadow, pale, trembling, with hands pressed upon his
lips to keep back the quick, gasping cry that almost started from them,
reeled against a tree, and saw, as the smoke cleared away, both men
standing.

There was but one report; Vanrosfeldt's weapon was still in his right
hand, but undischarged. Burr, though an excellent marksman, had, by a
hair-breadth, missed his aim.

Vanrosfeldt stood unhurt, with his brown hair burnt by the ball which
had passed through it. Looking contemptuously at his opponent, he said
with a bitter sneer:

"I would not do you the honor to take your miscreant life. I leave that
to the hangman, who doubtless will some day do for you the deserved
service," and turning he pointed his pistol at the trees of the quiet
churchyard, where nothing living was visible, and fired. A wild shriek
of agony pierced the still air. Looking at each other in amazement, and
then in the direction whence a sound of groaning came, the matter in
hand was suspended, and with the attending surgeon, the men together
made search to discover its meaning.

A few moments' quest, and half hidden under a leafy bush, they found the
prostrate form of the priest, with a red stream oozing from beneath the
fastenings of his robe. In spite of his faint efforts at resistance, and
the desperate clutch with which he held it, the gown was unloosed and
torn away to find the wound, which happily was found to be not a vital
one. The men, with the hot anger of the feud forgotten, gazed in each
other's faces, dumb for the moment with astonishment, for the life-blood
was trickling down, not the spare breast of an ascetic, but the soft,
white neck of a woman.

As the head and features were fully revealed, the two men looked with
bewilderment into each other's eyes, and Edward Vanrosfeldt, hurriedly
but ineffectually trying to hide his discovery from the rest, ejaculated
in horror under his breath: "May I perish, if it be not Sister Thrse!"

Burr, with a grating laugh, sneered: "Swamp it!--by all the saints in
the calendar, 'tis that angel of piety, Saint Thrse! Methought, pure
vestal, we would meet again." And leaning toward Vanrosfeldt, who was
supporting her in his arms, he said mockingly:

"Consider, my chivalrous friend, if ye are not over-hasty in your
knight-errantry. Perchance Aaron Burr's estimate of female deviltry and
craftiness is not so far wrong as ye deem it."

"Peace, fiend--'tis most surely through no virtue of yours if it were
otherwise," he retorted, infuriated, as Burr, with an exasperating
laugh, continued:

"Ye put it roughly, friend; say, rather, if these fair, frail creatures
will adore me, 'tis surely through no fault of mine."

Angered to passion, and throwing his pistol away, lest he should shoot
him in cold blood on the spot, his antagonist muttered in Burr's ear:

"I would to heaven I had my horse-whip handy--'tis the only weapon fit
for such as you. Begone, and leave this unfortunate to me, to whom I
owe a debt of gratitude I would fain now repay."

Then once again Thrse de Lrie found herself borne in the arms of the
man she loved, and in a very abandon of joy she forgot her pain and
humiliation, grudging not a moment of the misery of the past and the
suffering of the present in the rapture of the few moments in which he
carried her to the coach, which was awaiting the result of the duel.

Before the city was fully awake to the work and anxieties of another
day, the only woman to whom he remembered she was known, in all
tenderness was bending, with Edward Vanrosfeldt, over a bed in a corner
of the lobby of the State House. Although as yet unused for the purpose,
it had been temporarily fitted up for a hospital, should an emergency
arise requiring its accommodation.

With tears falling down the sweet, flower-tinted face, from which the
color was slowly ebbing with the strong tide of emotion with which she
was struggling, Phyllis looked down with compassion and shrinking pity
and asked:

"Thrse, wherefore have you done this? Must I tell you that your
mother, believing you to be lost to the paths of right, is bereft of
reason, and your father, his home now desolate, has buried his griefs in
a cell in the order of which Leon is a Brother."

Suddenly a suspicion flashed across the mind of the man silently looking
on. An ecstasy, a great, mad, joyous hope sprang into life. A very
delirium of joy possessed him at the mere thought of a possibility, and
interrupting, with face white as linen on the bleaching green, he asked
hoarsely, with withering scorn:

"Tell me, woman, calling yourself Sister Thrse, did ye lie when ye
said that Phyllis Davenant sought to fly from Quebec with Captain Temple
because she loved him, and would risk her fair name to be with him? Was
it not a black untruth? Speak, and for once be free from dissembling and
deceit."

A breathless silence fell, his heart knocking as it never had at leveled
muskets. Phyllis, with hands clasped, and lips pressed tightly as in an
anguish of fear and pain, every trace of color fled from her cheeks,
awaited the reply of the girl, who, with a look in which baffled cunning
and tardy contrition struggled for the mastery, turned slowly away in
silent acknowledgment, tormented with the agony of unrequited love which
rent her woman's soul.

Receiving his answer, Edward Vanrosfeldt turned to Phyllis, and holding
out his hands, his heart in his voice, asked:

"My Phyllis, if ye do not love him, tell me what I craved so long ago;
can ye love me?"

Laying her hands in his, the crimson surging into her pale cheeks as the
full meaning of the girl's cruel lie dawned upon her, she answered
simply and solemnly, raising her eyes to his in the sweetness of
shyly-lifted lids:

"Till death doth us part."

"An' ye will marry me, Phyllis, my own, my love?" he whispered, drawing
her closer and closer until her heart beat against his own; but the
face hid against his blue coat was wet with tears, as she wept in
mingled joy and pain. Lifting it to look into his, in her sweet
surrender, but with a tender reluctance, she said with a quake in her
voice:

"I own I have fought against my heart, in a sore and bitter struggle
'twixt love and duty. Love has conquered me, but alas! duty forbids me
to vow to one who wears this sword, which is crossed in bloody strife
with those of my country and kin."

Looking down into the starry eyes, in which smiles and tears strove for
mastery, his own dark with longing and the sharp struggle 'twixt his
love and loyalty, he asked:

"When this blade is sheathed again in peace, if I live to come back, I
will ask this question once again; an' whether it will be yea or nay,
and the time be seven times the years that Jacob served for Rachel, it
will seem but a few days for the love I bear you!"

Thrse, lying forgotten in the crudest pain a woman's heart can bear,
bursting into bitter weeping, called forth all the tender pity of her
childhood's companion. Drawing away from her lover and whispering to him
to leave them alone, Phyllis bent down and asked, her face pale with
wounded feeling:

"Thrse, what have I done that thus I should be served? What could have
moved you to commit the sacrilege of assuming mock vows, and spreading
suspicion of my purity of purpose in seeking Captain Temple's ship,
which, thank heaven, he never so misjudged!"

"I will tell you, Phyllis Davenant! Because I hated you!--hated
you!--and loved to madness the man to whom you are pledged. I have
followed him through hardship, battle and bloodshed, only that I might
sometimes look upon his face and hear his voice! Now it is your
hour--wreak out your vengeance--proclaim my imposture on the house-tops
and on the street corners--and be happy!" she cried, with the fire of
one demon-possessed flaming from her passion-lit black eyes.

Shocked and striving to restrain the vehemence of her emotion, Phyllis
said soothingly, with soul too sweet to harbor malice or anger, but with
lips quivering:

"Peace, Thrse, I have no thought or wish for vengeance, of which I
will give you all the proof in my power. Mistress Knox, who has taken me
to her home, in these terrible times of war, when all are drawn together
by a common misfortune, will, I am assured, extend her kindness and the
protection of her roof to one who is friend of mine. My lips will be
sealed and none shall know that you and the pretended Jesuit who was
carried here wounded are one. We will forget the bitter past and there
may still be happy days in store for you, too, Thrse. As your poor,
heart-broken mother hath often said, Raoul St. Leger loves you, mourns
unceasingly for you, and seeks without weariness to find you, and wreak
swift and certain vengeance on the man who, through some woeful error,
he thinks has wrought you ill."

At some sudden thought, which seemed to sting like a poisoned dart, she
gasped with quickened breath:

"There is one more question I would have answered, and I adjure you
speak to me naught but the truth! A nun, one of the sisterhood in the
convent at Quebec, where I have heard from your mother you were at the
same time in hiding, told me a most wretched tale of weakness and
dishonor; that a novice, one called Agatha, had disappeared and fled the
vows she was about to take for love of a soldier there encamped. Was
ever proof found of their guilt?"

"Nay, 'twas an idle tale, a jest--believe it not. There was a novice,
Agatha, whose veil I wore when she was laid away beneath the altar in
the chapel," was the reply; for knowing that nothing was then to be
gained by falseness or further deceit, she determined to throw herself
on Phyllis's kindness and unmerited offer of shelter.

Despite the reprehensible part played in the disguise and the abhorrent
duplicity of trying to cast aspersion upon her, and compromise her in
the eyes of others, Phyllis, in the joy of learning that the story about
her lover had been false, made no reproach, but with a sigh of relief,
exclaimed:

"I thank heaven for these words, for 'tis sweet to know that where we
love we can also trust!"

An overwhelming gladness filled her soul that the one she had at first
loved for the manly beauty of his face and form, was, like true knight
of old, brave, chivalrous, without reproach and too noble to stoop to
aught unworthy his manhood and the place he held in her heart. Even
though it broke with longing for him, though a cruel fate should part
them, she would have him keep faith with what he deemed the right; for
she knew were he even for her sake to desert his post, her love would at
that instant be slain, her respect for him forever dead and buried. She
told herself that she would rather never look upon his face again than
go to his arms if he were recreant in his allegiance to that to which he
had pledged himself. But the woman in her would not always be silenced,
and, in spite of herself, a plaint would at times rise to her lips, and
with streaming eyes she would vainly wish that the coat he wore were red
instead of blue.




CHAPTER XVIII.

_WHO SHALL WIN?_


Under the leading of Arnold as Governor of Philadelphia the city was
caught in an uninterrupted whirl of social dissipation, which continued
without slacking through the ensuing months of summer and autumn, in an
extravagance hitherto unknown in the quiet city of Master Penn, the
place seeming at last to go wild in a sort of midwinter madness of
frivolity and folly. With the approaching springtime, however, the
skating on the broad Delaware, in which sport the gentlemen of
Philadelphia were unrivaled in grace and skill, the gambling away of
golden guineas, the pleasant drives along the country roads in the
sunlit days and moon-bright nights, and even the routs and revels, began
to lose something of their charm. In some of the more ardent and
adventurous spirits there was a stirring of the blood for the
allurements of the field, the running of the fox to cover, and the wild
joys of the racecourse.

Benedict Arnold loved a good horse, from the delicate, expanding nostril
and intelligent eye to the firm, powerful quarters and steel-strung
hocks. He knew how to find the points for speed and good breeding in the
deep shoulder, clean-cut head with breadth between the eyes, and well
set ears, as well as any fox-hunter in the copses of Virginia or the
blue-grass meadows of Kentucky. His blood thirsted for a taste of the
old sports, which even the dash of battle had not slacked. There had
been some running on a road they called Race Street, but with a longing
for a fuller enjoyment of speed tests he caused an old racecourse on his
estate, which had become grass-grown, the track hidden by a wild growth
of weeds, to be reclaimed, leveled and rolled and made ready for a
purpose dear to the lover of horseflesh. Even the warring clash of steel
was not to him a delight more keen than the glint of a steel hoof
flashing along the course in the sweet scents and sounds of early
morning, as the horses trained for the racing, which was set for a day
in early April.

His wound at Quebec prevented his doing anything more than supervising
the schooling of Mars, the favorite mount of Mistress Peggy Shippen, who
was the best and most fearless horsewoman in her native state, and whose
skill and daring in the saddle had caught the fancy of the Governor of
the city. He had charged himself with the preparation of the animal, a
spirited bay, and saw personally to the details of the horse's training,
out of his regard for his young mistress' favor.

The grooms, filled with a devoted loyalty to that man who had such a
power over men's hearts, were careful to carry out his minutest order.
After the regular morning gallop they diligently rubbed down the horse's
coat, bandaged his limbs, walked him cool before stabling, and for
several nights before the race slept by his side, rigidly measuring his
food and water.

