Part 94 (2/2)

I close my _carnet_ and strap it with a buckle.

I am on my way! Shad-bushes drop a million snowy petals in the soft May breeze; dogwood is in bloom; orchards are become great nosegays of pink and silver. Everywhere birds are singing.

And through this sweet Paradise I ride in my dingy regimentals; but my pistols are clean and my leathers; and my sword and spurs are bright, and chime gaily as I ride beside the great gray river northward, ever northward to my sweetheart and my home.

I baited at Tarrytown. The next night I was at Poughkeepsie, where the landlord was a low-Dutchman and a skinflint too.

I pa.s.sed opposite to where Kingston lay in ashes, burned wantonly by a brute. And after that I advanced but slowly, for roads were bad and folk dour and suspicious--which state of mind I also shared and had no traffic with those I encountered, and chose to camp in the woods, too, rather than risk a night under the dubious roofs I saw, even though invited.

Only near the military posts in the Highlands did I feel truly secure until, one day at sunrise, I beheld the s.h.i.+ning spires of Albany, and hundreds of gilded weather-c.o.c.ks all s.h.i.+ning me a welcome.

But in Albany streets I encountered silent people who looked upon me with no welcome in their haunted gaze; and everywhere I saw the same strange look,--pinched faces, brooding visages, a strained, intent gaze, yet vacant too, as though their eyes, which looked at me, saw nothing save some hidden vision within their secret minds.

I baited at the Half-Moon; and now I learned for the first what anxieties hara.s.sed these good burghers of the old Dutch city. For rumour had come the night before on the heels of a galloping light-horseman, that Sir John was expected to enter the Valley by the Sacandaga route; and that already strange Indians had been seen near Askalege.

How these same rumours originated n.o.body seemed to know. The light horseman had them from batteaux-men at Schenectady. But who carried such alarming news to the Queen's Fort n.o.body seemed to know, only that the garrison had become feverishly active, and three small scouts were preparing to start for Schoharie and Caughnawaga.

All this from the landlord, a gross, fat, speckled man who trembled like a dish of jelly as he told it.

But as I went out to climb into my saddle, leaving my samp and morning draught untasted, comes a-riding a gay company of light horse, careless and debonaire. Their officer saluted my uniform and, as I spurred up beside him and questioned him, he smilingly a.s.sured me that the rumours had no foundation; that if Sir John came at all he would surely arrive by the Susquehanna; and that our scouts would give warning to the Valley in ample time.

G.o.d knows that what he said comforted me somewhat, yet I did not choose to lose any time at breakfast, either; so bought me a loaf at a bake-shop, and ate as I rode forward.

At noon I rode into the Queen's Fort and there fed Kaya. I saw no unusual activity there; none in the town, none on the river.

Officers of whom I made inquiry had heard nothing concerning Sir John; did not expect a raid from him before autumn anyway, and vowed that General Sullivan had scotched the Iroquois snake in its den and driven the fear o' G.o.d into Sir John and the two Butlers with the cannon at Chemung.

As I rode westward again, I saw all around me men at work in the fields, plowing here, seeding there, clearing brush-fields yonder. There seemed to be no dread among these people; all was calm as the fat Dutch cattle that stood belly deep in meadows, watching me out o' gentle, stupid eyes as I rode on toward Caughnawaga.

A woman whom I encountered, and who was driving geese, stopped to answer my inquiries. From her I learned that Colonel Fisher, at Caughnawaga, had received a letter from Colonel Jacob Klock six days ago, which stated that Sir John Johnson was marching on the Valley. But she a.s.sured me that this news was now entirely discredited by everybody, because on Sunday a week ago Captain Walter Vrooman, of Guilderland, had marched his company to Caughnawaga, but on arriving was told he was not needed, and so continued on to Johnstown.

I do not know why all these a.s.surances from the honest people of the Valley did not ease my mind.

Around me as I rode all was sunny, still, and peaceful, yet deep in my heart always I seemed to feel the faint pulse of fear as I looked around me upon a smiling region once familiar and upon which I had not laid eyes for nearly three whole years.

And my nearness to Penelope, too, so filled me with happy impatience that the last mile seemed a hundred leagues on the dusty Schenectady road.

I had just come into view of the first chimneys of Caughnawaga, and was riding by an empty waggon driven by an old man, when, very far away, I heard a gun-shot.

I drew bridle sharply and asked the man in the waggon if he also had heard it; but his waggon rattled and he had not. However, he also pulled up; and we stood still, listening.

Then, again, and softened by distance, came another gun-shot.

The old man thought it might be some farmer emptying his piece to clean it.

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