CHAPTER IV
TWO COUNTRY MICE
It was late in April, and I had boiled my sap and had done with my sugarbush for another year. The snow was gone; the Kennyetto roared amberbrilliant through banks of melting ice, and a sweet odour of arbutusfilled all the woods.
Spring was in the land and in my heart, too, and when Nick Stonergalloped to my door in his new forest dress, very fine, I, nothingloath, did hasten to dress me in my new doe-skins, not less fine thanNick's and lately made for me by a tailor-woman in Kingsborough who waspart Oneida and part Dutch.
That day I wore a light, round cap of silver mole fur with my unshornhair, all innocent of queue or powder, curling crisp like a woman's. Ofwhich I was ashamed and eager to visit Toby Tice, our Johnstown barber,and be trimmed.
My new forest dress, as I say, was of doe-skin--a laced shirt belted in,shoulder-caped, cut round the neck to leave my throat free, and withlong thrums on sleeve and skirt against need.
Trews shaped to fit my legs close; and thigh moccasins, very deep withundyed fringe, but ornamented by an infinite pattern of little greenvines, made me brave in my small mirror. And my ankle moccasins were gaywith Oneida devices wrought out of porcupine quills and beads, scarlet,green, purple, and orange, and laid open at the instep by two beadedflaps.
I saddled my mare, Kaya, in her stall, which was a log wing to my house,and presently mounted and rode around to where Nick sat his saddlea-playing on his fife, which he carried everywhere with him, he lovingmusic but obliged to make his own.
"Lord Harry!" cried he on seeing me so fine. "If you are not truly aViscount then you look one!"
"I would not change my name and health and content," said I, "for aking's gold crown today." And I clinked the silver coins in my pouch andlaughed. And so we rode away along the Johnstown road.
He also, I think, was dying for a frolic. Young minds in trouble as wellas hard-worked bodies need a holiday now and then. He winked at me andchinked the shillings in his bullet-pouch.
"We shall see all the sights," quoth he, "and the Kennyetto could notquench my thirst today, nor our two horses eat as much, nor since timebegan could all the lovers in history love as much as could I this Aprilday.... Were there some pretty wench of my own mind to use me kindly....Like that one who smiled at us--do you remember?"
"At Christmas?"
"That's the one!" he exclaimed. "Lord! but she was handsome in hersledge!--and her sister, too, Jack."
"I forget their names," said I.
"Browse," he said, "--Jessica and Betsy. And they live at Pigeon-Woodnear Mayfield."
"Oho!" said I, "you have made their acquaintance!"
He laughed and we galloped on.
Nick sang in his saddle, beating time upon his thigh with his fife:
"Flammadiddle! Paddadiddle! Flammadiddle dandy! My Love's kisses Are sweet as sugar-candy! Flammadiddle! Paddadiddle! Flammadiddle dandy! She makes fun o' me Because my legs are bandy----"
He checked his gay refrain:
"Speaking of flamms," said he, "my brother John desires to be a drummerin the Continental Line."
"He is only fourteen," said I, laughing.
"I know. But he is a tall lad and stout enough. What will be yourregiment, Jack?"
"I like Colonel Livingston's," said I, "but nobody yet knows what is tobe the fate of the district militia and whether the Mohawk regiment, thePalatine, and the other three are to be recruited to replace the Torydeserters, or what is to be done."
Nick flourished his flute: "All I know," he said, "is that my father andbrother and I mean to march."
"I also," said I.
"Then it's in God's hands," he remarked cheerfully, "and I mean to usemy ears and eyes in Johnstown today."
We put our horses to a gallop.
* * * * *
We rode into Johnstown and through the village, very pleased to be incivilization again, and saluting many wayfarers whom we recognized, Toryand Whig alike. Some gave us but a cold good-day and looked sideways atour forest dress; others were marked in cordiality,--men like our newSheriff, Frey, and the two Sammonses and Jacob Shew.
We met none of the Hall people except the Bouw-Meester, riding besidefive yoke of beautiful oxen, who drew bridle to exchange a mouthful offarm gossip with me while the grinning slaves waited on the footway,goads in hand.
Also, I saw out o' the tail of my eye the two Bartholomews passing,white and stunted and uncanny as ever, but pretended not to notice them,for I had always felt a shiver when they squeaked good-day at me, andwhen they doffed hats the tops of their heads had blue marbling on thescalp under their scant dry hair. Which did not please me.
Whilst I chattered with the Bouw-Meester of seeds and plowing, Nick, whohad no love for husbandry, practiced upon his fife so windily and withsuch enthusiasm that we three horsemen were soon ringed round by urchinsof the town on their reluctant way to school.
"How's old Wall?" cried Nick, resting his puckered lips and wiping hisfife. "There's a schoolmaster for pickled rods, I warrant. Eh, boys? AmI right?"
Lads and lassies giggled, some sucked thumbs and others hung theirheads.
"Come, then," cried Nick, "he's a good fellow, after all! And so amI--when I'm asleep!"
