Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: were they not mine?
Did they not sometimes cry, all hail! to me?
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve
Found truth in all but one; I in twelve thousand none.
_Richard II_.
That which captain Willoughby had said in seeming pleasantry he
seriously meditated. The idea of passing another night in the Hut,
supported by only six men, with more than ten times that number
besieging him, and with all the secrets of his defences known, through
the disaffection of his retainers, was, to the last degree, painful to
him. Had his own life, alone, been at risk, military pride might have
tempted him to remain; but his charge was far too precious to be
exposed on account of considerations so vain.
No sooner, therefore, was the breakfast over, than captain summoned
Joyce to a consultation on the contemplated movement. The interview
took place in the library, whither the serjeant repaired, on receiving
his superior's orders. As to the party without, no apprehension was
felt, so long as the sentinels were even moderately vigilant, and the
day lasted.
"I suppose, serjeant," commenced captain Willoughby, "a soldier of your
experience is not to be taught what is the next resort of a commanding
officer, when he finds himself unable to make good his ground against
his enemy in front?"
"It is to retreat, your honour. The road that cannot be passed, must be
turned."
"You have judged rightly. It is now my intention to evacuate the Hut,
and to try our luck on a march to the rear. A retreat, skilfully
executed, is a creditable thing; and any step appears preferable to
exposing the dear beings in the other room to the dangers of a night
assault."
Joyce appeared struck with the suggestion; though, if one might have
judged from the expression of his countenance, far from favourably. He
reflected a moment ere he answered.
"Did your honour send for me," he then inquired, "to issue orders for
this retreat, or was it your pleasure to hear anything I might have to
say about it?"
"The last--I shall give no orders, until I know your opinion of the
measure."
"It is as much the duty of an inferior to speak his mind freely, when
he is called for an opinion, captain Willoughby, as it is to obey in
silence, when he gets nothing but orders. According to my views of the
matter, we shall do better to stand our ground, and try to make good
the house against these vagabonds, than to trust to the woods."
"Of course you have your reasons for this opinion, Joyce?"
"Certainly, your honour. In the first place, I suppose it to be against
the rules of the art of war to evacuate a place that is well
provisioned, without standing an assault. This we have not yet done. It
is true, sir, that our ranks are thinned by desertions; but I never
heard of a garrisoned town, or a garrisoned house, capitulating on
account of a few deserters; and, I take it, evacuation is only the next
step before capitulation."
"But our desertions, Joyce, have not been _few_, but _many._
Three times as many have left us, if we include our other losses, as
remain. It matters not whence the loss proceeds, so long as it is a
loss."
"A retreat, with women and baggage, is always a ticklish operation,
your honour, especially if an enemy is pressing your rear! Then we have
a wilderness before us, and the ladies could hardly hold out for so
long a march as that from this place to the Mohawk; short of which
river they will hardly be as safe as they are at present."
"I have had no such march in view, Joyce. You know there is a
comfortable hut, only a mile from this very spot on the mountain side,
where we commenced a clearing for a sheep-pasture, only three summers
since. The field is in rich grass; and, could we once reach the cabin,
and manage to drive a cow or two up there, we might remain a month in
security. As for provisions and clothes, we could carry enough on our
backs to serve us all several weeks; especially if assisted by the
cows."
"I'm glad your honour has thought of this idea," said the serjeant, his
face brightening as he listened; "it will be a beautiful operation to
fall back on that position, when we can hold out no longer in this. The
want of some such arrangement has been my only objection to this post,
captain Willoughby; for, we have always seemed to me, out here in the
wilderness, like a regiment drawn up with a ravine or a swamp in its
rear."
"I am glad to find you relishing the movement for any cause, serjeant.
It is my intention at present to make the necessary arrangements to
evacuate the Hut, while it is light; and, as soon as it is dark, to
retreat by the gates, the palisades, and the rivulet--How now, Jamie?
You look as if there were news to communicate?"
Jamie Allen, in truth, had entered at that instant in so much haste as
to have overlooked the customary ceremony of sending in his name, or
even of knocking.