There were several entries for the different events and high stakes
laid. The horse whose capacity and performances were most feared as a
rival to Mars was his half-brother, Saturn, another bay and extremely
like him in points and markings, to be ridden by Captain Aaron Burr, the
former by a sporting gentleman of Philadelphia.

The day arrived and dawned clear and propitious, with the moist,
delicious fragrance of the night lingering on the April air. The course
was in ideal condition and the horses in excellent form. At an early
hour everyone possessing a chaise, gig or carriage was rolling along the
river road to the country mansion of Colonel Arnold, many pleasure
seekers in twos and threes going afoot. Among the ladies, every trick of
toilet and fascination of streaming riband and floating ringlet were
brought into play for the occasion. With wide, flaring-rimmed bonnets
and hats _ l'Espagnole_, the latest mode in Paris, and frocks the
gayest the ladies' wardrobes possessed, there never was a braver show of
beauty and fashion. In the golden spring weather and sweet-smelling
land, and on such a quest, it seemed easy to forget for the time the
crash and horror of war.

In the great Shippen coach was the group of sisters, their bright eyes
peeping from beneath the sun-masks that shaded their pretty faces.
Peggy's time and attention were fully occupied along the way in casting
coquettish glances at the occupants of the saddles riding by, attired
either in uniform or the vesture of private citizens, with well-fitting
shorts and gold-trimmed beaver, some wearing "spatterdashes" to protect
their fine breeches. As they passed the coach Mistress Peggy could not
but pout with vexation that the staid respectability of her father's
equipage would not permit of the horses increasing their ordinary
genteel gait to suit her impatience to arrive at the course.

On overtaking at a turn of the road the modest chaise of Mistress Knox
she nodded prettily to Phyllis, whose bright face, as sweet as the day,
was aglow with the fresh air of the morning, and something astir within
her which had come down from sport-loving squires who for generations
had hunted the brown glebes and ridden through the country lanes of the
green shires of England. She looked not unlike an English flower, in her
daffodil gown and great lengths of white riband tied under her chin,
with a rose fastened in her scarf throwing the sweetest sort of a pink
shadow on her throat.

At last the Shippen coach rumbled grandly into the space arranged for
the accommodation of the onlookers. Among the "silks and satins" of the
field Peggy soon descried her horse carrying the black and white of the
Shippen colors, which also fluttered from her bosom, and for the first
time in her life, in her gay, wilful young heart she felt she would
right gladly forego the sovereignty of her beauty and come down from her
throne as queen of Philadelphia belles to be for one half hour a man.
Then she might leap on her beautiful bay, whose shining coat she caught
a glimpse of on his way to the weighing-paddock, and make a dash for
victory.

The gentlemen of her acquaintance gathered at her carriage steps, laying
odds on the favorites, and, as was expected from men of gallantry and
breeding, complimented the ladies on the color of their gowns and the
pretty fashion of their hair. They assured her with certainty that her
horse was the best in the field, gracefully uttering the well-turned
phrases by which men of fashion affected to embellish their
conversation.

The witnessing of the trial had to be made principally from the seats of
the carriages, which, with the coaches and chariots of the gentry, were
ranged on either side of the last quarter of a mile of the run. The
course, which was between three and four miles in length, was kept clear
by two mounted men from the city garrison. The contestants varied much
in appearance, but none showed the mettle of the two half-brothers, Mars
and Saturn. As Peggy watched their gaily decked riders, well matched in
weight and skill, bring them to the starting-point, she pressed her hand
upon her heart to quiet the throbbing which was sending the flushes of
excitement flaming to her cheeks.

Arnold, who was regarding her mantling color with looks of passionate
admiration, exclaimed:

"A hundred guineas on Mars!" and as her gratified smile flashed upon him
he said in a low voice to the girl to whom he had already paid court:

"Would to heaven I were as dear to you as is yonder dumb beast!"

Turning to him in a delirium of excitement she replied:

"If he win to-day I will not say you nay."

He grasped her hand and almost prayed that the little bay horse lined up
with six others in front of the starters might win with such a
priceless wager upon him.

There was some little delay, but at last the signal fell, and the red,
green, yellow, black and white colors of the men, and the bay, chestnut,
roan and grey of the horses, mingled in a mad rush of color, life and
motion, with Saturn in the lead. The first jump was a stone wall with a
ditch on the take-off ride, of small dimensions, but formidable enough
to make every horse but Mars and Saturn refuse. Both got over, none too
well, but enough to get on the right side, and racing well together they
soon opened a gap between themselves and the other five competitors that
widened at every stride.

Meanwhile the two chestnuts, with the others, the grey, roan and black
horses, pulled themselves together and after repeated attempts to take
the jump finally succeeded, a quarter of a mile or more separating the
leading pair from the stragglers behind, who, between baulking and
falling, were spread all over the course. The bays went merrily over the
next post-and-rail, the hedge and ditch at the far side, the hurdle
going into the ploughed land, and up over the hill, where they were
momentarily lost sight of. On reappearing the two leaders were seen to
be separated by a couple of lengths, Saturn in front.

They then headed for the water jump, which was just south of the long
line of carriages, in which there was an anxious straining of necks
among the spectators, many jumping upon the cushions to get a better
view. The going on the turf at that point was good and a little down
hill, Mars gaining steadily as they approached the water. As they rose
for the brush-and-rail in front of it Arnold turned a deathly pale, for
they were almost together, too close in fact, and a shriek came from the
white lips of the girl as clasping her hands wildly she gazed. Her horse
came up with every brave nerve and sinew strung to its utmost in a
tremendous rush in his rider's effort to get on even terms with his
rival. They cannoned in mid-air, and crashing together fell short of the
bank and went headlong into the brook.

All that could be seen or heard was the confusion of the bystanders
rushing toward the drenched and half-drowned men, the consternation
among the carriages and the groans from the crowd. The horses struggled
to their footing, and the riders, disentangling themselves, wildly
scrambled out. The colors of both horses and men being then the dun of
the miry water, and as the latter were about the same size, and both
their horses bay, it was almost impossible to identify them as they
emerged half-blinded and confused by the shock. Just as those nearest in
the rear rose to take the jump and ride over them, the plucky men leaped
into the wet saddles, scarce heeding whether they had the stirrups or
not, and dashed for the drop jump at the head of the field. Turning then
to the right and taking a diagonal course across the meadow to a big
stone wall in the inner circle, and on over another, they ran out upon
the course that was flagged for the run home. The animals were then
coming on as one horse--neck and neck--all eyes were strained, and the
air rang with cries of "Mars!" and "Saturn!" which at last ended in one
prolonged cheer, as Burr, gaining on the other, passed in front of the
judge's stand winner by half a length, and the great event was over!

Mars' mistress sank half-fainting among the cushions as shout after
shout rent the air. Arnold was white as the cambric of the kerchief
covering her agitated face. He fully believed that had her horse won,
the girl he loved with all the intensity of his fierce nature would have
been carried away by the victory of the animal he had trained for her,
and in the moment of elation have found her favor, already in a measure
caught, blossom into love, and would willingly have paid her wager.

Both riders were quietly dismounting, and in the act of removing their
saddles, when shout after shout rose, more deafening and prolonged than
even before, seeming to rend the very sky. There was a hurrying of
grooms to and fro, hot words and even oaths among the crowd, the
commotion extending to the judges' stand itself. Breaking away from the
excited groups, Mistress Peggy's black stable boy, with eyes rolling
with delight, rushed madly up to the carriage, and, pulling off his cap,
panted out:

"Oh, Mist'is Peggy, our hoss dun won afte' all! Marsa Burr down dar at
de water jump dun git all mixed up in de mud an' jumped on our Mars
'stead ob his own Saturn an' dun won de race fur us! An' laws-a-massa,
he's jus ragin', swearin' mad down dar!" and flinging his torn cap in
the air, he shouted as he ran, "Hooray fur Mars!"

As they then comprehended that in the confusion of the fall at the
twelve-foot brook, the riders had mounted each other's horses and tried
desperately to beat their own, Arnold turned to the hysterical girl and
said brokenly, his heart beating like a smith's hammer: "Peggy, ye have
won!" and holding out her hand with a smile shining through her tears
like a rainbow on a storm-swept sky, she answered, "And, Benedict, so
likewise have you!"

Although Arnold had already been married and had several children, he
thus caught and won the love of sweet Margaret Shippen, and so enamored
was he with her beauty and his own good fortune that he scarce could
keep his eyes from her face as he rode home beside her carriage wheel.

A few weeks later, when the April showers had made bloom the flowers of
May, as in all the wealth of her youth and beauty, she stood beside him
at the altar, the heart of the lovely girl was only the more tender,
that he was compelled from the weakness of his old wound to lean upon
the arm of a comrade.

As she walked in her virgin white, among the fluttering ribands of her
attending bridal maids, with the promise of summer glowing around her
and the song of the goldfinch overhead, perchance she thought it could
not be possible that clouds could ever darken skies that on that day
shone so fairly.

In the months which followed his nuptials, in all the glamor of his
new-found happiness, Arnold loved to sit in state at his lordly
banquets, attended by his aides, with henchmen at his beck and call, and
look with pride upon his bride reigning at his board. Lovelier than even
in her maiden days, she queened it right royally as mistress of the
Governor's mansion. The magnificence of their style of living, with
their retinue of servants, four-in-hand coaches and liveries, was so
reckless at a time when the country was in such sore straits that rumors
of it reached the ears of the Chief, and met with his pronounced
disapproval and stern, open rebuke.

This, with the resentment at not receiving the official recognition and
promotion which he considered due to him, set all the worst in the man's
nature afire; and there were hours in his pleasure-fraught days and in
the wakeful, solemn dawns that were filled with dark, solitary brooding.
A fierce desire for vengeance embittered his insulted, ambitious soul,
which at first was, with a shudder, thrust aside, then argued with,
considered, and finally nourished.

Asking for and receiving the command of West Point he forthwith went
thither. Mistress Arnold, with her secret British leaning, had much
favored and constantly sought the companionship of Phyllis, and when
making ready for her departure wished that she make one of the party
going to the banks of the Hudson. To make known this desire she stepped
from her coach at the threshold of the Knox homestead and tripped into
the garden where she saw Phyllis, who greeted her with a smile so sunny
that her guest inquired:

"Wherefore so happy-looking this morning, Phyllis? Methought to find you
somewhat pensive with not a redcoat in town."

Pointing to the flowers that crowded and blossomed around her, the girl,
as she stood in her white dress among them, replied with a tremble in
her voice:

"'Tis that the garden seems like a bit of dear old England as I dimly
remember it, and as my mother hath often described it. In this strange
land these dog-roses and gillyflowers, with their sweetness and homelike
English faces, bring to mind my childhood." Stooping and gathering a
pansy she went on: "Here too is ever dear heartsease! These delicate
flower scents that in the dusk of twilight or early morning hang over
this garden vale, bring to me, Peggy, as odors ever do in some subtle
way, memories of other days and thoughts of my mother. Here are the
foxglove and marybuds she loved! Even these homely herbs, savory, thyme
and spearmint, bring me heart-pangs of how she longed once more to see
them growing by the door-side far away. Alas! she never did again behold
them;" and the brightness left her face in a dew of tears.

Putting her arms around her, Peggy, who loved her, then spoke her wish,
saying:

"This brooding is not well or wise, Phyllis. 'Twere better not to harbor
thoughts such as these; so 'twill be best that the boon I have come
hither to crave meet with your pleasure. 'Tis that I have your
companionship to New York State, to which, as ye know, I shortly go. A
sojourn there will, without doubt, be to your benefit, and not without
the power of diverting your thoughts from dwelling on the past and being
fearful of the future. The city of New York is in the hands of the
British, and their vicinity would doubtless be more to your mind than
this town from which some time ago they marched."

Restless and wearying with suspense of the chances of war and her
solicitude for the man she loved, fighting on the field, a change for a
time seemed welcome; so when the great coach started on the first stage
of the journey she was one of the travelling party.

