Part 11 (1/2)
”Then give me the mare and you stay here,” said the courageous Peter.
Adam was not disinclined to accept so agreeable an offer, and began to climb out of the saddle when the mare, perhaps misunderstanding the motion of the rider, or because she perceived that she was near her own stable, suddenly started on a trot, to Adam's disappointment and Lambert's satisfaction, whose impatience at the unnecessary loitering had become very great.
Now, however, thanks to the mare's fixed purpose to end her unusual labor for the day, without stopping, she went on faster and faster--so that Adam held convulsively to the horn of the saddle, while his long, yellow hair flew about his ears--on along the creek, past John Eisenlord's house, where the women hastened to the door, and called, and wondering looked after those who were rus.h.i.+ng past. Thus they went faster and faster until the mare stopped in Bellinger's yard with a jerk and threw her rider over her head in the sand at the feet of his mother and three sisters and younger brother. His mother called out:
”Run, little Anton! and open the stable for the mare, so that she does not crush her skull against the door--the poor beast!”
No one felt concerned for Adam. In fact, this was the usual way in which the mare, after such a trip, returned her rider. He soon got up and rubbed his long legs groaning, while the women surrounded Lambert and inquired about his journey; when he got back; and why in the world he yesterday took the rough road through the woods? how his maid-servant behaved? and why he had brought one from a distance of fifty miles, when he could easily have found one--and perhaps a better one--near by?
Lambert briefly thanked them for their kind inquiries, ascertained how long since the men had gone, spurred his horse and, with a brief salutation, trotted away, thus filling the beautiful blonde Annie with not a little anxiety, and compelling her to listen to the remarks of her sisters, Barbara and Gussie:
”Now one can clearly see, what we always thought, that Lambert Sternberg did not take that long journey to New York on account of the pines.”
Annie replied that she cared nothing for Lambert, and that Fritz and August Volz had also not yet declared themselves. The mother took Annie's part, and the dispute threatened to become serious, when it happily occurred to them that they had not once asked Adam what sort of a person the new girl was.
They now learned from the keen rider, who had gone into the house and was rubbing his s.h.i.+ns with brandy, that, in no case was Lambert to have her, but that he himself was to marry the girl as soon as the Indians had taken Lambert's scalp, and that he and Lambert had come to a complete agreement on that matter.
While Catherine's fate was thus discussed in the Bellinger family, Lambert pushed along on a fast trot to regain lost time. He had gathered from the questions of the women, and still more from the tone in which they were put, that the way in which he had dealt was not thought favorably of. He was yesterday persuaded of this, and to escape this neighborhood interference he had taken the road through the woods.
He felt grieved and angry at his aunt, who alone could have spread abroad the knowledge of his return and his relation to Catherine. Still he said to himself that, since all must shortly know it, it was best they should know it as soon as possible. He saw how difficult his position in the community would be--as indeed it should be--so long as Catherine was not his wife; possibly even after that; that, at all events, it was his duty to make his relation to Catherine clear to all eyes. He determined yet to-day, should opportunity offer, to speak to the minister and to seek the advice and help of that excellent man.
He had now come out of what was properly the valley of the creek, near its mouth. Toward the right of him lay the broad German Flats, in the fork between the creek and the Mohawk. The land, long rescued from the primitive forest, was rich, and there were unbroken lines of successive settlements, with a small church and a parsonage in the midst on a hill. Before him, on the other side of the Mohawk, whose clear waters glanced between its bushy sh.o.r.es, there stood out also on a hill, what looked like a small fortification. This, the purposed end of his journey, was Nicolas Herkimer's stately house.
He now discovered that, as he had feared, he would not be the last one to arrive. In the even reaches between corn-fields and bushes those coming on foot or on horseback singly, or by twos, or threes, from different directions, could be seen, all moving toward one point. There was a house conveniently situated on this side of the river, diagonally across from Herkimer's farm, where Hans Haberkorn, the ferryman, lived.