"News!" repeated the mason, with a sort of wondering smile "and it's
just that I've come to bring. Wad ye think it, baith, gentlemen, that
our people are in their am cabins ag'in, boiling their pots, and frying
their pork, a' the same as if the valley was in a state of
tranquillity, and we so many lairds waiting for them to come and do our
pleasure!"
"I do not understand you, Jamie--whom do you mean by 'our people'?"
"Sure, just the desairters; Joel, and the miller, and Michael, and the
rest."
"And the cabins--and the pots--and the pork--it is gibberish to me."
"I hae what ye English ca' an aiccent, I know; but, in my judgment,
captain Willoughby, the words may be comprehended without a dictionary.
It's just that Joel Strides, and Daniel the miller, and the rest o'
them that fleed, the past night, have gane into their ain abodes, and
have lighted their fires, and put over their pots and kettles, and set
up their domestic habitudes, a' the same as if this Beaver Dam was ain
o' the pairks o' Lonnon!"
"The devil they have! Should this be the case, serjeant, our sortie may
be made at an earlier hour than that mentioned. I never will submit to
such an insult."
Captain Willoughby was too much aroused to waste many words; and,
seizing his hat, he proceeded forthwith to take a look for himself. The
stage, or gallery on the roofs, offering the best view, in a minute he
and his two companions were on it.
"There; ye'll be seein' a smoke in Joel's habitation, with your own
een; and, yon is anither, in the dwelling of his cousin Seth," said
Jamie, pointing in the direction he named.
"Smoke there is, of a certainty; but the Indians may have lighted fires
in the kitchen, to do their own cooking. This looks like investing us,
serjeant, rather more closely than the fellows have done before."
"I rather think not, your honour--Jamie is right, or my eyes do not
know a man from a woman. That is certainly a female in the garden of
Joel, and I'll engage it's Phoebe, pulling onions for his craving
stomach, the scoundrel!"
Captain Willoughby never moved without his little glass, and it was
soon levelled at the object mentioned.
"By Jupiter, you are right, Joyce"--he cried. "It is Phoebe, though the
hussy is coolly weeding, not culling the onions! Ay--and now I see Joel
himself! The rascal is examining some hoes, with as much philosophy as
if he were master of them, and all near them. This is a most singular
situation to be in!"
This last remark was altogether just. The situation of those in the Hut
was now singular indeed. Further examination showed that every cabin
had its tenant, no one of the party that remained within the palisades
being a householder. By using the glass, and pointing it, in
succession, at the different dwellings, the captain in due time
detected the presence of nearly every one of the deserters. Not a man
of them all, in fact, was missing, Mike alone excepted. There they
were, with their wives and children, in quiet possession of their
different habitations. Nor was this all; the business of the valley
seemed as much on their minds as had been their practice for years.
Cows were milked, the swine were fed, poultry was called and cared for,
and each household was also making the customary preparations for the
morning meal.
So absorbed was the captain with this extraordinary scene, that he
remained an hour on the staging, watching the course of events. The
breakfasts were soon over, having been later than common, and a little
hurried; then commenced the more important occupations of the day. A
field was already half ploughed, in preparation for a crop of winter
grain; thither Joel himself proceeded, with the necessary cattle,
accompanied by the labourers who usually aided him in that particular
branch of husbandry. Three ploughs were soon at work, with as much
regularity and order as if nothing had occurred to disturb the
tranquillity of the valley. The axes of the wood-choppers were next
heard, coming out of the forest, cutting fuel for the approaching
winter; and a half-finished ditch had its workmen also, who were soon
busy casting up the soil, and fashioning their trench. In a word, all
the suspended toil was renewed with perfect system and order.
"This beats the devil himself, Joyce!" said the captain, after a half-
hour of total silence. "Here are all these fellows at work as coolly as
if I had just given them their tasks, and twice as diligently. Their
unusual industry is a bad symptom of itself!"
