A Soldier of Virginia - Burton Egbert Stevenson
The climax came one evening after dinner. We had both, perhaps, had a
glass of wine too much before we joined the ladies. Certainly, no words
had passed between us when they had left the table, and there was nothing
to do but drink, which we did with moody perseverance. But once before
the fire in the great hall, with Madame Stewart knitting on one side and
Dorothy bending over her tambour on the other, his mood changed and he
grew talkative enough, while I sat down near the candles and pretended to
be absorbed in a book.
"Do you know, ladies," he said, "this reminds me of nothing so much as a
night in London just five years ago, when the great earthquake was. We
were sitting around the fire, just as we are siting now, Tommy Collier on
my right, and Harry Sibley on my left, when the bottles on the table
began to clink and the windows to rattle, and poor Harry, who was leaning
back in his chair, crashed over backwards to the floor. We picked him up
and went out into the street, where there was confusion worse confounded.
Windows were thrown open, women were running up and down clad only in
their smocks, and one fellow had mounted a barrel and was calling on the
people to repent because the Day of Judgment was at hand. Somebody
predicted there would be another earthquake in a week, and so the next
day the people began to pour out of town, not because they were
frightened, but 'Lord, the weather is so fine,' they said, 'one can't
help going into the country.'"
"You found the country very pleasant, Mr. Newton, I dare say," I
remarked, looking up from my book. He did not at once understand the
meaning of my question, but Dorothy did, and flushed crimson with
anger. The sight of her disapproval and Madame Stewart's frowning face
maddened me.
"No," he said slowly, after a moment, "I did not leave the city, but
hundreds of people did. Within three days, over seven hundred coaches
were counted passing Hyde Park corner, with whole families going to the
country. The clergy preached that it was judgment on London for its
wickedness, and that the next earthquake would swallow up the whole town.
The ridotto had to be put off because there was no one to attend it, and
the women who remained in town spent their time between reading
Sherlock's sermons and making earthquake gowns, in which they proposed to
sit out of doors all night."
"Pray, what was the color of your gown, Mr. Newton?" I inquired, with a
polite show of interest.
Newton rose slowly from his chair and came toward me.
"Am I to understand that you mean to insult me, sir?" he asked, when he
had got quite near.
"You are to understand whatever you please," I answered hotly, throwing
my book upon the table.
"Tom," cried Dorothy, "for shame, sir! Have you taken leave of
your senses?"
"Do not be frightened, I beg of you, Miss Randolph," interrupted Newton,
restraining her with one hand. "I assure you that I have no intention of
injuring the boy."
"Injuring me, indeed!" I cried, springing to my feet, furious with rage,
for I could not bear to be patronized. "It is you who are insulting, and
by God you shall answer for it!"
"As you will," he said, with a light laugh, and turned back to the fire.
I knew that I had got all the worst of the encounter, that I had behaved
with a rudeness for which there was no excuse, and that I cut a sorry
figure standing there, and my face burned at the knowledge. But
preserving what semblance of dignity I could, I stalked from the hall and
upstairs to my room. I sat a long time thinking over the occurrence, and
the more I pondered it, the more clearly I saw that I had played the
fool. I did not know then, but I learned long afterward, that my conduct
that night came near losing me the great happiness of my life. My cheeks
flush even now as I think of my behavior. How foolish do the tragedies of
youth appear, once time has tamed the blood!
I did not wonder in the morning to receive a summons from my aunt, and I
found her in her accustomed chair before the table piled with papers. She
glanced at me coldly as I entered, and finished looking over a paper she
held in her hand before she spoke to me.
"I need not tell you," she said at length, "how greatly your boorish
conduct of last night surprised me. To insult a guest, and especially to
do so without provocation, is not the part of a gentleman."
I flushed angrily, for the justness of this statement only irritated me
the more. I think it is always the man who is in the wrong that shows the
greatest violence, and the man that most deserves rebuke who is most
impatient of it.
"There is no need for you to counsel me how a gentleman should behave,"
I answered hotly.
"I did not summon you here to counsel you," she said still more coldly,
"but to inform you that this disgraceful affair is to go no further, at
least beneath this roof. Mr. Newton has promised me to overlook your
behavior, which is most generous on his part, and I trust you will see
the wisdom of making peace with him."