Arnold, on being joined by his wife, with her guest and servants, fixed
his quarters in a picturesque dwelling on the banks of the Hudson, a
short distance from the post. It had been whispered that under the shade
of its trees, in days gone by, the awkward young Virginian, George
Washington, had sued in vain for the favor of a maiden's hand. There
then in those same shades, in what seemed a perversity of fate, walked
his friend, trusted for faith and honor, but with a consuming anger in
his heart, and within his soul a nursed lust for retaliation. The
hatching of a traitor's plot--the foul and deep deceit he
contemplated--gradually took tangible shape and ultimately practical
form.

When the time for action had fully come, in the city of New York two
British officers, Sir Henry Clinton and Major John Andr, were in close
and earnest converse. The former, thin-lipped and with face hardened to
decision, said impressively and abruptly:

"On obtaining possession of West Point, Andr, with its well-stored
magazines and supplies, we shall gain an incalculable advantage of the
enemy. I have long had suspicion of the personality of our disguised
correspondent, and now know with certainty that the man who is secretly
to meet you is none other than General Benedict Arnold, the hero of
Saratoga, and a valorous leader at the siege of Quebec!"

"He is a man of uncommon courage, Sir Henry, as we have too well known
throughout this campaign, and in no case hath he shown so utter a
disregard of fear as in the interview which we are about to have," was
the guarded and somewhat uneasy reply.

"Aye, Andr, thus it appears, but I counsel you notwithstanding to
maintain the utmost caution and vigilance in dealing with him. A man of
his nature might be as treacherous to us as he is to his own cause, so I
would counsel you to beware, for if the slightest hint of danger to
himself should menace this scheme, I warrant he would ruthlessly
sacrifice both us and our project to save himself. In no case," he said
emphatically, "permit him to draw you within the enemy's lines, accept
no papers nor written communications at his hand, and," raising his
voice, "above everything else avoid acting in the slightest degree the
character of a spy."

"A spy! Nothing, sir, would be more abhorrent to my nature and
breeding!" was the dignified rejoinder; and with face hotly flushed and
a sudden haughty lifting of the head, he continued, "and as our meeting
is to take place in the cabin of one of our own boats, this contingency
is not likely to arise."

The next morning at dawn the _Vulture_ moved up the river, with Major
Andr abroad. Reaching the place of rendezvous, he anxiously scanned the
river for the skiff in which the recreant Patriot was expected to
arrive, but throughout the day no sign of it appeared. It was not until
midnight that there was heard the faint beat of muffled oars, and soon a
light boat glided noiselessly and stealthily alongside the _Vulture_.
Instead, however, of the wily "Gustavus" he was looking for, Andr
received a message from him with the request that "Master John Anderson"
would come ashore and join him at a place designated, these names being
the fictitious ones they had assumed for the carrying on of their secret
correspondence.

A look of uncertainty and misgiving clouded the face of Andr at this
unlooked-for change of plans, and Sir Henry Clinton's words of warning
flashed over his mind. Uncertain and hesitating, he conferred with
Captain Temple. On finding in the messenger's hands passes, signed by
Arnold as commander of West Point, permitting "John Anderson" "To pass
and re-pass the guard near the King's Ferry at all times and at such
hours and times as the tide and his business suits," he decided to
descend into the boat in waiting, his face pale with misgiving and some
feeling of suspicion.

It was a quiet, starry night; not a ripple disturbed the calmly flowing
Hudson, not a sigh of wind moved the leaves of the trees under whose
dark shadow they cautiously glided, fearful of encountering a guard boat
at the various stations along the river. Landing at last on the edge of
a wood, Andr was led to a gloomy thicket, and had scarcely crept into
its eerie shades when a tall figure was at his side, and in terse and
abrupt phrases the fell scheme was laid bare in all its hideous, naked
treachery. Knowing that the sword of a relentless vengeance hung by but
a thread over their heads, should the slightest miscarriage occur in the
laying of their plans, the remaining hours of darkness were spent in
carefully perfecting them. The grey dawn light stealing in revealed each
other's features for the first time, and still the full details of the
plot lacked the necessary completeness for success. Mounting the horse
which Arnold had brought, Andr rode by his side to a dwelling-house
hard by, in order to have further conference. The sharp challenge of a
sentinel breaking on the silent dusk of the passing night startled Andr
in his saddle, and again he recalled the words: "In no case permit him
to draw you within the enemy's lines." He felt the danger keenly; he
knew it was then too late to turn back, but hoped that a long blue
surtout, which covered his person, would hide the fact that he was on
hostile territory, without a flag or satisfactory excuse for his
presence. To further add to his uneasiness, a sound of firing was heard
in the direction of the _Vulture_. That vessel being within range of the
American guns, they had opened fire, and she was forced to hoist her
anchor and drop further down stream.

During the morning the whole matter was arranged. The British troops
were to be in momentary readiness; the American garrison to be scattered
throughout the defiles and passes of the Highlands, or sent into the
mountain gorges, and a link removed from the great chain which prevented
vessels from having free access to the river.

The last detail was at length complete, and every possible and probable
circumstance carefully provided for. With the papers containing
descriptions of the works, the armament and the number of troops holding
it, placed between his stockings and the soles of Andr's feet, they
were ready to separate. They accordingly bade each other adieu, Arnold
saying with affected cordiality: "Farewell, Major Andr, when next we
meet West Point will be yours." Turning away, he went up the river to
his barge, and Andr, with disquieting thoughts for company, and with a
burning impatience for the return of the sheltering darkness, passed in
hiding the remaining hours of the day ere he could again embark.

But the firing of the guns on the ship in which he was to return had
awakened fears in others besides the man so feverishly anxious to stand
once more upon its deck. The boatman refused to touch an oar to pull him
back, but offered his company and a horse if he would take a land route,
which perforce seemed all that remained to be done. Following the advice
of Arnold, and assuming the disguise which he had given him, Andr
doffed his uniform, and setting out endeavored as a private citizen to
reach neutral ground, where he would be safe in his own person, and
nothing could prevent the carrying out of the plans lying snugly beneath
the soles of his feet.

After proceeding about eight miles he and his companion were stopped by
an American patrol, but the pass with Arnold's signature was
satisfactory, and on accepting it the officer said:

"I would counsel you, even with these credentials, against proceeding
further until daylight, as by pushing on through the night, suspicion
may be excited in regard to your honesty of purpose."

Taking the advice, a halt was made for the night, and at early dawn the
journey was resumed. Every mile passed brought the cheerful conviction
that all danger would soon be over, so that a frugal breakfast, obtained
at a farm-house by the way, was partaken of with relish and in excellent
spirits. Bidding each other good-bye, the two men then separated; the
one returning home, feeling relieved that he was out of what had seemed
a hazardous business; the other to make his way as speedily as possible
to New York. As Andr moved along toward the Continental outposts in the
vicinity of Tarrytown, his mind was full of the great results of the
compact which he had with so much boldness and circumspection completed.
Already he began to feel merry, that, while disregarding his
instructions, and actually having been within the enemy's lines, he was
about to pass into safe territory. Descending into a glen which was
pleasantly shaded, he suddenly perceived three figures in the path in
front of him. The men had been lying in the bushes near a stream to
watch the road and prevent the driving of any cattle southward, for the
use of the "Britishers," and to see that not a truss of hay or ear of
corn reached their lines. After remaining hidden for some time, and
allowing several persons with whom they were familiar to pass unheeded,
they at last saw what seemed like a stranger enter the glen, and one of
the men said:

"There comes a gentleman-like man, who appears to be well dressed, and
has boots on; ye had better step out and stop him, if ye don't know
him."

"What about this old British overcoat in which I escaped three days
since from their clutches," said one of them, but before he could
receive an answer the rider was upon them. A firelock was at once aimed
at his breast, and the order shouted:

"Stand, and answer as to where ye are going."

Seeing the familiar coat, and being completely thrown off his guard,
Andr answered cheerfully:

"I am a British officer, and thank God I am once more among friends!"

"Dismount, sir!" then came sharply from the man before him. Taking out
his watch, Andr said, still without suspicion:

"My God! do not detain me, I must get along."

Again the sharp command, "Dismount! We will take nothing from you, but
there are many people of doubtful reputation passing this way and such a
one ye may be." With one man holding his horse's head, the other two led
the traveler into the shelter of the bushes, and he was commanded: "Take
off these clothes, sir!" and the laced velvet coat, the hat, small
clothes, fine vest, neckcloth and stock, were one by one laid on the
grass under the trees, and every pocket and fold carefully searched.

"Gentlemen," said Andr, "you had best let me go, or ye will bring
yourselves into trouble."

"You are a fair and honest looking gentleman, and we will gladly release
you from this most unpleasant fix if you will oblige us a little
further," continued one of them, who seemed to be the leader, adding
suspiciously, "I prithee, remove these pumps from off your feet, we
would see what kind of hosen is within them."

Apparently with alacrity and indifference he pulled his feet out of the
shoes and stood in his stockings on the bare ground, when one of the men
watching closely said:

"For thread hose, these look uncommon clumsy on the sole; what is this
concealed between them and your feet?"

"Remove them, sirrah," said another, "although we are distressed to
incommode so fine a gentleman by this rough handling."

Then the delicate fingers which had so often, with deft use of pen and
brush, brought the flush of pleasure to fair faces, were forced, by the
rough men into whose hands he had fallen, to do their bidding and strip
off the stockings. As he saw the priceless papers seized by them and
examined, he knew that his liberty, his cause and his country's fate
were in the power of their horny hands, as in a breath they cried:

"My God, he is a spy!"

In silence, the order to put on his clothes was obeyed, the three men
looking on, hardly recking the far-reaching effects and vital
consequences of their morning's work. In their own rough clothes they
watched him curiously as he stoically dressed, putting on the nankeen
breeches and waistcoat, the boots that had lost their secret, and then
the claret-colored body coat, with its buttons and button-holes laced
with gold tinsel. When he donned his blue overcoat and round hat, he
announced himself, saying:

"Gentlemen, I am ready. What is your will and pleasure?"

Their pleasure was to deliver him up, and with one at his horse's head,
and one at either side, their will was forthwith carried out.

Meanwhile the confident Arnold reached his headquarters, where he was
solaced by the cheerful companionship of his wife and babe. He passed
the evening apparently without anxiety in her happy society, evincing no
concern even when she informed him that she expected General Washington,
who had ridden to Hartford to hold council with the French General and
the Marquis de Lafayette, to breakfast in the morning.

To keep this appointment, and cover the intervening eighteen miles,
Washington and his suite were in the saddle before dawn. When near West
Point, the General turned his horse down a lane toward the river.
Vanrosfeldt noticing it, said in respectful remonstrance:

"General, are ye not going in the wrong direction? Mistress Arnold is
waiting breakfast for us, and that road will take us out of the way."

The Chief, with one of his rare smiles, answered with unusual humor:

"Ah, I know you young men are all in love with sweet young Mistress
Arnold, and wish to appear before her as soon as possible. Vanrosfeldt,
ye may go and take your breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for
me, as I must ride down and examine the redoubts on this side of the
river. I will be there in a short time."

The other officers remained, but Vanrosfeldt, aware that Phyllis was
the guest of General Arnold's wife, eagerly rode off with an aide, to
explain as quickly as possible the cause of the delay. Breakfast was
waiting when they arrived, and when it was understood that the remainder
of the party would not follow for a time, the meal was served. During
the course of it the host seemed to be moody and preoccupied, with
spasmodic attempts at being cheerful and at his ease. If the plans had
been acted upon, the weakened link in the chain, which had been forged
strong and true to prevent British vessels from entering the river,
should ere that have been broken, and the British be in sight. They
tarried unaccountably, with the further complication that Washington had
arrived two days earlier than he was expected. Not observing that his
gaiety was forced, the others around the board talked pleasantly and
freely, Phyllis unable to conceal her happiness. The meal was yet
unfinished, when a soldier was seen coming up the river path, holding a
despatch in his hand; who, entering, presented it to the General, saying
he had been instructed by an officer in one of the outposts below to
deliver it into General Arnold's hands. With an iron grasp on his
emotions he broke the seal, and hastily read, but not a feature changed;
there was not a tremor in his voice, not one at the table regarding him
with close interest had a shadow of a suspicion that the hair had
snapped, the sword had fallen! for on the page were written the
momentous words: "Major Andr, of the British Army, on whose person
suspicious papers have been found, is under arrest and in my custody."