"Your honour will remark one circumstance. Not a rascal of them all
comes within the fair range of a musket, for, as to throwing away
ammunition at such distances, it would be clearly unmilitary, and might
be altogether useless."
"I have half a mind to scatter them with a volley"--said the captain,
doubtingly. "Bullets would take effect among those ploughmen, could
they only be made to hit."
"And amang the cattle, too," observed the Scotsman, who had an eye on
the more economical part of the movement, as well as on that which was
military. "A ball would slay a horse as well as a man in such a
skairmish."
"This is true enough, Jamie; and it is not exactly the sort of warfare
I could wish, to be firing at men who were so lately my friends. I do
not see, Joyce, that the rascals have any arms with them?"
"Not a musket, sir. I noticed that, when Joel first detailed his
detachments. Can it be possible that the savages have retired?"
"Not they; else would Mr. Strides and his friends have gone with them.
No, serjeant, there is a deep plan to lead us into some sort of ambush
in this affair, and we will be on the look-out for them."
Joyce stood contemplating the scene for some, time, in profound
silence, when he approached the captain formally, and made the usual
military salute; a ceremony he had punctiliously observed, on all
proper occasions, since the garrison might be said to be placed under
martial law.
"If it's your honour's pleasure," he said, "I will detail a detachment,
and go out and bring in two or three of these deserters; by which means
we shall get into their secrets."
"A detachment, Joyce!" answered the captain, eyeing his subordinate a
little curiously--"What troops do you propose to tell-off for the
service?"
"Why, your honour, there's corporal Allen and old Pliny off duty; I
think the thing might be done with them, if your honour would have the
condescension to order corporal Blodget, with the two other blacks, to
form as a supporting party, under the cover of one of the fences."
"A disposition of my force that would leave captain Willoughby for a
garrison! I thank you, serjeant, for your offer and gallantry, but
prudence will not permit it. We may set down Strides and his companions
as so many knaves, and----"
"That may ye!" cried Mike's well-known voice, from the scuttle that
opened into the garrets, directly in front of which the two old
soldiers were conversing--"That may ye, and no har-r-m done the trut',
or justice, or for that matther, meself. Och! If I had me will of the
blackguards, every rogue of 'em should be bound hand and fut and laid
under that pratthy wather-fall, yon at the mill, until his sins was
washed out of him. Would there be confessions then?--That would there;
and sich letting out of sacrets as would satisfy the conscience of a
hog!"
By the time Mike had got through this sentiment he was on the staging,
where he stood hitching up his nether garment, with a meaning grin on
his face that gave a peculiar expression of heavy cunning to the
massive jaw and capacious mouth, blended with an honesty and good-
nature that the well-meaning fellow was seldom without when he
addressed any of the captain's family. Joyce glanced at the captain,
expecting orders to seize the returned run-away; but his superior read
at once good faith in the expression of his old retainer's countenance.
"You have occasioned us a good deal of surprise, O'Hearn, on more
accounts than one," observed the captain, who thought it prudent to
assume more sternness of manner than his feelings might have actually
warranted. "You have not only gone off yourself, but you have suffered
your prisoner to escape with you. Then your manner of getting into the
house requires an explanation. I shall hear what you have to say before
I make up my mind as to your conduct."
"Is it spake I will?--That will I, and as long as it plase yer honour
to listen. Och! Isn't that Saucy Nick a quare one? Divil burn me if I
thinks the likes of him is to be found in all Ameriky, full as it is of
Injins and saucy fellies! Well, now, I suppose, sarjeant, ye've set me
down as sin riding off with Misther Joel and his likes, if ye was to
open yer heart, and spake yer thrue mind?"
"You have been marked for a deserter, O'Hearn, and one, too, that
deserted from post."
"Post! Had I been _that_, I shouldn't have stirred, and ye'd be
wanting in the news I bring ye from the Majjor, and Mr. Woods, and the
savages, and the rest of the varmints."
"My son!--Is this possible, Michael? Have you seen _him_, or can
you tell us anything of his state?"