Here, a few minutes afterward, Lambert met the men whom he had from a distance seen coming. By them he was greeted very cordially, as though all had heard of his journey to New York, but not of his return. They wanted to know how the matters had resulted and especially what he had heard in the city about the war in Europe; whether the French had really, the year before at Roszbach, been so helplessly slaughtered, and whether the king of Prussia was this year going to take the field against his countless enemies.
Lambert told them what he knew, and on his part sought information about things at home. Of the five or six men who thus happened to meet, each gave his impressions as best he could, from which it appeared that there were nearly as many different opinions as there were men, in the small gathering. Yes, while they were eagerly attacking Hans Haberkorn's rum, they became so warm that they seemed to have forgotten why they were there, until Lambert's urgency induced them to go on.
Hans Haberkorn thought there was no hurry and that they could just as well consult here as at Herkimer's. The rest, however, would not stay behind. They tied their horses in a row, under an open shed, to the manger, and went upon the river; and on the short pa.s.sage across renewed their debate with increased earnestness, so that it did not lack much of going from words to blows on the small scow.
On this account it was fortunate that, as they landed on the other side, others joined them, of whom some had crossed before, while others, coming from the other side, awaited the landing of the ferry-boat so that they could go on together. Over the greeting they for the moment forgot their contention, but they had proceeded but a few steps before the war of words began again as before, while those who came up afterward mingled in the crowd and took part on one or the other side. So, scolding and quarreling, they reached the front yard of Herkimer's house.
CHAPTER IX
There might have been a hundred who were here a.s.sembled, all German settlers from the Mohawk, from the creek, and some even from Schoharie, for that far had the circ.u.mspect Herkimer sent his message. In the tall, often giant-like men, who sat in long rows on the benches under the projecting roof of the house, in the shade, or moved about on the open, sunny lawn, n.o.body would have recognized the descendants of the pale and emaciated immigrants who, in their time, landed in the harbor of New York and of Philadelphia from pest-s.h.i.+ps, in an inhospitable country. So thought Lambert, as he cast his eye over the a.s.sembly and looked at those nearer, whom he knew and soon singled out. There was first the distinguished form of Nicolas Herkimer himself, with broad shoulders, on which the long, grayish hair fell, and the clear, blue eyes, which to-day appeared brighter and more thoughtful than usual as he spoke with one and another, and then again looked at the position of the sun to see whether the hour appointed for the meeting had come.
There was the minister Rosenkrantz, with his kind, friendly face as storm-tried and weather-browned as that of any of his people, from whom he was distinguished only by his black clothes and his large snuff-box, which he was constantly turning about in his fingers. There were his neighbors, the Volzes, and the Eisenlords, father and sons, and William Teichert, and old Adam Bellinger; and at last he also discovered, at the farthest corner, his uncle, Christian Ditmar, still as ever and brooding with his fur cap drawn far down over his face. Lambert was trying to press through to the old man, as Richard, Herkimer's youngest son, of the same age as Conrad, and a dear friend of both brothers, touched his shoulder.
”G.o.d bless you, Lambert! You have come back at the right time, I should say. Where is your brother?”
Lambert informed him that this morning Conrad went hunting, and had not yet returned when he himself left home.
”This will be very unpleasant news for father,” said Richard. ”He has already asked a couple of times for both of you. There he comes himself. I will afterward talk with you, Lambert.”
It was painful enough for Lambert that he was obliged to give the same information to the honored man who so heartily welcomed him. ”I knew it already from your aunt,” said Herkimer, ”but I hoped that he had meanwhile come. It is very unpleasant that he fails us. I hear that he has been for eight days at the lake, and surely knows more about the movements of our enemies than any one of us. To be sure I have on the whole been well informed, but it would be desirable to have some one on whom I could call. What did he tell you?”
”Only this,” replied Lambert, and then told Herkimer the little he had learned from Conrad; that the Onondaga Indians were a.s.sembled in large number, and that it was Conrad's impression that it was not for a good purpose.
”That agrees altogether with my other reports,” said Nicolas Herkimer.
”These rascals have already for a long time played false, and we shall doubtless soon have them on our necks. Listen, Lambert; I have thought of placing you in an important position, and before we enter upon our consultation I wish to come to an understanding with you. Mr.