"And why, may I ask, madame?"
"Because," she said, looking me in the eyes, "it is most likely that he
will marry my daughter, and nothing is more vulgar than a family whose
members are forever quarreling."
I clenched my hands until the nails pierced the flesh. She had hit me a
hard blow, and she knew it.
"And what does Dorothy think of this arrangement?" I asked, with as great
composure as I could muster.
She smiled with a calm assurance which made my heart sink. "Dorothy would
be a fool not to accept him, for he is one of the most eligible gentlemen
in Virginia. Indeed, perhaps she has already done so, for I gave him
leave to speak to her this morning," and she smiled again as she noted my
trembling hands, which I tried in vain to steady. "You seem much
interested in the matter."
I turned from her without replying,--I could trust myself no further. Not
that I blamed her for hating me,--for she loved her son and I was the
shadow across his path,--but she was pressing me further than I had
counted on. I snatched up my hat as I ran along the hall and out the
great door toward the river. Spring was coming, the trees were shaking
out their foliage, along the river the wild flowers were beginning to
show their tiny faces, but I saw none of these as I broke my way through
the brush along the water's edge,--for perhaps even now he was asking
Dorothy to be his wife, and she was yielding to him. The thought maddened
me,--yet why should she do otherwise? What claim had I upon her? And yet
I had builded such a different future for her and me.
I had walked I know not how long when I came out suddenly upon the road
which wound along the bank and finally dipped to the ferry, and here I
sat down upon a log to think. If Dorothy accepted him, I could no longer
stay at Riverview. I must go away to Williamsburg and seek employment in
the campaign, if only as a ranger. It must soon commence, and surely
they would not refuse me in the ranks. As I sat absorbed in bitter
thought, I heard the sound of hoof beats up the road and saw a horseman
coming. I drew back behind a tree, for I was in no mood to talk to any
one, and gloomily watched him as he drew nearer. There seemed something
strangely familiar about the figure, and in an instant I recognized him.
It was Willoughby Newton. In another moment he had passed, his face a
picture of rage and shame. He was riding away from Riverview in anger,
and as I realized what that meant, I sprang forward with a great cry of
joy. He must have heard me, for he turned in the saddle and shook his
whip at me, and for an instant drew rein as though to stop. But he
thought better of it, for he settled again in the saddle, and was soon
out of sight down the road.
I had not waited so long, for settling my hat on my head, I set off up
the road as fast as my legs would carry me. It seemed to me I should
never reach the house, and I cursed the folly which had taken me so far
away, but at last I ran up the steps and into the hall. As I entered, I
caught a glimpse of a well-known gown in the hall above, and in an
instant I was up the stairs.
"Dorothy!" I gasped, seizing one of her hands, "Dorothy, tell me, you
have told him no?"
I must have been a surprising object, covered with dust and breathless,
but she leaned toward me and gave me her other hand.
"Yes, Tom," she said very softly, "I told him no. I do not love him, Tom,
and I could not marry a man I do not love."
"Oh, Dorothy," I cried, "if you knew how glad I am! If you knew how I
was raging along the river at the very thought that he was asking you,
and fearing for your reply; for he is a very fine fellow, Dorothy," and
I realized with amazement that all my resentment and anger against
Newton had vanished in an instant. "But when I saw him ride by like a
madman, I knew you had said no, and I came back as fast as I could to
make certain."
Somehow, as I was speaking, I had drawn her toward me, and my arm was
around her.
"Can you not guess, dear Dolly," I whispered "why I was so angry with
him last night? It was because I knew he was going to ask you, and I
feared that you might say yes."
I could feel her trembling now, and would have bent and kissed her, but
that she sprang from me with a little frightened cry, and I turned to see
her mother standing in the hall below.
"So," she said, mounting the steps with an ominous calmness, "my daughter
sees fit to reject the addresses of Mr. Newton and yet receive those of
Mr. Stewart. I perceive now why he was so deeply concerned in what I had
to tell him this morning. May I ask, Mr. Stewart, if you consider
yourself a good match for my daughter?"
"Good match or not, madame," I cried, "I love her, and if she will have
me, she shall be my wife!"
"Fine talk!" she sneered. "To what estate will you take her, sir? On
what income will you support her? My daughter has been accustomed to a
gentle life."