Mike now assumed a manner of mysterious importance, laying a finger on
his nose, and pointing towards the sentinel and Jamie.
"It's the sarjeant that I considers as one of the family," said the
county Leitrim-man, when his pantomime was through, "but it isn't
dacent to be bawling out sacrets through a whole nighbourhood; and
then, as for _Ould_ Nick--or Saucy Nick, or whatever ye calls
him--Och! isn't he a _pratthy_ Injin! Ye'll mar-r-ch t'rough
Ameriky, and never see his aiquel!"
"This will never do, O'Hearn. Whatever you have to say must be said
clearly, and in the simplest manner. Follow to the library, where I
will hear your report. Joyce, you will accompany us."
"Let him come, if he wishes to hear wonderful achaivements!" answered
Mike, making way for the captain to descend the steps; then following
himself, talking as he went. "He'll niver brag of his campaigns ag'in
to the likes of me, seeing that I've outdone him, ten--ay, forty times,
and boot. Och! that Nick's a divil, and no har-r-m said!"
"In the first place, O'Hearn," resumed the captain, as soon as the
three were alone in the library--"you must explain your own desertion."
"Me!--Desart! Sure, it isn't run away from yer honour, and the Missus,
and Miss Beuly, and pratthy Miss Maud, and the child, that's yer
honour's m'aning?"
This was said with so much nature and truth, that the captain had not
the heart to repeat the question, though Joyce's more drilled feelings
were less moved. The first even felt a tear springing to his eye, and
he no longer distrusted the Irishman's fidelity, as unaccountable as
his conduct did and must seem to his cooler judgment. But Mike's
sensitiveness had taken the alarm, and it was only to be appeased by
explanations.
"Yer honour's not sp'aking when I questions ye on that same?" he
resumed, doubtingly.
"Why, Mike, to be sincere, it did look a little suspicious when you not
only went, off yourself, but you let the Indian go off with you."
"Did it?"--said Mike, mus'ng--"No, I don't allow that, seein' that the
intent and object was good. And, then, I never took the Injin wid
_me_; but 'twas I, meself, that went wid _him_."
"I rather think, your honour," said Joyce, smiling, "we'll put
O'Hearn's name in its old place on the roster, and make no mark against
him at pay-day."
"I think it will turn out so, Joyce. We must have patience, too, and
let Mike tell his story in his own way."
"Is it tell a story, will I? Ah!--Nick's the cr'ature for that same!
See, he has given me foor bits of sticks, every one of which is to tell
a story, in its own way. This is the first; and it manes let the
captain into the sacret of your retrait; and how you got out of the
windie, and how you comes near to breaking yer neck by a fall becaase
of the fut's slipping; and how ye wint down the roof by a rope, the
divil a bit fastening it to yer neck, but houlding it in yer hand with
sich a grip as if 'twere the fait' of the church itself; and how Nick
led ye to the hole out of which ye hot' wint, as if ye had been two
cats going t'rough a door!"
Mike stopped to grin and look wise, as he recounted the manner of the
escape, the outlines of which, however, were sufficiently well known to
his auditors before he, began.
"Throw away that stick, now, and let us know where this hole is, and
what you mean by it."
"No"--answered Mike, looking at the stick, in a doubting manner--"I'll
not t'row it away, wid yer honour's l'ave, 'till I've told ye how we
got into the brook, forenent the forest, and waded up to the woods,
where we was all the same as if we had been two bits of clover tops hid
in a haymow. That Nick is a cr'ature at consailment!"
"Go on," said the captain, patiently, knowing that there was no use in
hurrying one of Mike's peculiar mode of communicating his thoughts.
"What came next?"
"That will I; and the r'ason comes next, as is seen by this oder stick.
And, so, Nick and meself was in the chaplain's room all alone, and
n'ither of us had any mind to dhrink; Nick becaase he was a prisoner
and felt crass, and full of dignity like; and meself becaase I was a
sentinel; and sarjeant Joyce, there, had tould me, the Lord knows how
often, that if I did my duty well, I might come to be a corporal, which
was next in rank to himself; barring, too, that I was a sentinel, and a
drunken sentinel is a disgrace to a man, sowl and body, and musket."