Calmly folding up the sheet, he made some jesting remark to Mistress
Arnold about the inconvenience of being the wife of a soldier, whose
duties scarce permitted him time for the necessities of life. Fingering
the paper carelessly, he requested Vanrosfeldt to inform the General on
his arrival that he had had word that his personal attention was
immediately required at West Point, and that he would return as soon as
possible. Rising without haste from the table, he called a servant and
ordered his horse, and going up to his wife's chamber sent for her to
join him there. The fair young creature, scarce twenty years of age,
catching up her pretty boy, but one year old, hastened to the man whom
she so passionately loved and admired, and entering smilingly asked him:

"Wherefore have you sent for me, Benedict? Is it to permit Major
Vanrosfeldt to woo our sweet Phyllis? I trust the General will soon
arrive, as breakfast will be none the better for waiting," but the words
were not finished when mother and child were wildly clasped within his
arms, and casting aside his mask, he whispered hoarsely:

"Peggy, I must fly! I have plotted with the enemy and unless I reach
their lines as fast as horse and boat can carry me, I am a dead man!"

A stifled cry fell on his ear, and bidding her for the love of heaven to
be silent or he was undone, he embraced his child, who cried with fright
at what he could not understand. As his mother fell upon the floor in a
swoon, the father placed him within her arms, and not daring to call for
assistance, kissed her unconscious lips, saying bitterly: "Good-bye, my
Peggy, good-bye forever!"

Jumping upon his horse, and taking his pistols from the holsters--for he
would not be taken alive--he dashed down a steep hill, raced along a
by-path as if every fiend in hell were at his heels, and soon reached
the river. He leaped upon his barge, and commanding the six oarsmen to
pull out into the stream, said to them: "I must needs go on board yon
British ship with a flag, and am obliged to make all possible haste in
order that I may return in time to receive the General; so pull your
best, my lads, and ye shall have two good gallons of rum for your
pains." On reaching the ship he turned and said to his crew and
boatswain: "Ye are prisoners! I have gone over to the British!"

They protested with fierce indignation; when he endeavored to bribe
them, saying: "Come with me, and I will make you all corporals and
sergeants in the British Army"; and turning to the boatswain: "Ye shall
have even more than this," but the man with the rough hands of a
boatman, but with the high soul of a true patriot, replied, the angry
blood surging into his cheeks:

"No, that I never will; one coat is enough for me; I'll be cursed if
I'll wear two."

Arnold had but ridden a few minutes from his door, when the
Commander-in-Chief arrived, and hearing that he had been suddenly
summoned to West Point, ate in haste, saying:

"I will not then wait, but will go and meet him there. Vanrosfeldt, ye
may remain behind until I return hither to dinner."

As his barge floated down the stream, Washington looked toward the fort,
expecting, as Arnold was aware of his intended arrival, the usual
salute from his guns, but nearer and nearer in silence the barge
approached the landing-place. As soon as it touched the shore, an
officer, looking much disturbed, approached, and saluting said:

"I beg that your Excellency will pardon our seeming lack of courtesy in
the omission of a salute from the guns, as, being uninformed of your
intended arrival, it had not been ordered."

Looking in surprise at the man, Washington asked:

"Sir, is not General Arnold here?"

"No, sir, he has not been here these two days, nor have I heard from him
within that time."

A deep flush of mingled surprise and suspicion mounted to the General's
brow, but giving no further evidence of either, he proceeded with the
inspection of the works, and about mid-day was again upon the river,
returning to Arnold's home. As the dock was reached, Major Vanrosfeldt
hurried down the path and spoke in low tones to his Chief, when
proceeding together to the house, he laid before him the papers which
had been found on Andr's person a few hours before.

Accompanying them was a letter from the prisoner revealing his name and
rank, and stating with the utmost candor the circumstances by which he
had been snared to his destruction.

Silently the man whose bosom was stung by the serpent he had cherished,
signed to Vanrosfeldt to follow him into an inner room, when in extreme
agitation he exclaimed, as the tears ran down his cheeks:

"Arnold gone over to the enemy! Whom now can we trust?"--and adding in
the bitter scorn and loathing of an upright man--"I begrudge him not to
the British!"

A sound of bitter sobbing coming from a chamber near by, he went toward
it, and knocking, stepped within, where the fugitive's wife, in
uncontrollable grief, was weeping and calling on her husband's name. On
seeing the General and his officers she upbraided them with being in a
plot to murder her child. One moment she was raving wildly, and the next
softly weeping, pressing her infant to her breast, and lamenting the
fate his father had brought upon him. Her sweetness, innocent youth,
wifely tenderness and fondness for her child, called forth their deepest
pity, and the man whom her husband had sought to betray to his enemies
spoke words of gentle sympathy to her, desiring her to take comfort that
she and her unconscious babe were pure from the foul taint of treachery
and dishonor.

Not many hours afterward, Andr was conducted to army headquarters. On
the way, apparently not realizing the grave position in which he was
placed, he conversed affably with Major Vanrosfeldt, who with another
officer was in command of his escorting guard, asking them at last:

"According to your army's code, what is the nature and extent of the
penalty required for an offence such as I am charged with?"

Vanrosfeldt dropped a step behind, and turned his head away, unable to
meet the ingenuous questioning of the handsome eyes, filled with the
light of genius, hope and love of life. The other, with tears springing
to his own, and finding it impossible to put the cruel, cold truth into
words, and utter what he well knew was his inevitable doom, said slowly
and reluctantly:

"I once had a much loved friend and class-mate, Nathaniel Hale, brave,
honorable and gifted. Detailed by the General to seek information of the
British movements after the battle of Long Island, he went to Brooklyn.
Just as he was passing your outposts he fell into the hands of your
troops. You remember, Major, what followed."

"Yes, perfectly; we hanged him as a spy, and what a loathly fate for a
soldier who might have died in battle!"--when suddenly starting back
with a pallor of surprise and alarm upon his countenance, he ejaculated
sharply:

"But surely, gentlemen, ye do not consider his case and mine in any
degree alike!"

Shaking his head sadly, the officer almost whispered:

"Your case and his are precisely similar, and similar to his will be
your fate."

The terrible silence which followed the words was not again broken. On
arriving, Andr asked to be brought into the presence of the
Commander-in-Chief, to explain that it had not been in any wise his
intention to act the contemptible part of a spy, that rather he had been
lured into apparently taking that guise, which was one from which his
instincts as a man of honor recoiled.

Washington declined to receive him, but ordered: "Let Major Andr be
treated with every courtesy and civility consistent with absolute
security."

Lamentably true the forecast of his doom proved. In spite of letters of
entreaty from Clinton and even from Arnold, and the sympathy and efforts
of both armies, John Andr, Adjutant-General in the British service, was
condemned by the inexorable code of war, in the words of his judge, "to
hang by the neck until you are dead, and may the Lord have mercy on your
soul." The prisoner--the artist, the soldier of rank, young, handsome,
and of most engaging disposition--was then removed under a strong guard
to await the hour that justice named for the pitiless carrying out of
its fiat.

"Hanged!" he cried; "hanged as the vilest felon! My doom is sealed, and
I bow to it; but let me die a soldier's death; let a bullet, sure and
straight, rid me of life, but, my God, not the rope! That is too bitter
a drop in this cup of wormwood that I must needs drink!" Turning
suddenly, he requested: "Grant me the use of quill and ink-horn,
Vanrosfeldt, and I will entreat this grace from your Chief." Sitting
down, the hand, which so oft in other days had penned the rounded sonnet
and fair lines of poesy, with nervous haste then moved over the page, to
crave in touching phrase the boon he sought, not the saving of his life,
but as to the manner in which it should be taken from him. He wrote:

     "Sir, buoyed above the terror of death by the consciousness of a
     life devoted to honorable pursuits and stained with no action that
     can give me remorse, I trust that the request I make Your
     Excellency will not be rejected. Sympathy toward a soldier will
     surely induce Your Excellency to adapt the mode of death to the
     feelings of a man of honor. Let me hope, sir, that if aught in my
     character impresses you with esteem toward one so unfortunate, that
     I may be informed that I am not to die on a gibbet.

     "I have the honor to be Your Excellency's most humble servant,

                                                           JOHN ANDR."

       *       *       *       *       *

Sanding and sealing it, he requested that it be delivered without delay,
and on no answer being received, the hope that his prayer would be heard
became a certainty in his mind.

On the morning of October the second the sun rose on a smiling world,
dawning clear and fair. It found John Andr ready and not afraid to die.
A solemn hush as of the Sabbath brooded over the banks of the Hudson,
glowing with the soft hue of the lulling Indian summer. Above the
palisade-like heights and sloping bluffs of the river the sky was
ethereal blue, and below the water was bluer. The air was salt with the
scent of the distant sea, where white gulls spread their wings and
gallant ships their sails, and to which fleecy clouds slowly drifted.
The world was beautiful on such a day, and to none sweeter than to the
eyes of the artist-soldier, in love with life, but whose last sun was
gilding the scene into the serene calm of heaven. On every winding
pathway of the hills and valleys, quiet groups, solemn as if going to
church, walked to a common centre, to see how a brave man could die;
whom he who signed his death warrant, with tears on his cheeks, had
pronounced to be "more unfortunate than criminal, an accomplished man
and a gallant officer."

Partaking of the breakfast, which had been sent as usual from the
General's table, with composure and no evidence of perturbation, he rose
quietly and proceeded to perform the details of his toilet. He completed
it with as much care as if it were for a ball at the Shippen homestead
in the old happy days in Philadelphia, instead of to march to that
ghastly thing waiting for him yonder, gruesome even in the dancing
morning sunlight. Deliberately, and with the same precision as if it
were for dress parade at Windsor, he put on his regimentals, as an
Adjutant-General in the British army. The brilliant scarlet coat, with
beautiful green facings, was buttoned over the vest and breeches of
light buff color, but the spurs, sword and gorget were omitted. His long
and beautiful hair was bound with a black riband, which fell down his
back, and the natural beauty of his features was heightened by the
paleness of his face and the calm serenity of his eyes. Turning to the
officers and guard who were to do the duty of leading him forth, he
placed his hat upon a table and said cheerfully, with right soldierly
spirit: "I am ready at any moment, gentlemen, to wait upon you."

As the sun on the dial cast the mark of high noon, the cortge prepared
to set forth, the prisoner between two subalterns with drawn swords,
with a captain's command of some forty men immediately encircling him.
Five hundred infantry, surrounding the whole, formed a hollow square,
and almost every officer in the garrison rode behind, but neither the
Chief nor any of his staff were present. In all the houses along the way
silent onlookers filled the doors and windows, except in one, and
there, behind closed shutters, with two sentinels pacing slowly to and
fro before the door, the Commander heard in silence the weird, wild
strains of the "Dead March" as the procession filed by.

As if by a resistless fascination every eye was fixed on the wearer of
the scarlet coat, as keeping step to the muffled beating of the
throbbing drums, he leaned on the arm of Major Vanrosfeldt, who walked
beside him. On every face was a fixed look of gloom and melancholy, the
silence broken only by the tramp of feet, the clank of sabres, and the
sigh of the wind over the hills. The mien of the prisoner was calm and
resolute. He turned his eyes from time to time toward the crowd, and
recognizing faces that were familiar, he gave them quiet, courteous
looks of greeting.

Suddenly, surrounded by the muskets from which he expected his death
volley would be fired, an abrupt turn in the road was made--and there a
hideous gallows-tree met his view! Recoiling in horror, he started as if
stabbed, then tottering a step, stopped. The officers near regarding him
with pity, Vanrosfeldt asked huskily:

"Why this emotion, sir?"