"And if I have no estate to which to take her," I cried, "if I have no
income by which to support her, remember, madame, that it is from choice,
not from necessity!"
I could have bit my tongue the moment the words were out. Her anger had
carried her further than she intended going, but for my ungenerous retort
there was no excuse.
"Am I to understand this is a threat?" she asked, very pale, but
quite composed.
"No, it is not a threat," I answered. "The words were spoken in anger,
and I am sorry for them. I have already told you my intentions in that
matter, and have no purpose to change my mind. I will win myself a name
and an estate, and then I will come back and claim your daughter. We
shall soon both be of age."
She laughed bitterly.
"Until that day, then, Mr. Stewart," she said, "I must ask you to have no
further intercourse with her. Perhaps at Williamsburg you will find a
more congenial lodging while you are making your fortune."
My blood rushed to my face at the insult, and I could not trust myself
to answer.
"Come, Dorothy," she continued, "you will go to your room," and she
pushed her on before her.
I watched them until they turned into the other corridor, and then went
slowly down the stairs. As I emerged upon the walk before the house, I
saw a negro riding up, whom I recognized as one of Colonel Washington's
servants. Some message for Dorothy from Betty Washington, no doubt, and I
turned moodily back toward the stables to get out my horse, for I was
determined to leave the place without delay. But I was arrested by the
negro calling to me.
"What is it, Sam?" I asked, as he cantered up beside me.
"Lettah f'um Kuhnal Washin'ton, sah," he said, and handed me the missive.
I tore it open with a trembling hand.
DEAR TOM [it ran],--I have procured you an appointment as lieutenant in
Captain Waggoner's company of Virginia troops, which are to make the
campaign with General Braddock. They are now in barracks at Winchester,
where you will join them as soon as possible.
Your friend, G. WASHINGTON.
"Sam," I said, "go back to the kitchen and tell Sukey to fill you up on
the best she's got," and I turned and ran into the house. I tapped at the
door of my aunt's room, and her voice bade me enter.
"I have just received a note from Colonel Washington," I said, "in which
he tells me that he has secured me a commission as lieutenant for the
campaign, so I will not need to trespass on your hospitality longer than
to-morrow morning."
There was a queer gleam in her eyes, which I thought I could read aright.
"Yes, there are many chances in war," I said bitterly, "and I am as like
as another to fall."
"I am not quite so bloodthirsty as you seem to think," she answered
coldly, "and perhaps a moment ago I spoke more harshly than I intended.
Everything you need for the journey you will please ask for. I wish you
every success."
"Thank you," I said, and left the room. My pack was soon made, for I had
seen enough of frontier fighting to know no extra baggage would be
permitted, and then I roamed up and down the house in hope of seeing
Dorothy. But she was nowhere visible, and at last I gave up the search
and went to bed.
I was up long before daylight, donned my old uniform, saw my horse fed
and saddled, ate my breakfast, and was ready to go. I took a last look
around my room, picked up my pack, and started down the stairs.
"Tom," whispered a voice above me, and I looked up and saw her. "Quick,
quick," she whispered, "say good-by."
"Oh, my love!" I cried, and I drew her lips down to mine.
"And you will not forget me, Tom?" she said. "I shall pray for you every
night and morning till you come back to me. Good-by."
"Forget you, Dolly? Nay, that will never be." And as I rode away through
the bleak, gray morning, the mist rolling up from hill and river
disclosed a world of wondrous fairness.
Which brings me back again to the camp at Winchester,--but what a
journey it has been! As I look back, nothing strikes me so greatly as
the length of the way by which I have come. I had thought that some
dozen pages at the most would suffice for my introduction, but memory
has led my pen along many a by-path, and paused beside a score of
half-forgotten landmarks. Well, as it was written, so let it stand, for
my heart is in it.