"And so neither of you drank?"--put in the captain, by way of a
reminder.
"For that same r'ason, and one betther still, as we had nothin' _to_
dhrink. Well, says Nick--'Mike,' says he--'you like cap'in, and
Missus, and Miss Beuly, and Miss Maud, and the babby?' Divil burn ye,
Nick,' says I, 'why do ye ask so foolish a question? Is it likes ye
would know? Well--then just ask yerself if you likes yer own kith and
kin, and ye've got yer answer.'"
"And Nick made his proposal, on getting this answer," interrupted the
captain, "which was--"
"Here it is, on the stick. 'Well,' says Nick, says he--'run away wid
Nick, and see Majjor; bring back news. Nick cap'in friend, but cap'in
don't know it--won't believe'--Fait', I can't _tell_ yer honour
all Nick said, in his own manner; and so, wid yer Pave, I'll just tell
it in my own way."
"Any way, Mike, so that you do but tell it."
"Nick's a cr'ature! His idee was for us two to get out of the windie,
and up on the platform, and to take the bedcord, and other things, and
slide down upon the ground--and we _did_ it! As sure as yer honour
and the sarjeant is there, we did _that same_, and no bones broke!
'Well,' says I, 'Nick, ye're here, sure enough, but how do you mane to
get _out_ of here? Is it climb the palisades ye will, and be shot
by a sentinel?'--if there was one, which there wasn't, yer honour,
seeing that all had run away--'or do ye mane to stay here,' says I,
'and be taken a prisoner of war ag'in, in which case ye'll be two
prisoners, seem' that ye've been taken wonst already, will ye Nick?'
says I. So Nick never spoke, but he held up his finger, and made a sign
for me to follow, as follow I did; and we just crept through the
palisade, and a mhighty phratty walk we had of it, alang the meadies,
and t'rough the lanes, the rest of the way."
"You crept through the palisades, Mike! There is no outlet of
sufficient size."
"I admits the hole is a tight squaze, but 'twill answer. And then it's
just as good for an inlet as it is for an outlet, seein' that I came
t'rough it this very marnin'. Och! Nick's a cr'ature! And how d'ye
think that hole comes there, barring all oversights in setting up the
sticks?"
"It has not been made intentionally, I should hope, O'Hearn?"
"'Twas made by Joel, and that by just sawing off a post, and forcin'
out a pin or two, so that the palisade works like a door. Och! it's
nately contrived, and it manes mischief."
"This must be looked to, at once," cried the captain; "lead the way,
Mike, and show us the spot."
As the Irishman was nothing loth, all three were soon in the court,
whence Mike led the way through the gate, round to the point where the
stockade came near the cliffs, on the eastern side of the buildings.
This was the spot where the path that led down to the spring swept
along the defences, and was on the very route by which the captain
contemplated retreating, as well as on that by which Maud had entered
the Hut, the night of the invasion. At a convenient place, a palisade
had been sawed off, so low in the ground that the sods, which had been
cut and were moveable, concealed the injury, while the heads of the
pins that ought to have bound the timber to the cross-piece, were in
their holes, leaving everything apparently secure. On removing the
sods, and pushing the timber aside, the captain ascertained that a man
might easily pass without the stockade. As this corner was the most
retired within the works, there was no longer any doubt that the hole
had been used by all the deserters, including the women and children.
In what manner it became known to Nick, however, still remained matter
of conjecture.
Orders were about to be given to secure this passage, when it occurred
to the captain it might possibly be of use in effecting his own
retreat. With this object in view, then, he hastened away from the
place, lest any wandering eye without might detect his presence near
it, and conjecture the cause. On returning to the library, the
examination of Mike was resumed.