Clenching his teeth and convulsively moving his arms he stammered:

"I am not loth to die--I am reconciled to my fate--but to this mode of
death I cannot be!"

"It is unavoidable, sir," was the reluctant reply.

Turning to Vanrosfeldt, whose distress was scarcely less poignant than
his own, he questioned in tones of suppressed anguish:

"Am I not to be shot like a soldier and a gentleman? Must I die in this
ignoble manner?"

"It is so ordered. Ye are a soldier, sir, and brave, and know how to
meet it," was the low answer.

"Alas! how hard is my fate!" he cried.

"But it will soon be over," Vanrosfeldt whispered, as they resumed the
pitiful march. With this encouraging thought, Andr recovered, and
boldly approaching the gibbet, he leaped lightly into the wagon
containing his coffin, which stood beneath the cross-tree. The uneasy
rolling of a pebble under one of his feet, and the sinking and swelling
of his throat, alone gave evidence of the mental suffering he was
enduring. Holding out his hand to Vanrosfeldt and his fellow-soldiers to
bid them farewell, the man who had been detailed to attend to his wants
since his arrest suddenly broke out into a passionate fit of weeping.
Calling him to him, Andr said quietly, "Be a man; show more
resolution," and throwing aside his hat, he removed the stock from his
neck and opened his collar.

The hangman, hideously disguised, a prisoner who had bought his own life
by performing a task which no other was found willing to undertake, then
approached. Snatching the rope from his awkward fingers, Andr drew it
over his head, adjusted the knot, and pulled it tightly into place, his
sensitive face filled with the disgust and loathing of such an
instrument of death. With his own handkerchief he bound his eyes; for if
a soldier's life teaches aught, it shows a man how fitly to face death.
Vanrosfeldt, his face white as the prisoner's, inquired:

"Is there anything, Major Andr, that ye would wish to say?"

Raising the bandage, and turning to the speaker and those surrounding
him, with a bow he might have learned at court, the doomed man said with
dignity and firmness:

"All I request, gentlemen, is that ye will bear witness to the world
that I die as becomes a British soldier and a brave man."

Immediately it was curtly and necessarily commanded:

"His arms must be tied."

Raising his voice, he pleaded in piteous accents, that pierced the
hearts of all within hearing:

"Let me be unpinioned, I pray you, sirs; 'tis degrading to go to one's
death tied like a beast in the shambles."

Silence was the only reply. The hangman with a cord attempted to lay
hands on him, but with a quick movement the prisoner struck the rope
from his arm, and with another of his own handkerchiefs his elbows were
tied loosely behind his back. The signal was given, and with the words
on his lips: "'Tis but a momentary pang," it was over, and the brave
redcoat swung into the air, while tears from friends and foes alike
kindly dimmed the sight of it from their eyes, and over it all the trees
waved calmly in the golden autumn sunshine.

In a dwelling hard by, two fair women, with their young eyes dry with
horror, and lips white and trembling, sat clasped in each other's arms,
striving to crush down the horrible thoughts of the present and the
keen memories of the past. Phyllis, with an ache in her heart for the
gifted, handsome young soldier in such sore extremity, was fain not to
think of the English home over the seas where dwelt his kindred, all
unwitting of the tidings so soon to desolate it. More bitter were the
thoughts of Margaret Arnold, as she strove to forget that her erstwhile
friend and companion of her mother's drawing-room had been betrayed to
this awful thing by the man whose name she bore.

When news of the execution reached New York a frenzy of passion
possessed the whole town. The troops and people, with the exception of
Arnold, went into mourning, and the soldiers were scarcely restrained by
discipline from marching at once to wreak vengeance on the spot where he
died.

Then all that was seemingly left to the disgraced wife and unhappy young
mother was to return to the shelter and refuge of her father's roof. The
Commander, with the chivalric compassion of a great and kingly soul,
treated with the utmost consideration the forlorn wife of his once
trusted friend and general, who had but just played to him the part of
the kisser of Gethsemane. One of her husband's aides, who for his
devotion to their child had been dubbed in the ranks "the nurse," was
given her for escort, to ride with her to Philadelphia, whither, in a
carriage, with her babe, her attendant and Phyllis, who refused to
desert her, she set out as the wife of an attainted and pilloried
traitor, the people's abhorrence of whose black deed was everywhere
apparent on the way. Being compelled to remain over night at a small
town on the route, it was her misfortune to arrive at sundown, the hour
appointed for the burning there in bitter scorn and loathing of the
effigy of the man, the horror of whose guilt with her was still lost in
her woman's love.

Everything was ready, the bands of music to play the "Rogue's March,"
and the wagon in which was his figure in effigy, dressed partly in
British and partly in American uniform, the latter with the epaulets and
every distinguishing mark of rank removed. Upon the head was a mask with
two faces, and one hand was reaching out towards a representation of the
devil handing him a bag of gold. The banners and transparencies, with
every epithet of opprobrium of which the language was capable, were
already in the hands of the bearers, when a covered travelling-coach
rolled up the street. Word reached the crowds that it contained the
traitor's wife, who, with her family, had always been known to hold Tory
sympathies, and a growl of execration muttered along the lines of faces.
Suddenly the door of the chaise opened, and there, in her disgrace and
loneliness, with her innocent babe clinging to her neck, stood the pale,
sad young mother. Her helplessness and beauty at once sent a pang of
pity through every heart, and one by one the banners were furled, the
shouting ceased, the bands of music became silent without even a
drumbeat, and those assembled marched away until the morrow, when the
demonstration might be carried out.

On the way the travellers lay overnight at the home of a lady who many
a time had sat and feasted at the Shippen's family board, and who
received with open arms and much lamenting the unfortunate and once
sprightly Peggy Shippen. To divert her mind from the misery of her
situation, her hostess, with blushes and smiles, confided to her that
Colonel Burr, whose lively conversation and ready wit had beguiled the
embarrassment of the supper table, was, she had reason to hope, soon to
offer himself as her betrothed husband. The host of happy thoughts
stirring in her heart and the glamor of his presence made her unaware of
the marked contempt with which Phyllis regarded him, which she could not
wholly conceal under an icy manner, and which she would fain have
hidden.

"Ah," sighed the belated wayfarer, "may your heart never be torn 'twixt
love for the man and abhorrence of his conduct, as it is my own unhappy
fate to be. May children and generations yet unborn never have cause to
curse his memory for treachery to any he has ever called friend."

"Heaven forfend, my dear Peggy. 'Tis strange, though, that by an odd
chance the same lettering should mark their names--an A and a B--albeit
reversed. With all due respect to you, my poor ill-used Peggy, I trust
it is not an omen that their two names will be ever held in memory as
clouded by like unworthy deeds."

"For your sake, I truly hope not. I pray you let not my misfortunes
darken with superstitious fears your dreams of future bliss. Aaron Burr
must be a true and honest gentleman, else he would not have won regard
from such a man as Betty Schuyler's lover, Alexander Hamilton. His
talents rank him with the aristocracy of the country, with the Van
Rensselaers, Livingstons, Morrises or Chews, and he comes of excellent
praying stock, his sire and grandsire both being scholarly divines.
Aaron Burr, too, has had wise counsel from my mother, who ever sought to
be his guide," answered her guest, with a deep-drawn sigh.

"These are sweet words coming from your sore heart, my Peggy," said her
hostess, embracing her. "If it were not too much grace to ask, Colonel
Burr would be glad to be permitted to take a seat in your
travelling-coach to Philadelphia, whither he must now hasten, having, as
he says, already, at the allurements of love, remained too long away
from the stern demands of duty."

"I am truly glad," was the reply, "that it lieth in my power to do favor
for any friend of yours. If Colonel Burr, who ever seems full of life
and spirits, can put up with such dull company, he is welcome to a seat.
Thoughts of you could doubtless beguile for him a journey even sorrier
than this most lamentable one upon which I am embarked, which he will,
peradventure, in the kindness of his heart, endeavor to beguile for your
sake."

Betimes the next morning the coach stood ready at the door, and the last
stage of the journey was undertaken. The varied feelings on the part of
the travellers made it difficult to maintain unconstrained conversation,
the circumstances of the meeting making such efforts seem forced and
necessarily formal. Each thinking their own thoughts, throughout the
long, slow hours of the day, the carriage bore them along the gently
rolling countryside, until, as the sun cast lengthening shadows before
them, and the evening star hung out its silver torch, the hills by the
Delaware, which as Margaret Shippen she had so well loved, rose soft
against the blue.

With sight of them came memories of her happy, light-hearted maidenhood
and queenly married months, and tears fell hot and fast as the desolate
young creature tremblingly gathered her babe closer to her breast in
benumbed despair.

It is truly said that there is nothing in the universe so like a
splendid angel as a splendid devil, for the gifted son of the gentle,
pious Esther Edwards was as sorry and unscrupulous a scoundrel as ever
hid false heart under velvet coat. Never losing an opportunity of taking
advantage of moments of sensibility; moved by the spell of her beauty
and the witchery of the hour, and spurred by that passion which ever
drove him as by whip of cords, Burr drew nearer. Suddenly placing an arm
caressingly around her, regardless of Phyllis's presence, and with
scarcely veiled passion, he whispered in a low, thrilling voice, and
with a look that he thought might lure even a vestal from her vows:

"Mistress Shippen, for I will not call you by that other unworthy name,
spoil not these lovely eyes with tears for him, he is not worth them. I
beseech you to put him from your thoughts. You are young and passing
fair, and there are others who would better appreciate your charms. I
have long envied him these sweet lips," and unheeding her struggles and
low cry, which were drowned in the peevish wailing of the frightened
infant, he kissed her with a breath of the hot flame that ever
smouldered in the deeps of his selfish heart.

Repulsing him, her tears dried in a burning, biting scorn, that would
have stung to the quick a less base man, she was transformed from the
timid, tearful girl into the woman blazing with the wrath of insulted
dignity. Turning, with cheeks burning red, in a loathing almost too deep
for words, she said witheringly, her voice broken by anger:

"I would have you to know, sir, that even a man traitor to his country
is a very saint, an angel of light in virtue, as compared with such a
villain as ye are, who could by so much as a word be false to the
loving, trusting woman whose bread we have just eaten! Mark me, Aaron
Burr, the day may come when your own misdeeds and dishonor will be a
sword to pierce her heart, even as mine is this day wounded!" and
leaning against the leathern curtain, she bowed her face in her hands
with bitter crying, her shoulders shaken with sobs.

Phyllis, white with rage and disgust, looking him full in the eye, said
in a low voice in unutterable disdain:

"To witness such manners, sir, is not to an honest maid's liking, and to
my mind they bar you forever from the rank and standing of gentleman,
but 'tis only what might be looked for from Aaron Burr! We approach the
town; have the grace to alight, and relieve us of your unwelcome
presence!"

Thus broken in spirit, the once famed beauty and belle, Margaret
Shippen, passed to her early home through the streets and by the red
brick homesteads loved and familiar from her childhood. Even its
shelter was denied her, for, by order of the council of Philadelphia,
which commanded: "That the said Margaret Arnold depart this State,
fourteen days from date hereof, and do not again return during the
continuance of the present war," she was shortly banished from it.

Accordingly she went to join her husband in New York, where he had taken
up his residence in a fine house on Broadway, next door to my Lord
Cornwallis. She was received into exile there with much cordiality by
the officers of the Royal Army, who had been familiar and welcome guests
in her father's home, as well as by the cultured and exclusive
Knickerbocker gentry who still held their allegiance to the Crown, and
stood for the King. She endeavored to be gay as she joined the
fashionable society that each afternoon sauntered out to promenade under
the avenue of lime-trees which shaded the square, homelike dwellings on
Broadway, Wall Street, and around Bowling Green; or made visits in the
Dutch-built houses, with their patterned bricks, glittering
weather-vanes, stoops and quaint corbel roofs. She drank British tea in
the afternoons, and with the coming of summer gave garden parties and
kettle drums among her dog-roses and sweet-williams, as merrily
apparently as the rest. Whatever of heartache she bore, she hid bravely
under a smile, taking the air in the fashionable drive to the Battery
with as great dignity and state as any of the idle crowd in their
velvets, laces and pin-cushion hoops.