Whereat all the children giggled again and Nick fished a great cake ofmaple sugar from his Indian pouch, drew his war-hatchet, broke the lump,and passed around the fragments. And many a childish face, which hadbeen bright and clean with scrubbing, continued schoolward as sticky asa bear cub in a bee-tree.
And now the Bouw-Meester and his oxen and the grinning slaves had gonetheir way; so Nick and I went ours.
There were taverns enough in the town. We stopped at one or two for along pull and a dish of meat.
Out of the window I could see something of the town and it seemedchanged; the Court House deserted; the jail walled in by a newpalisade; fewer people on the street, and little traffic. Nor did Iperceive any red-coats ruffling it as of old; the Highlanders who passedwore no side-arms,--excepting the officers. And I thought every Scotlooked glum as a stray dog in a new village, where every tyke movesstiffly as he passes and follows his course with evil eyes.
We had silver in our bullet pouches. We visited every shop, butpurchased nothing useful; for Nick bought sweets and a mouse-trap andsome alley-taws for his brother John--who wished to go to war! Oh,Lord!--and for his mother he found skeins of brightly-coloured wool; andfor his father a Barlow jack-knife.
I bought some suekets and fish-hooks and a fiddle,--God knows why, for Ican not play on it, nor desire to!--and I further purchased two books,"Lives of Great Philosophers," by Rudd, and a witty poem by PeterPindar, called "The Lousiad"--a bold and mirthful lampoon on the BritishKing.
These packets we stowed in our saddle-bags, and after that we knew notwhat to do save to seek another tavern.
But Nick was no toss-pot, nor was I. And having no malt-thirst, weremained standing in the street beside our horses, debating whether togo home or no.
"Shall you pay respects at the Hall?" he asked seriously.
But I saw no reason to go, owing no duty; and the visit certain to proveawkward, if, indeed, it aroused in Sir John no more violent emotion thanpain at sight of me.
With our bridles over our arms, still debating, we walked along thestreet until we came to the Johnson Arms Tavern,--a Tory rendezvous notnow frequented by friends of liberty.
It was so dull in Johnstown that we tied our horses and went into theJohnson Arms, hoping, I fear, to stir up a mischief inside.
Their brew was poor; and the spirits of the dozen odd Tories who satover chess or draughts, or whispered behind soiled gazettes, was poorerstill.
All looked up indifferently as we entered and saluted them.
"Ah, gentlemen," says Nick, "this is a glorious April day, is it not?"
"It's well enough," said a surly man in horn spectacles, "but I shouldbe vastly obliged, sir, if you would shut the do
or, which you have leftswinging in the wind."
"Sir," says Nick, "I fear you are no friend to God's free winds. Freewinds, free sunshine, free speech, these suit my fancy. Freedom, sir, inher every phase--and Liberty--the glorious jade! Ah, gentlemen, there'sa sweetheart you can never tire of. Take my advice and woo her, andyou'll never again complain of a breeze on your shins!"
"If you are so ardent, sir," retorted another man in a sneering voice,"why do you not go courting your jade in Massachusetts Bay?"
"Because, sir," said I, "our sweetheart, Mistress Liberty, is already onher joyous way to Johnstown. It is a rendezvous, gentlemen. Will itplease you to join us in receiving her?"
One man got up, overturning the draught board, paid his reckoning, andwent out muttering and gesticulating.
"A married man," quoth Nick, "and wedded to that old hag, Tyranny. Itirks him to hear of fresh young jades, knowing only too well what oldsour-face awaits him at home with the bald end of a broom."
The dark looks cast at us signalled storms; but none came, so poor thespirit of the company.
"Gentlemen, you seem melancholy and distrait," said I. "Are you sopensive because my Lord Dunmore has burned our pleasant city of Norfolk?Is it that which weighs upon your minds? Or is the sad plight of TommyGage distressing you? Or the several pickles in which Sir Guy Carleton,General Burgoyne, and General Howe find themselves?"
"Possibly," quoth Nick, "a short poem on these three British warriorsmay enliven you:
"_Carleton, Burgoyne, Howe,_ "_Bow-wow-wow_!"
But there was nothing to be hoped of these sullen Tories, for they tookour laughter scowling, but budged not an inch. A pity, for it was cometo a pretty pass in Johnstown when two honest farmers must go home forlack of a rogue or two of sufficient spirit to liven a dull day withal.
* * * * *
We stopped at the White Doe Tavern, and Nick gave the company anotherpoem, which he said was writ by my Lord North:
"O Boston wives and maids draw near and see Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea; Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black, or brown; If not, we'll cut your throats and burn your town!"
Whereat all the company laughed and applauded; and there was no hope ofany sport to be had there, either.
"Well," said Nick, sighing, "the war seems to be done ere it begun.What's in those whelps at the Johnson Arms, that they stomach such jestsas we cook for them? Time was when I knew where I could depend upon abroken head in Johnstown--mine own or another's."