CHAPTER XIII
LIEUTENANT ALLEN SHOWS HIS SKILL
The days dragged on at Winchester, as days in camp will, and I accepted
no more invitations to mess with the officers of the line. Indeed, I
received none, and we provincial officers kept to ourselves. Major
Washington had returned to Mount Vernon, but I found many of my old
friends with the troops, so had no lack of company. There was Captain
Waggoner, who had got his promotion eight months before, and Peyronie,
recovered of his wound and eager for another bout with the French. He
also had been promoted for his gallantry, and now had his own company of
rangers. There was Captain Polson, for whom a tragic fate was waiting,
and my old captain, Adam Stephen. And there was Carolus Spiltdorph,
advanced to a lieutenancy like myself, and by great good fortune in my
company. We began to chum together at once,--sharing our blankets and
tobacco,--and continued so until the end.
Another friend I also found in young Harry Marsh, a son of Colonel Henry
Marsh, who owned a plantation some eight or ten miles above the Frederick
ferry, and a cousin of my aunt. Colonel Marsh had stopped one day at
Riverview, while on his way home from Hampton, and had made us all
promise to return his visit, but so many affairs had intervened that the
promise had never been kept. The boy, who was scarce nineteen, had
secured a berth as ensign in Peyronie's company, and he came frequently
with his captain to our quarters to listen with all his ears to our
stories of the Fort Necessity affair. He was a fresh, wholehearted
fellow, and though he persisted in considering us all as little less than
heroes, was himself heroic as any, as I was in the end to learn. We were
a hearty and good-tempered company, and spent our evenings together most
agreeably, discussing the campaign and the various small happenings of
the camp. But as Spiltdorph shrewdly remarked, we were none of us so
sanguinary as we had been a year before. I have since observed that the
more a man sees of war, the less his eagerness for blood.
From Lieutenant Allen I kept aloof as much as possible, and he on his
part took no notice whatever of me. Some rumor of my affair with him had
got about the camp, but as neither of us would say a word concerning it,
it was soon forgot in the press of greater matters. Whatever Allen's
personal character may have been, it is not to be denied that he labored
with us faithfully, though profanely, drilling us up and down the camp
till we were near fainting in the broiling sun, or exercising us in arms
for hours together, putting us through the same movement a hundred times,
till we had done it to his satisfaction. We grumbled of course, among
ourselves, but at the end of another fortnight the result of his work
began to be apparent, and Sir Peter Halket, when he inspected us just
before starting for Fort Cumberland, as the fortification at Will's Creek
was named, expressed himself well pleased with the progress we had made.
For the order to advance came at last, and after a two weeks' weary
journey along the road which had been widened for the passage of wagons
and artillery, we reached our destination and went into quarters there.
The barracks were much better appointed than were the ones at Winchester,
for this was to be the rendezvous of the entire force, and the
independent companies which Colonel Washington had stationed here the
previous summer had been at work all winter clearing the ground and
building the fort. They had cleared a wide space in the forest, and on a
little hill some two hundred yards from Will's Creek and four hundred
from the Potomac, had erected the stockade. It was near two hundred yards
in length from east to west, and some fifty in width, but rude enough,
consisting merely of a row of logs set upright in the ground and
projecting some twelve feet above it, loopholed, and sharpened at the
top. There were embrasures for twelve cannon, ten of which, all
four-pounders, were already mounted. Though frail as it could well be, it
was deemed sufficient to withstand any attack likely to be brought
against it. A great two-storied barrack for the officers of the line had
been erected within the stockade, and two magazines of heavy timber. The
men were camped about the fort, and half a mile away through the forest a
hundred Indians had pitched their wigwams. And here, on the tenth of May,
came the Forty-Eighth under Colonel Dunbar, and General Braddock himself
in his great traveling chariot, his staff riding behind and a body of
light horse on either side. We were paraded to welcome him, the drums
rolled out the grenadiers, the seventeen guns prescribed by the
regulations were fired, and the campaign was on in earnest.
The morning of the next day, the general held his first levee in his
tent, and all the officers called to pay their respects. He was a
heavy-set, red-faced man of some sixty years, with long, straight nose,
aggressive, pointed chin, and firm-set lips, and though he greeted us
civilly enough, there was a touch of insolence in his manner which he
made small effort to conceal, and which showed that it was not upon the
Virginia troops he placed reliance. Still, there was that in his
heavy-featured face and in his bearing which bespoke the soldier, and I
remembered Fontenoy and the record he had made there. In the afternoon,
there was a general review, and he rode up and down with his staff in
front of the whole force, most gorgeous in gold lace and brilliant
accoutrement. Of the twenty-two hundred men he looked at that day, the
nine Virginia companies found least favor in his eyes, for he deemed them
listless and mean-spirited,--an opinion which he was at no pains to keep
to himself, and which had the effect of making the bearing of his
officers toward us even more insulting.