As the reader must be greatly puzzled with the county Leitrim-man's
manner of expressing himself, we shall relate the substance of what he
now uttered, for the sake of brevity. It would seem that Nick had
succeeded in persuading Mike, first, that he, the Tuscarora, was a fast
friend of the captain and his family, confined by the former, in
consequence of a misconception of the real state of the Indian's
feelings, much to the detriment of all their interests; and that no
better service could be rendered the Willoughbys than to let Nick
depart, and for the Irishman to go with him. Mike, however, had not the
slightest idea of desertion, the motive which prevailed on him to quit
the Hut being a desire to see the major, and, if possible, to help him
escape. As soon as this expectation was placed before his eyes, Mike
became a convert to the Indian's wishes. Like all exceedingly zealous
men, the Irishman had an itching propensity to be doing, and he was
filled with a sort of boyish delight at the prospect of effecting a
great service to those whom he so well loved, without their knowing it.
Such was the history of Michael's seeming desertion; that of what
occurred after he quitted the works remains to be related.
The Tuscarora led his companion out of the Hut, within half an hour
after they had been left alone together, in the room of Mr. Woods. As
this was subsequently to Joel's flight, Nick, in anticipation of this
event, chose to lie in ambush a short time, in order to ascertain
whether the defection was likely to go any further. Satisfied on this
head, he quietly retired towards the mill. After making a sufficient
_dêtour_ to avoid being seen from the house, Nick gave himself no
trouble about getting into the woods, or of practising any of the
expedients of a time of real danger, as had been done by all of the
deserters; but he walked leisurely across the meadows, until he struck
the highway, along which he proceeded forthwith to the rocks. All this
was done in a way that showed he felt himself at home, and that he had
no apprehensions of falling into an ambush. It might have arisen from
his familiarity with the ground; or, it might have proceeded from the
consciousness that he was approaching friends, instead of enemies.
At the rocks, however, Nick did not deem it wise to lead Mike any
farther, without some preliminary caution. The white man was concealed
in one of the clefts, therefore, while the Indian pursued his way
alone. The latter was absent an hour; at the end of that time he
returned, and, after giving Mike a great many cautions about silence
and prudence, he led him to the cabin of the miller, in the buttery of
which Robert Willoughby was confined. To this buttery there was a
window; but, as it was so small as to prevent escape, no sentinel had
been placed on the outside of the building. For his own comfort, too,
and in order to possess his narrow lodgings to himself, the major had
given a species of parole, by which he was bound to remain in duresse,
until the rising of the next sun. Owing to these two causes, Nick had
been enabled to approach the window, and to hold communications with
the prisoner. This achieved, he returned to the rocks, and led Mike to
the same spot.
Major Willoughby had not been able to write much, in consequence of the
darkness. That which he communicated, accordingly, had to pass through
the fiery ordeal of the Irishman's brains. As a matter of course it did
not come with particular lucidity, though Mike did succeed in making
his auditors comprehend this much.
The major was substantially well treated, though intimations had been
given that he would be considered as a spy. Escape seemed next to
impossible; still, he should not easily abandon the hope. From all he
had seen, the party was one of that irresponsible character that would
render capitulation exceedingly hazardous, and he advised his father to
hold out to the last. In a military point of view, he considered his
captors as contemptible, being without a head; though many of the
men:--the savages in particular--appeared to be ferocious and
reckless. The whole party was guarded in discourse, and little was said
in English, though he was convinced that many more whites were present
than he had at first believed. Mr. Woods he had not seen, nor did he
know anything of his arrest or detention.
This much Mike succeeded in making the captain comprehend, though a
great deal was lost through the singular confusion that prevailed in
the mind of the messenger. Mike however, had still another
communication, which we reserve for the ears of the person to whom it
was especially sent.
This news produced a pause in captain Willoughby's determination. Some
of the fire of youth awoke within him, and he debated with himself on
the possibility of making a sortie, and of liberating his son, as a
step preliminary to victory; or, at least, to a successful retreat.
Acquainted with every foot of the ground, which had singular facilities
for a step so bold, the project found favour in his eyes each minute,
and soon became fixed.