The blue-and-buff uniform, 'broidered with gold, of the American army,
with the epaulets his chief had presented him when giving him his
sword, which Arnold wore on his arrival, was doffed for the scarlet and
gold of the British, and among the social exquisites, in their
high-collared coats, ponderous white cravats, pumps and frills, he cut
as dashing a figure as the best of them. In Fraunce's tavern and
Broadway hostels and coffee houses, he gambled to the clink of British
coin, and over a bottle at private boards, or in the tap-room, the arch
traitor drank toasts to the King as lustily as the staunchest Tory among
them.




CHAPTER XIX.

_THE BITTER END._


A year later the staid "Rebel Capital" was afire with excitement. Crowds
thronged the streets, every window was filled with eager faces, and all
eyes were turned to catch the first sight of the Continental army,
which, after a forced march from the Hudson, was entering Philadelphia,
led by Washington and Rochambeau. The leaders, anxious to prevent
reinforcements from reaching Cornwallis, had kept secret their purpose
of marching against the British posts at York, the soldiers even being
unaware of their destination until almost within sight of the place.

In the golden light of the morning sun, which flooded a deep-seated
window in the Knox mansion, three women watched anxiously for the head
of the column, Mistress Knox scarce able to restrain herself, so
impatient was she to exchange glances with her loved spouse, who would
ride on his Chief's right hand. Thrse, quivering with delight that she
was about to behold the Chevalier de Rochambeau and the soldiers from
her beloved France, waited restlessly beside Phyllis, who was strangely
silent with deep emotion, knowing that she would soon look upon the
great General, under whom the man she loved served, and of whom, too,
she dared to hope she might perchance catch sight as he was passing by.

Soon from the distance came a faint sound as of hoofs on the highroad,
which every moment became louder and sounded nearer and nearer. As the
women leaned forward to listen to the strains of martial music, which
came faintly on the air, two men, meeting beneath the window, accosted
each other. One of them, wearing the plain drab vesture and broad hat of
the sect of the Quakers, as he unfastened the horn buttons of his
straight-collared coat, said to the other:

"Friend, I am a man of peace, and meddle not with these carnal strifes,
but I would fain ask thee, if thou hast knowledge of it, what is the
meaning of this movement of the troops?"

The other, who was shrewd enough to make a good guess, replied:

"If it offend not too much thy drab piety to hear a carnal truth, know
that the Generals are going to catch Cornwallis in his mouse-trap."

Scarcely was the sentence finished, when the setting of the church bells
ringing, and cheer upon cheer from the people, rent the air, as at the
head of Front Street appeared a glitter of steel. Onward came the march
of feet, and mounted in advance of his men rode the noble figure of
Washington, his military cloak falling over his horse's flank. The hair
was pushed back from the square, massive brow, from which at intervals
he gravely lifted the three-cornered hat in response to the plaudits of
the people. A look of deep and unshaken purpose lighted his features;
the lines of a relentless devotion to truth and duty beaming from the
calm grave eyes. Although his sword of battle was by his side, and his
arm rested on the neck of his war-horse, yet his countenance was
softened by an expression of gentle beneficence.

At his left rode Henry Knox, who of all in the army perhaps came nearest
to the heart of Washington, who had no son of his own upon whom to
lavish his affection.

As they drew near, the welkin rang, and fair and tender women, some in
tears and some in smiles, at the sight of the veterans of so many
fights, scattered blossoms under their dusty feet. First came the
war-weary Patriots in their worn-out clothing--"soiled with mud, stained
with blood and rusted with storm"--which told of the struggles through
which they had passed. Over them their poor, plain battle-flags, rent
with shot and grimed with smoke, floated as bravely as did the waving
plumes and lofty standards of the allies, whose brilliant white silk was
emblazoned with the golden lilies of the royal house of France, and who
were led by Rochambeau, Lafayette and de Noalles--the officers in white
and gold, the ranks in the handsome uniforms of the troops of King
Louis' army.

Rochambeau's officers were men of noble birth, gay, valorous and
fearless, who, with their heroic ideals, rode to battle and approached
an enemy with the same well-bred courtesy with which they would have
mounted guard over their young Queen in the palace of the Tuileries.
With their elegant side-arms flashing in the sun, they were a worthy
part of an army, the lustre of whose splendid deeds could be traced back
for ten hundred years, beyond the Crusades and beyond Charlemagne, years
in which they had gallantly achieved victory, or as gallantly sustained
defeat, on almost every battlefield of Europe. Though descended as they
were from the proudest and knightliest chivalry of Christendom, from
generations of chevaliers famous in tilt and tourney, yet not one of
them could sit a horse like the planter of Virginia, George Washington.
Calmly he rode, unmoved by all the honors surrounding him, for neither
the voice of adulation nor the din of battle could disturb the king-like
equanimity of his deportment. He went through all with the same gravity
and dignity, deeming his cause as holy a war as ever red-cross knight
drew lance for.

With eyes that gleamed in a fierce delight that they were about to meet
and vanquish the old-time enemy of France, the allies, as they passed,
aroused a frenzy of patriotism, a very passion of loyalty, in the bosom
of Thrse. Her eyes filled with quick tears, as she cried impetuously:

"Oh, Phyllis, my heart goes out to all French people!" and leaning out,
she waved the white lilies in her hand, crying, "Vive la France!"

The Count de Rochambeau, the courtly old soldier, as he heard his mother
tongue fall from the lips of the fair girl with the sparkling, flushed
face, saluted, and doffing his plumed hat to his young compatriot, and
holding it in his right hand, rode unbonneted past her window.

More than one soldier, as they passed, looked up at the chiselled
features and golden hair of the girl at her side, who, with wet lashes
and wistful eyes, was scanning the ranks with such dumb anxiety.

Suddenly, with hands clasped on her bosom, Phyllis saw her brown-haired
soldier riding at the head of his dragoons; alas! she thought, her
enemies and her King's! Raising his eyes, he saw her, and with a joy
which would not be restrained, the bronze of his cheek flushing red, he
gave her the look and smile which had won her heart so long ago; and
then country and king were alike forgotten in the love which filled her
soul. Bravely she smiled back, waving her kerchief gaily, though her
heart seemed breaking, as with the tramp, tramp of feet he was lost in
the moving maze of blue. Then only did the tears fall hot and fast.
Sinking down in the shadow, she wondered with a dull ache of pain how
the sun could shine so mockingly bright, and the birds sing with such
happy sweetness, when he might be marching to his death, to those
cheerful strains of the distant fife and drum. In her heart she could
only cry, "God guard him on the field of battle!"

Carried away by the patriotic fervor of the hour, and the spell of
martial airs, the people streamed through the streets and out into the
country beyond, cleaving the air with shouts and cheers, and the hope of
liberty beat and surged through the heart of the nation. From the State
House and every public building and house-top flags floated, and in
every coffee house and tavern where toasts were drunk, the cry was:
"Long live George Washington!"

Yorktown, the British post to which the allied armies were proceeding,
was a small village on the northern side of a long strip of land which
ran between the James and York rivers, and which at that point was some
seven miles wide, the banks on either side being high and the current
deep and swift. The fortifications which Cornwallis, the ablest of the
British generals, had strengthened, consisted of earthworks in the form
of batteries and redoubts, with a strong stockade supporting the parapet
in the rear. There, with the main division of the army, he was
entrenched, the left flank covered by the mountains, the right by the
waters of the ocean. On indications of the approach of the Continentals,
the troops, who had been encamped on the open fields, were ordered to
concentrate within the walls, and the outer defences were abandoned.

On September twenty-eighth the English commander became aware that the
combined armies, by different routes, were marching toward his position,
and two days after the place was completely invested by the allied
armies, sixteen thousand strong. They encamped in a commanding position,
and Washington, fixing his headquarters under a mulberry tree, its
outcropping root, though rough and hard, served him at night as a
pillow. The American line was drawn up in a half-circle, about two miles
distant from the British works, the French fleet cruising near, ready to
cut off any help that might attempt to approach by sea.

Vanrosfeldt, knowing full well that the crucial hour was upon them, felt
that the passing moments were big with fate, and his thoughts of Phyllis
were pregnant with pain and apprehension. Every blow he struck was
against the king who had her leal love and the country to which she gave
her loyal duty. Might not, he asked himself, disaster to them mean
likewise disaster to himself? Should this final charge, for which such
deadly preparations were hourly being made, result in defeat and
humiliation to the army in which her father had served, how would she
receive one who came to her red-handed from the field, his sword gory
with the blood of her countrymen? Would not his part in crushing the
cause she held dear not harden her heart against him? Would he not be
drummed out of her love forever, and the blue-and-buff, and one wearing
it, be henceforth hateful in her eyes? Such thoughts were a very hell of
torture! He remembered that long ago she had said: "I will not say you
nay if it is not against my duty;" and the dreadful struggle imminent
seemed less bitter to him than that which was making a battleground of
his heart--the honor of the man striving to master the passion of the
lover--the fight unsuspected under the impassive, calm face of the
soldier. Knowing her and knowing himself, he was conscious there would
be but one course possible; and as the decisive moment drew nearer he
never for a single instant swerved, but told himself that he would
rather a thousand times fall dead in the trenches, which were creeping
so relentlessly toward the doomed fortress, than win her with his
manhood tarnished by even a thought of disloyalty or a moment's
shrinking from his plain duty. So with face set as flint, he knew to the
storming he must go.

Accordingly, with Knox commanding the artillery and Lafayette the light
infantry, the besieging parties brought up their heavy ordnance and
otherwise prepared for action. The evening of the sixth of October was
dark and gloomy, and under its cover trenches were dug and entrenchments
thrown up to within some hundred yards of the British lines, and shelter
thus obtained from their guns. Three days afterward, with several
batteries and redoubts completed, a general discharge of cannon was
begun by the assailing force, which was kept up incessantly with red-hot
shot and a continuous roar of discharging mortars. Rochambeau opening
his batteries upon some British ships in the river, they were soon
wrapped in a sheet of fierce flame. Day after day the trenches
persistently crept closer and closer to the British works, from which a
deadly and brave resistance was maintained, until it was decided to
carry the place by storm. On the evening of the fourteenth of October,
both armies, French and American, each anxious to excel the other in
intrepidity, marched unflinchingly to the assault, Edward Vanrosfeldt
well up in front. At a given signal they rushed simultaneously and with
fury to the charge. Over the abattis and palisades of a redoubt the
bluecoats leaped so vehemently, that in an incredibly short time, and
with but trifling loss, the position was taken. Rushing forward, the
Frenchmen, with their old battle-cry of "Vive le Roi!" upon their lips,
which sounded strangely enough among those fighting against their king,
assailed the English breastworks, and swarmed into the trenches. The
garrison there was stronger, but after an hour's furious fighting, in
which both sides deported themselves like tigers, one hundred of the
allies lay dead--but the redoubt was taken.

The condition of Cornwallis was then desperate. He soon was compelled to
arrive at the intolerable conclusion that the Continentals, backed by
the power of France, were too strong for him. With the conviction that
evacuation was the only course left, he resolved to attempt to cut his
way through and form a junction with the army in New York. This was
secretly tried, and the river at Gloucester, about a mile distant,
reached. Although the retreat was not yet perceived, and a portion of
the men succeeded in effecting a crossing, the very elements appeared
opposed to its success, for a perfect tornado rushing down made the
passage of the stream fraught with so much peril that it had to be
abandoned. All night long the storm beat upon them, and before dawn, by
that strange ruling that men call "chance," the unfortunate leader was
compelled to bring back his discomfited and disheartened men.

At daybreak a hail of shot and shell fell on them, fiercer than any
preceding it, from which it was plain there was no escape. Accordingly,
before mid-day there came forth a flag to Washington, requesting that
hostilities be suspended for twenty-four hours, when terms of surrender
might be negotiated.

