Part 35 (2/2)

”Silence!” shouted Mount, raising his hand. ”People of Albany, we have shown you the famous Wyandotte dance; we will now exhibit a dancing bear! Houp! Houp! Weasel, take thy tin cup and collect s.h.i.+llings! Ow!

Ow!” And he dropped his great paws so that they dangled at the wrist, laid his head on one side, and began sidling around in a circle with the grave, measured tread of a bear, while the Weasel, drinking-cup in hand, industriously trotted in and out among the groups of scandalized burghers, thrusting the tin receptacle at them, and talking all the while: ”Something for the bear, gentlemen--a trifle, if you please.

Everybody is permitted to contribute--you, sir, with your bones so nicely wadded over with fat--a s.h.i.+lling from you. What? How dare you refuse? Stop him, Tim!”

A huge ranger strode after the amazed burgher, blocking his way; the thrifty had taken alarm, but the rangers herded them back with persuasive playfulness, while the little Weasel made the rounds, talking cheerfully all the time, and Mount, great fists dangling, minced round and round, with a huge simper on his countenance, as though shyly aware of his own grace.

”Tim Murphy should go into the shops,” he called out. ”There are a dozen fat Dutchmen a-peeking through the shutters at me, and I dance before no man for less than a s.h.i.+lling. Houp! Houp! How much is in thy cup, Cade? Lord, what a thirst is mine! Yet I dance--villains, do you mark me? Oh, Cade, yonder pretty maid who laughs and shows her teeth is welcome to the show and naught to pay--unless she likes. Tim, I can dance no more! Elerson, bring the watchman!”

The Weasel trotted up, rattling the coins so unwillingly contributed by the economical; the runner addressed as Elerson tucked his arm affectionately into the arm of the distracted watchman and strolled up, followed by Tim Murphy, the most redoubtably notorious shot in North America.

Laughing, disputing, shouting, they came surging toward the Half-Moon Tavern, dragging the watchman, on whom they lavished many endearments.

The crowd parted with alacrity as Mount, thumbs in his armpits, silver-moleskin cap pushed back on his cl.u.s.tering curls, swaggered ahead, bowing right and left as though an applauding throng heralded the progress of an emperor and his suite.

Here and there a woman laughed at the handsome, graceless fellows; here and there a burgher managed to pull a grin, spite of the toll exacted.

”Now that our means permit us, we are going to drink your healths, good people,” said Mount affably, shaking the tin cup; ”and the health of that pretty maid who showed her teeth at me. Ladies of Albany, if you but knew the wealth of harmless frolic caged in the heart that beats beneath a humble rifle-frock! Eh, Tim? Off with thy c.o.o.nskin, and sweep the populace with thy courtly bow!”

Murphy lifted his c.o.o.nskin cap, flouris.h.i.+ng it till the ringed fur-tail became a blur. Elerson, in a spasm of courtesy, removed the watchman's tricorn as well as his own; the little Weasel backed off, bowing step by step, until he backed past me into the tap-room, followed by the buckskinned crew.

”Now, watchman, have at thee!” roared Mount, as the sloppy pewters were brought.

And the watchman, resigned, pulled away at his mug, furtive eyes on the landlord, who, with true delicacy, looked the other way. At that moment Mount espied me and rose, pewter in hand, with a shout that brought all to their feet.

”Death to the Iroquois!” he thundered, ”and a health to Captain Renault of the Rangers!”

Every eye was on me; the pewters were lifted, reversed, and emptied.

The next instant I was in the midst of a trampling, buckskinned mob; they put me up on their shoulders and marched around the tap-room, singing ”Morgan's Men”; they set me on their table amid the pools of spilled ale, and, joining hands, danced round and round, singing ”The New Yorker” and ”John O'Bail,” until more ale was fetched and a cup handed up to me.

”Silence! The Captain speaks!” cried Mount.

”Captain?” said I, laughing. ”I am no officer.”

There was a mighty roar of laughter, amid which I caught cries of ”He doesn't know.” ”Where's the 'Gazette'?” ”Show him the 'Gazette'!”

The stolid landlord picked up a newspaper from a table, spread it deliberately, drew his horn spectacles from his pocket, wiped them, adjusted them, and read aloud a notice of my commission from Governor Clinton to be a senior captain in the Tryon County Rangers. Utterly unprepared, dumb with astonishment, I stared at him through the swelling din. Somebody thrust the paper at me. I read the item, mug in one hand, paper in t'other.

”Death to the Iroquois!” they yelled. ”Hurrah for Captain Renault!”

”Silence!” bawled Mount. ”Listen to the Captain!”

”Rangers of Tryon,” I said, hesitating, ”this great honor which our Governor has done me is incomprehensible to me. What experience have I to lead such veterans?--men of Morgan's, men of Hand's, men of Saratoga, of Oriska, of Stillwater?--I who have never laid rifle in anger--I who have never seen a man die by violence?”

The hush was absolute.

”It must be,” said I, ”that such service as I have had the honor to render has made me worthy, else this commission had been an affront to the Rangers of Tryon County. And so, my brothers, that I may not shame you, I ask two things: obedience to orders; respect for my rank; and if you render not respect to my character, that will be my fault, not your own.”

I raised my pewter: ”The sentiment I give you is: 'The Rangers! My honor in their hands; theirs in mine!' Pewters aloft! Drink!”

Then the storm broke loose; they surged about the table, cheering, shaking their rifles and pewters above their heads, crying out for me to have no fear, that they would aid me, that they would be obedient and good--a mob of uproarious, overgrown children, swayed by sentiment entirely. And I even saw the watchman, maudlin already, dancing all by himself in a corner, and waving pike and lanthorn in martial fervor.

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