We had it in mind to dine at the Doe, planning, as we sat on the stoop,bridles in hand, to ride back to the Bush by new moonlight.
"If a pretty wench were as rare as a broken head in Johnstown," hemuttered, "I'd be undone, indeed. Come, Jack; shall we ride that wayhomeward?"
"Which way?"
"By Pigeon-Wood."
"By Mayfield?"
"Aye."
"You have a sweetheart there, you say?"
"And so, perhaps, might you, for the pain of passing by."
"No," said I, "I want no sweetheart. To clip a lip en passant, if thelip be warm and willing,--that is one thing. A blush and a laugh and'tis over. But to journey in quest of gallantries with maliceaforethought--no."
"I saw her in a sledge," sighed Nick, sucking his empty pipe. "Andfollowed. Lord, but she is handsome,--Betsy Browse!--and looked at mekindly, I thought.... We had a fight."
"What?"
"Her father and I. For an hour the old man nigh twisted his head offturning around to see what sledge was following his. Then he shouts,'Whoa!' and out he bounces into the snow; and I out o' my sledge to seewhat it was he wanted.
"He wanted my scalp, I think, for when I named myself and said I livedat Fonda's Bush, he fetched me a knock with his frozen mittens,--Lord,Jack, I saw a star or two, I warrant you; and a gay stream squirted frommy nose upon the snow and presently the whole wintry world looked red tome, so I let fly a fist or two at the old man, and he let fly a few moreat me.
"'Dammy!' says he, 'I'll learn ye to foller my darters, you poor dumBoston critter! I'll drum your hide from Fundy's Bush to Canady!'
"But after I had rolled him in the snow till his scratch-wig fell off,he became more civil--quite polite for a Tory with his mouth full o'snow.
"So I went with him to his sledge and made a polite bow to theladies--who looked excited but seemed inclined to smile when I promisedto pass by Pigeon-Wood some day."
"A rough wooing," said I, laughing.
"Rough on old man Browse. But he's gone with Guy Johnson."
"What! To Canada? The beast!"
"Aye. So I thought to stop some day at Pigeon-Wood to see if the cotewere entirely empty or no. Lord, what a fight we had, old Browse and I,there in the snow of the Mayfield road! And he burly as an Octoberbear--a man all knotted over with muscles, and two fists that slappedyou like the front kick of a moose! Oh, Lordy! Lordy! What a battle wasthere.... What bright eyes hath that little jade Betsy, of Pigeon-Wood!"
Now, as he spoke, I had a mind to see this same Tory girl ofPigeon-Wood; and presently admitted to him my curiosity.
And then, just as we had mounted and were gathering bridles andsearching for our stirrups with moccasined toes, comes a galloper inscarlet jacket and breeks, with a sealed letter waved high to halt me.
Sitting my horse in the street, I broke the seal and read what waswritten to me.
The declining sun sent its rosy shafts through the still village now,painting every house and setting glazed windows a-glitter.
I looked around me, soberly, at the old and familiar town; I glanced atNick; I gazed coldly upon the galloper,--a cornet of Border Horse, andas solemn as he was young.
"Sir," said I, "pray present to Lady Johnson my duties and mycompliments, and say that I am honoured by her ladyship's commands, andshall be--happy--to present myself at Johnson Hall within the hour."
Young galloper salutes; I outdo him in exact and scrupulous courtesy,mole-skin cap in hand; and 'round he wheels and away he tears like thecelebrated Tory in the song, Jock Gallopaway.
"Here's a kettle o' fish," remarked Nick in disgust.
"Were it not Lady Johnson," muttered I, but checked myself. After all,it seemed ungenerous that I should decline to see even Sir John, who nowwas virtually a prisoner of my own party, penned here within thatmagnificent domain of which his great father had been creator andabsolute lord.
"I must go, Nick," I said in a low voice.
He said with a slight sneer, "Noblesse oblige----" and then, sorry, laida quick hand on my arm.
"Forgive me, Jack. My father wears two gold rings in his ears. Yourfather wore them on his fingers. I know I am a boor until your kindnessmakes me forget it."
I said quietly: "We are two comrades and friends to liberty. It is notwhat we are born to but what we are that matters a copper penny in theworld."
"It is easy for you to say so."
"It is important for you to believe so. As I do."
"Do you really so?" he asked with that winning upward glance thatrevealed his boyish faith in me.
"I really do, Nick; else, perhaps, I had been with Guy Johnson in Canadalong ago."
"Then I shall try to believe it, too," he murmured, "--whether ears orfingers or toes wear the rings."
We laughed.
"How long?" he inquired bluntly.
"To sup, I think. I must remain if Lady Johnson requests it of me."
"And afterward. Will you ride home by way of Pigeon-Wood?"
"Will you still be lingering there?" I asked with a smile.
"Whether the pigeon-cote be empty or full, I shall await you there."
I nodded. We smiled at each other and wheeled our horses in oppositedirections.