Washington, with his eye on the sea, whence at any moment a British
fleet might appear to his enemy's assistance, stipulated that the time
be restricted to two hours instead of twenty-four.

Cornwallis was obliged to submit, and at an appointed hour, after a
siege of thirteen days, his shipping, ammunition and stores were given
over to the united armies of America and France, and his army's fate
sealed.

For the final ceremonial of the surrender, the allies were drawn up in
lines opposite to each other which extended a mile in extent,
involuntary pity and irrepressible admiration marking every face. At the
head of the column was Washington on his white charger, and opposite to
him Rochambeau on his powerful bay. Although the neighboring country
poured in its inhabitants to witness the event, a deep silence prevailed
as the conquered troops--crushed at last--slowly marched out of their
entrenchments. With shouldered arms, the cavalry with their swords
drawn, and as at Saratoga, with colors cased, they advanced to the sound
of drums beating and bands blaring, according to an established rule of
military etiquette, an English air--and which strangely enough chanced
to be the quaint old tune, "The world turned upside down." The
capitulating troops passed between the lines of the two armies, one of
which, they could not but bitterly remember, was England's hereditary
foe, with whom she had fought valorously, and beaten, too, on many a
bloody old-world field.

Arriving at that part of the line where the commanders had taken their
position, an officer, with uncovered head, apologized for the absence of
Lord Cornwallis, who, he explained, was suffering from indisposition,
which statement found ready credence under the peculiar circumstances.
On his presenting to General Washington his Lordship's sword, a few of
the soldiers nearest attempted to raise a cheer, but he who has been
called "The greatest of good men and the best of great men," turning to
them with stern rebuke in his eye, said, "Peace--let posterity cheer for
us!"

The royal troops were then conducted to a field for the laying down of
their arms, and the man who for over six years had fought, sacrificed
and starved, waiting for that hour, said, turning to Vanrosfeldt and
Knox, who, with Alexander Hamilton, had been by his side throughout the
trying ceremonial: "The work is done!" and he handed back Cornwallis'
sword, to be returned to the Earl, who at that moment was poignantly
realizing that, despite the years of valiant struggle and the brave
blood that had been shed, those fair Colonial lands were forever lost to
his king and country.

As the momentous words fell from his General's lips, Vanrosfeldt laid
his hand on the hilt of the sword at his side, knowing that at last the
blade was sheathed in peace; that no more crossing swords with England,
he might once again crave the boon which was of greater worth and value
in his eyes than even that dearly-won, blood-bought victory.

The delivery of the colors of the regiments immediately followed; and
then and there the flower of the British army, and some nine hundred
sailors, with reluctance and pain well-nigh unbearable, laid down their
arms and gave up their accoutrements; for thus it was writ in God's wise
purposes, which cannot err, and which it were futile to strive against,
that instead of the flag of England--the flag of their fathers--there
should float over those colonies the one enwrought from the stripes of
adversity and the stars of hope, and borrowed from the escutcheon of
Washington's English forefathers.

And then how bitter the truth of it all! How terrible the tidings as
they spread from camp and court--from palace to cottage--through the
length and breadth of England! America had won!

All over the world men's minds were so filled with wonder and admiration
at the achievements of the Potomac planter, that soon upon the high seas
sails were set to carry friendly salutations from kings and princes in
their distant realms; and the greeting from Friederich der Grosse of
Prussia, which ran, "From the oldest General in Europe, to the greatest
General in the world."




CHAPTER XX.

_JOY-BELLS AND BONFIRES._


The darkness of night lay over Philadelphia, and the dawn breeze was
beginning to stir, when a man on horseback rode in hot haste down the
streets, the clatter of the animal's hoofs awakening the sleepers in the
darkened houses along his way. Phyllis was suddenly roused from slumber
by the figure of Thrse in her night-rail rushing affrighted into her
chamber, and exclaiming in a terrified voice:

"A courier, in breathless haste, has but just ridden by! His errand must
be urgent at such a time as this! He seems to wear the blue of the army,
and hark! Phyllis, to the cry of the watchman. He is calling something
more than the number of the hour of night! Some news from the field must
surely have come. He speaks, I think, in broken German, in words I
cannot get the meaning of. I fear it is to alarm the city--that the
Generals are defeated--and soon the enemy will be upon us. Hearken, I
pray you, for I know not his tongue."

Throwing open the window, and leaning out to catch the next call,
Phyllis listened in the chill night, in that hour that tests the courage
most, and she heard the watchman cry:

"Basht dree o'clock--und Cornvallish ish dakendt!"

Then knowing that the cause for which her lover had fought so long had
triumphed at last, she turned, and throwing her arms around Thrse,
cried, laughing and weeping at once:

"No, no! He is calling, 'Three o'clock, and Cornwallis is taken!'
Thrse, the war is ended; the bitter, cruel strife of years is over!"

"And now you are free to wed the man who loves you," she answered
coldly, forgetting in her jealous pain to rejoice that France's arms
were victorious, only remembering that her love for Edward Vanrosfeldt
was as strong and hopeless as ever.

Soon messengers on the fleetest horses were speeding with the news to
every hamlet, town and homestead along the quiet country roads of New
England, and over the white turn-pikes of Virginia and Kentucky. There
was a sudden hush of the spinning-wheels in the chimney-corners, and
tired, brave women, who had fought the battles by the firesides, with
tears of joy told the little ones, who could not remember their fathers'
faces, that soon they would sit once more upon their knees. They ran
from door to door crying that the war was over at last; that soon the
plowshares, which had lain rusting, would once again cleave the furrows
of the fallow fields, that had so long been unturned; that they and
their children were free, for the fight for liberty was won!

Then there was wistful watching over the dusty roads, and longing looks
towards the hills for the sight of a bluecoat coming home. By many a
cabin hearth there were tears at the bitter cost of it all, from those
who knew through the lonely silence of sorrow-laden hours, that those
under the sod and the dew "they would only again in the light of
eternity meet." In the cities the people streamed out into the streets
and thronged the churches to sing psalms of praise and thanksgiving.
Students in Cambridge, New Haven and all the college towns threw down
their books and marched forth singing triumphal songs, and on every hill
and village green from Lexington to Charleston bonfires blazed. On the
green peaks of New Hampshire and in the mountain gorges of Vermont,
burning pine logs lighted up the overhanging skies, and in a joyful glow
along the beaches, from Eastport to St. Augustine, beacon fires told
those far out at sea that the enemy was vanquished.

Among the vessels which some time after left the shores of America
Englandward was the _Vulture_, in which sailed Lord Cornwallis. The man
standing on the deck beside him was Benedict Arnold, gloomily watching
his native land fade from his sight, despised by both armies, and lost
forever to his own respect. He had sacrificed honor, principle, friends,
peace of mind and the one coat he could with honesty wear, only to be at
last on the losing side. On going on board he had offered his hand in
greeting to the captain, but Basil Temple, remembering Andr, and
loathing dishonor, refused to take the traitor's proffered hand, even
though he wore the red coat of the British.

In the gloom of defeat the prisoners of war were brought into the
capital, to await events as arranged by the terms of capitulation. As
they marched dejectedly to the quarters assigned them, with eyes filled
with tears of commiseration for their misfortunes, Phyllis and Thrse,
with arms entwined, again looked into the street. They saw a beaten
army, without arms or colors, tramping heavily past! At the head of a
column rode one with a look such as the Roman Valerian may have worn
when forced to bow his imperial neck that his conqueror, Sapor the
Persian, might step upon it to mount his horse. His defiant and unbroken
mien fastened their attention, when suddenly, with eyes fixed upon the
unhappy wearer of the battle-worn red coat, Thrse, clasping Phyllis
convulsively, shrieked:

"_Mon Dieu_, it is Raoul St. Leger!"

The hysterical cry reached the ranks below, and a dark, handsome man, in
the uniform of a Brigadier-General, looked up. Swaying in his saddle, it
was with difficulty that he kept his seat; but the recognition was
mutual, and Raoul St. Leger forgot the misery of loss and the bitterness
of defeat, for in that brilliantly beautiful face looking down upon him,
with the amber lights in the dark eyes, he had found again the only love
of his life.

Mistress Knox at once engaged her kind offices to bring them together.
Her fondness for romance was always captured by a love tale, she herself
having refused the scapegrace son of Sir William Peppersell to wed the
choice of her heart, Henry Knox, the obscure bookseller of Boston.
Accordingly, although she had ever forbidden a redcoat to cross her
threshold, not many hours had elapsed ere St. Leger appeared at her
door.

As Thrse stood before him in a filmy muslin gown of pink, with the
dainty snares of riband and lace of other days, her eyes filled with an
irresistible softness, he was well nigh overcome by the wealth of his
suddenly recovered happiness. Clasping her hands, his senses spellbound
by her beauty, he cried:

"An' ye did not, as was falsely told me, fly with a soldier, one
Vanrosfeldt?"

"Nay, Raoul, Colonel Vanrosfeldt is the betrothed of Phyllis Davenant,
whom ye doubtless remember."

"Why, my Thrse, did ye leave no trace behind? Ah! the tortures of
doubt and misery I have suffered these wretched months and years which
one word could have dispelled!"

Unwilling to meet his eyes, her lashes fell, and stroking the bow-knot
on her bosom, her cheeks as red as the scarlet of his coat, she said,
with a pretty hesitation:

"Listen, Raoul, I will explain," and looking up innocently, as she
regained her composure, she related why she had thus done and what had
taken place, apparently without dissimulation, and with the captivating
graces he knew and loved so well, saying:

"It was the eve of battle. In the convent were quartered the American
soldiers, and at any hour we knew we might be at their mercy. One of
them, thinking me to be one of the Sisters, tempted me to fly with him
on the fall of the city. I determined to escape from his persecution.
Hearing that Leon was about to be sent to France on a secret mission for
the Church, to save myself, knowing how like we are, I resolved to act
his part. In the barracks in the cloisters, where had lodged this man I
tell you of, I found after the failure of the siege, the habit of a
monk, which I suspected had been used as a disguise, mayhap to act as
spy. Donning it, I fled to Montreal, thinking to find my parents there,
only to learn they were still in Quebec, so deeming myself safer to
continue in disguise, I called myself Brother Jerome, and wandered with
the troops; the rest ye know."

"Who is this man from whom ye fled?" he demanded fiercely, his fist
clenched, "I swear nothing short of cold steel will avenge you," and
with brow dark with anger he awaited her answer.

Her long lashes sank, and without a flickering of conscience for her
falseness, she took a piece of paper from beneath the lacing of her
bodice, and handing it to him, he read a page from the letter which Burr
had written to Phyllis, and which she had found on the floor of the cell
where it had fallen when the girl had fled from the convent. It ran:

     "Before dawn to-morrow, or never, the city must be ours! Howe'er it
     falls out, I will no longer be amenable to a woman's whim. With my
     duty here fully discharged, I will hasten to your relief, either in
     person or by messenger, and take you under my protection, whether
     ye will or no. Such devotion as mine must ere this have touched
     your heart, and doubtless I will find you not only willing but
     anxious to remain in my loving care until such times as means of
     carriage can be found to Boston or Philadelphia; for if there be a
     post-chaise about this luckless town, it shall be confiscated to
     the claims of love and gallantry. So hold yourself in readiness--a
     few more hours--when the cloisters are wrapped in slumber and you
     shall welcome your ardent and impatient lover,

                                                          "AARON BURR."

As he finished reading, not doubting her verity, he looked into her face
with every trace of suspicion banished from his own, saying tenderly:

"Ah! my dearest one, I am torn with remorse that when you were fleeing
from this man, I almost came to doubt your truth, but this Aaron Burr
shall answer to me, if we e'er meet face to face!"

"Nay, Raoul, I entreat you, prove your love for me by seeking him not,
for 'tis my wish. Have I not seen blood enough in my short life, even as
the Indian seer-woman foretold I should? Instead, carry me hence, far
from this land. We will go to the one most dear to us, sunny, beautiful
France, and there find joy and gladness, and forget the bitter memories
of this."