As we were drawn up there in line, the orders for the camp were
published, the articles of war were read to us, and in the days that
followed there was great show of discipline. But it was only show, for
there was little real order, and even here on the edge of the
settlements, the food was so bad and so scarce that foraging parties were
sent to the neighboring plantations to seize what they could find, and a
general market established in the camp. To encourage the people to bring
in provisions, the price was raised a penny a pound, and any person who
ventured to interfere with one bringing provisions, or offered to buy of
him before he reached the public market, was to suffer death. These
regulations produced some supplies, though very little when compared to
our great needs.
A thing which encouraged me greatly to believe in the sagacity of our
commander was the pains he took to engage the good offices of the
Indians,--such of them, that is, as had not already been hopelessly
estranged by the outrages committed upon them by traders and
frontiersmen. Mr. Croghan, one of the best known of the traders, had
brought some fifty warriors to the camp, together with their women and
children, and on the morning of the twelfth, a congress was held at the
general's tent to receive them. All the officers were there, and when the
Indians were brought, the guard received them with firelocks rested.
There was great powwowing and smoking the pipe, and the general gave
them a belt of wampum and many presents, and urged them to take up the
hatchet against the French. This they agreed to do, and doubtless would
have done, but for the conduct of some of the officers of the line.
The Indian camp, with its bark wigwams and tall totem pole, had become a
great place of resort with certain of the officers. They had been
attracted first by the dancing and queer customs of the savages, and had
they come away when once their curiosity was satisfied, little harm had
been done. Unfortunately, after looking at the men they looked at the
women, and found some of them not unattractive. So, for want of something
better to do, they set about debauching them, and succeeded so well that
the warriors finally took their women away from the camp in disgust, and
never again came near it. Other Indians appeared from time to time, but
after begging all the rum and presents they could get, they left the camp
and we never saw them again. Many of them were Delawares, doubtless sent
as spies by the French. Another visitor was Captain Jack, the Black
Rifle, known and feared by the Indians the whole length of the frontier.
He had sworn undying vengeance against them, having come home to his
cabin one night to find his wife and children butchered, and had roamed
from the Carolinas to the Saint Lawrence, leaving a trail of Indian blood
behind him. He would have made a most useful ally, but he took offense at
some fancied slight, and one day abruptly disappeared in the forest.
Never during all these weeks did the regulars get over their astonishment
at sight of the tall warriors stalking through the camp, painted in red,
yellow, and black, and greased from head to foot, their ears slit, their
heads shaved save for the scalp-lock with its tuft of feathers; nor did
they cease to wonder at their skill in throwing the tomahawk and shooting
with the rifle, a skill of which we were to have abundant proof erelong.
It was not until four or five days after his arrival with General
Braddock that I had opportunity to see Colonel Washington. I met him one
evening as I was returning from guard duty, and I found him looking so
pale and dispirited that I was startled.
"You are not ill?" I cried, as I grasped his hand.
"Ill rather in spirit than in body, Tom," he answered, with a smile.
"Life in the general's tent is not a happy one. He has met with
nothing but vexation, worry, and delay since he has been in the
colony, and I believe he looks upon the country as void of honor and
honesty. I try to show him that he has seen only the darker side, and
we have frequent disputes, which sometimes wax very warm, for he is
incapable of arguing without growing angry. Not that I blame him
greatly," he added, with a sigh, "for the way the colonies have acted
in this matter is inexcusable. Wagons, horses, and provisions which
were promised us are not forthcoming, and without them we are stalled
here beyond hope of advance."
He passed his hand wearily before his eyes, and we walked some time
in silence.
"'Tis this delay which is ruining our great chance of success," he
continued at last. "Could we have reached the fort before the French
could reinforce it, the garrison must have deserted it or surrendered to
us. But now they will have time to send whatever force they wish into the
Ohio valley, and rouse all the Indian tribes for a hundred miles around.
For with the Indians, the French have played a wiser part than the
English, Tom, and have kept them ever their friends, while to-day we have
not an Indian in the camp."