Mistaking the hot shame which dyed her cheeks at her own duplicity, for
pleasure at the thought of that for which she pleaded so sweetly, he
caught her to his heart, and kissing her red lips in a passion of joy at
his unexpected and overpowering happiness, and thinking of the days and
years to come, he promised rapturously:

"That or aught else within my power to grant shall be as you will, my
love, my queen! Soon as my fair bride ye shall dwell in peace and happy
love among the sun-kissed vineyards of the St. Leger domains of our
sires!"

Ere long a frigate, with the colors of the victorious colonies at its
masthead, was flying to France with the tidings of the conquest of her
arms in America, and on deck was the Chevalier de St. Leger and his
dark-eyed bride. After thirty days of racing with wind and weather it
was with beating heart that Thrse St. Leger watched the white cliffs
of the land of her forefathers rise out of the distant horizon far over
the blue sea.

The gallant ship had no sooner tied up at the seawall of Boulogne than,
swift as the fastest couriers could carry it, the word went out, and
soon the land, from Calais to Marseilles, was ringing with shouts of
triumph. When, as the Marquise de St. Leger, by her husband's side in
the great Cathedral of Notre Dame in the Paris she had longed to behold,
Thrse heard choirs of priests in rich vestments chanting the Te Deum
Laudamus, her heart swelled with pride and exultation. As she saw in the
royal pew the idol of her girlhood, Marie Antoinette, Queen of France,
and King Louis, surrounded by the chevaliers and noble dames of the
court, her thoughts flew back to the picture of the beautiful _comtesse_
in the _salon_ of the Canadian chteau, and whose fortunes she once had
envied; and looking down at her magnificent robe and gems, she felt
proudly that the day was the crowning of her lifelong ambition.

No pang of regret for the double part she had played to those who loved
her best, marred the supreme satisfaction of that triumphal hour! There
came no thought of remorse that she had forced her brother to sacrifice
his love and life-happiness to accomplish her own aims and purposes!
Well was it for her on that sunlit day that nothing presaged another, a
dark one, scarce ten years later, when shrieking she would be dragged
from the same creaking tumbril that had borne her Queen to the gory
guillotine. There was no foreshadowing that in that dreary orgy of blood
a priest, gaunt and wild-eyed, in his blood-stained cassock, would rush
from the frenzied crowd to her side, and willing once more to suffer for
her, offer to die in her stead as she wildly shrieked: "Save me, Leon,
save me!" but be powerless to take her place as the knife fell on the
neck of Thrse, Marquise de St. Leger.




CHAPTER XXI.

_MARRIAGE BELLS._


Over the colonies, at peace at last, the gentlest time of the year, the
vernal spring, was again breaking into bloom. Nature had put on her most
alluring and gracious aspect. The air was heavy with the scent of
blossoms, and happiness and love seemed to breathe in the air and murmur
in the streams. The breeze, as it blew in from the sea, was fresh with
the spice of the deep pine woods and the spray from tide-washed beaches,
and the chill winds of winter were but a memory. The leaves were budding
full a month earlier than usual, and the grass was as deep and green as
in English meadows. The delicate bloom of the "ground-sweet," as it was
called, already filled the bosky hollows of the woods and hillsides with
its tender grace, as fragrant as when a hundred years before lovers of
Plymouth had gathered the Mayflowers blooming around them; "Puritan
flowers" they called them, and the very type of Puritan maidens, modest,
simple and sweet.

Over the sea, in an old Tudor mansion among the sweet fields of Kent, a
solitary man, Sir Basil Temple, sat by his lonely fireside. On his
return from active service in America he had found that by the death of
his father the title had come to him, but it brought him little sense of
elation that the broad acres stretching from the green downs to the sea
were his patrimony. As he sat by the hearth-side, with his head leaning
on his hand, his heart ached with the bitter pain of haunting memories,
which made his life stretching out before him seem as dreary as the
rainy April night. The mist blew up white from the ocean, the sound of
the waves rushing on the rocks mingling with the dull patter of the rain
on the casements, and the sighing of the wind through the trees and wet
ivy on the walls. The melancholy hoot of the owl seemed but the echo of
his solitude in the silence of the rambling, empty house. He thought
bitterly that the great halls and stately rooms would never hear the
sound of the footsteps of the gentle English girl he loved so well; that
the garden paths would never ring with the gay laughter and young voices
of merry children--his children and hers; that no lullabies would ever
be sung for them in his own old nursery-chamber, where his mother's
remembered voice so oft had hushed and soothed him to sleep in the soft,
grey English twilight long ago; and he groaned aloud, "God help me!"

On that same evening, as the sun was setting over American woods and
valleys, a goodly and brilliant company was gathered in the drawing-room
of the Knox homestead, in the capital of the new-born nation. A soft
glow of candlelight filled the stately simplicity of the white and gold
paneled room, and fell upon the faces of brave men and gentle women. The
hearth, in the warmth of the unusually early spring, no longer aglow
with the blaze of the winter fire, was transformed into a green altar to
Hymen, the perfumed incense from the censers of a bank of white
blossoms filling the air. In front of it, in linen bands and surplice,
with prayer-book open at the marriage ritual, stood the venerable Bishop
White, as holy a man as ever wore a gown. His words of godly cheer and
prayers to the "God of battles" had been as an anchor of hope in many a
storm-wracked hour on the turbulent seas of past conflict.

Before him was a soldier in the full regimentals of a Colonel of the
army of the young Republic. Above his head was draped the flag with its
thirteen stars and stripes, for which he had well and nobly fought. His
blue eyes, and brown, unpowdered hair made him a marked figure even
among the gallant men assembled. A moment's expectant hush, in which not
a fan waved, not a gown rustled, and there was a glimmer of flowing
silken garments--a footfall soft as a moonbeam, and Phyllis stood beside
him. In a simple white satin frock, with pearls a-glisten around her
slender throat, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes bright with the
wondrous light of happy love and a heart at peace, she was gracious and
wholly adorable in the flawless loveliness of full womanhood.

Beside the divine stood President Washington, grave and calm, in black
velvet, pearl-colored satin and wig; and by his side, in delicate lace
kerchief and cap, and gown of lavender brocade, stood Mistress Martha,
his wife. On their right was Alexander Hamilton, and by his side his
bride of a few weeks, little Betsy Schuyler. Her eyes were as black as
the velvet of the General's body-coat, and 'twas well that, beside his
tall form, the extremely high heels of her dainty slippers added an
inch or two to her five feet two inches in height. Her furbelowed
petticoat of yellow satin seemed to dim the lustre of the hundred
candles shining throughout the rooms, although its amber gleam was
softened by the fall of filmy lace, which had been bought in Flanders
for the wedding gown of her great-grandmother Van Rensselaer. Her
husband wore a suit of puce-colored velvet, close fitting, exquisitely
cut and trimmed with a profusion of fine lace. Extreme elegance of
attire sat with a peculiar fitness upon Alexander Hamilton, with his
sensitive, patrician face, ease of bearing and charming, high-bred
manner; his figure, though delicately fashioned, being full of dignity
and repose. Near to them, with placid countenance and still comely
figure, stood Mistress Phillip Schuyler, who, with the General, her
husband, had come by easy stages from Albany.

Mistress Knox, standing a little behind them, was almost as
happy-looking as the girl on whose golden hair she had fastened the
sweet-scented orange blossoms a half-hour before. They had required so
much care and skill in the adjusting that she did not hear Anne Temple,
with a rosy flush, whisper to the bride-elect:

"When I said your brown-haired warrior had caught my fancy, 'twas but in
pique, because I thought the man to whom I had given my heart unasked
cared naught for me, but only yester-even he pleaded his suit so humbly
I know he never could have guessed my heart has long been only his. So
kiss me and give me joy, for there are no happier maidens than we two in
all the colonies."

As all assembled, the minister began, "Dearly beloved brethren," and as
the words of holy wedlock fell in the soft evening air upon the hearing
of those to whose ears the hiss of bullets and roar of cannon had been
more familiar through the past years of strife than the chime of church
bells, the fair bride plighted her troth in happy joyance and perfect
trust. To the words: "Phyllis, wilt thou have this man to love and to
cherish?" she answered in her stately beauty and gentle gladness: "I
will till death doth us part," and Edward Vanrosfeldt and Phyllis
Davenant were man and wife.

With her husband's first proud kiss warm upon her lips, she bent her
cheek, all pink and sweet with blushes, to receive the embraces and
felicitations of those who had sheltered her in the forlornness of the
years that had passed. Conducted to the state dining-room, with the
smiling guests gathered at the board, they sat side by side. As, in a
murmur of voices, amid the feasting and merry toasting to their future
happiness and weal, the happy bridegroom stood, glass in hand, to
respond for his bride, memory recalled to his mind another feast in an
old French chteau, in a walled Canadian town, where, seated by her side
for the first time, he had pledged to the "silken chain of love which
might one day hold him in a sweet captivity which he would be loth to
flee," of which, he said, they that day saw fulfilment.

With the fading of twilight into night, the bridal robe was laid aside,
and as anon the doors of the mansion flew open Phyllis Vanrosfeldt
appeared in rose-trimmed hat and coaching cloak ready to follow her
husband to his home. The company of guests and time-tested friends had
gathered in the hall, and around the walls circled an ebony background
of the shining black faces of the servants, the men staring in wide-eyed
delight at "Young Mist'is," and the younger negresses, with a show of
white teeth, simpering in an excitement which threatened at any moment
to break the bonds of strict decorum.

Leaning on her husband's arm she went out into the star-studded night,
the air soft with the scent of bursting buds and coming summer, her path
strewn white with blossoms. Down it she passed under the crossed swords
of his gallant troop, which lined the way, the young moon turning the
true blades, which had been so often red with blood, into an arch of
light above her head. At the gate, ready for their service, stood
Mistress Washington's state-chariot, drawn by four horses, the
body-servants from Mount Vernon in the red and grey of the Washington
livery. The horses were gay with white favors, the long streamers from
the whip in no wise being allowed to endanger the dignity of the sable
coachman by so much as a smile. As Phyllis mounted the three steps by
which the blue-cushioned seats were reached, a tiny embroidered slipper,
which only Anne Temple could have worn, flew out into the dusk, and
catching on one of the great leathern straps on which the body of the
coach was hung, nestled there and went, like the wearer's sweetest
wishes, with them.

A crack of the beribboned whip, a lurch of the coach, and to those in
the dazzling light of the doorway, the soft, pearly mist from the river
enfolded them, their good-bye coming back with the hush-song of a
thrush in the dim retreat of the magnolias and the faint notes of drowsy
robins in the fringing woods.

Gathering her in his arms, the silver horn of the moon giving her an
almost unearthly beauty, her husband whispered in an ecstasy of
happiness, in a tenderness untellable:

"My wife at last!"

       *       *       *       *       *



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  | Transcriber's note:--                                         |
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  | The cover design mentioned in the introduction was not       |
  | included in the scanning for this transcription.             |
  |                                                              |
  | Punctuation errors have been corrected.                      |
  |                                                              |
  | Printer's suspected spelling errors have been addressed.     |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 24 'garison' to 'garrison'                              |
  | 'subaltern of the garrison'                                  |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 24 'madamoiselle' to 'mademoiselle'                     |
  | 'Mademoiselle is late.'                                      |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 40 'than' to 'then'                                     |
  | 'Mistress Devenant then whispered'                           |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 132 'shoud' to 'should'                                 |
  | 'should be endangered'                                       |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 142 'illy' to 'ill'                                     |
  | 'whose slight form ill fitted'                               |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 207 'accomlish' to 'accomplish'                         |
  | 'that he could accomplish'                                   |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 246 'strugle' to 'struggle'                             |
  | 'clasped in a death struggle'                                |
  |                                                              |
  | Page 375 'ruth' to 'truth'                                   |
  | 'how bitter the truth'                                       |
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[End of Crossed Swords, by Mary Wilson Alloway]
