Philip Winwood Part 16

"Sure the devil's in it," said I, when he had told me this, "if the rebels' praying men are as sanguinary as you showed yourself to-night--leaping out to pursue your beaten enemy, as you did."

"Why," he replied, self-reproachfully, in his mildest voice, "I find, do what I can, I have at bottom a combative spirit that will rise upon occasion. I had thought 'twas long since quelled. But I fear no man is always and altogether his own master. I saw even General Washington, at Monmouth--but no matter for that. Especially of late, I have found my demon of wrath--to speak figuratively--too much for me. 'Twas too violently roused, maybe, that night your General Grey and his men fell upon us as we slept, yonder across the Hudson, and slaughtered us like sheep in the barn we lay in."

"Why, were you in that too?" I asked, surprised. "I thought that troop was called Lady Washington's Light Horse."[3]

"Ay, we were then of that troop, Captain Winwood and I. 'Twas for his conduct in that affair, his valour and skill in saving the remnant of the troop, that he was put, t'other day, in command of an independent company. I may take some pride in having helped him to this honour; for his work the night General Grey surprised us was done so quietly, and his report made so little of his own share in the business, 'twould have gone unrecognised, but for my account of it. Though, to be sure, General Washington said afterward, in my hearing, that such bravery and sagacity, coupled with such modesty, were only what he might expect of Captain Winwood."

Cornelius had shared Philip's fortunes since their departure from New York. When Winwood fell wounded in the snow, between the two blockhouses at the foot of the cliff, that night the rebels met defeat at Quebec, the pedagogue remained to succour him, and so was taken prisoner with him. He afterward helped nurse him in the French religious house, in the walled "upper town," to which the rebel wounded were conveyed.

Upon the exchange of prisoners, Philip, having suffered a relapse, was unable to accompany his comrades homeward, and Cornelius stayed to care for him. There was a Scotchwoman who lived upon a farm a few miles West of Quebec, and whose husband was serving on our side as one of Colonel Maclean's Royal Highlanders. She took Winwood and the pedagogue into her house as guests, trusting them till some uncertain time in the future might find them able to pay.

When at last Philip dared hazard the journey, the rebel siege of Quebec, which had continued in a half-hearted manner until Spring brought British reinforcements up the river in ship-loads, had long been raised, and the rebels had long since flown. Provided by Governor Carleton with the pa.s.sports to which in their situation they were ent.i.tled, the two started for New York, bound by way of the St.

Lawrence, the Richelieu, the lakes, and the Hudson. It was now Winter, and only Winwood's impatience to resume service could have tempted them to such a journey in that season.

They came part way afoot, receiving guidance now from some solitary fur-capped _courier du bois_ clad in skins and hoofed with snow-shoes, now from some peaceful Indian, now from the cowled brothers of, some forest monastery which gave them a night's shelter also. Portions of the journey they made upon sledges driven by poor _habitans_ dwelling in the far-apart villages or solitary farmhouses. At other times they profited by boats and canoes, propelled up the St. Lawrence by French peasants, befringed hunters, or friendly red men. Their entertainment and housing were sometimes from such people as I have mentioned; sometimes of their own contriving, the woods furnishing game for food, f.a.gots for fuel, and boughs for roof and bedding.

They encountered no danger from human foes until they were in the province of New York, and, having left the lakes behind them, were footing it Southward along the now frozen Hudson. The Indians in Northern New York had been won to our interest, by Sir John Johnson, of Johnson Hall, in the Mohawk Valley, and were more than formerly inclined to vigilance regarding travellers in those lonely regions.

Upon waking suddenly one night when camped in the woods, Philip saw by the firelight that he was surrounded by a party of silent savages; his sword and pistol, and Cornelius's rifle, being already in their possession. The two soldiers were held as prisoners for several days, and made to accompany their captors upon long, mysterious peregrinations. At last they were brought before Sir John Johnson, at one of his forts; and that gentleman, respecting Governor Carleton's pa.s.ses, and the fact that Captain Winwood was related by marriage to the De Lanceys, sent them with a guide to Albany.

Here they reported to General Schuyler; and Philip, having learned by the experience of his journey that his wound left him incapacitated for arduous service afoot, desired an arrangement by which he might join the cavalry branch of the army. Mr. Schuyler was pleased to put the matter through for him, and to send him to Morristown, New Jersey, (where the rebel main force was then in Winter quarters) with a commendatory letter to General Washington. Cornelius, whose time of service had expired, was free to accompany him.

Philip, being enrolled, without loss of nominal rank, in Lady Washington's Light Horse, which Cornelius entered as a trooper, had now the happiness of serving near the person of the commander-in-chief. He was wounded again at the Brandywine, upon which occasion Cornelius bore him off the field without their being captured. During the Winter at Valley Forge, and at the battle of Monmouth, and in the recent partisan warfare on both sides of the Hudson, their experiences were those of Washington's army as a whole, of which there are histories enough extant: until their troop was cut to pieces by Earl Grey, and Captain Winwood was advanced to an independent command. This was but a recent event.

"And did he never think of us in New York," said Tom, "that he sent us no word in all this time?"

"Sure, you must thank your British occupation of New York, if you received none of our messages. General Washington allowed them to pa.s.s."

"Ay, 'tis not easy for rebels to communicate with their friends in New York," quoth I, "despite the traffic of goods between the Whig country folk and some of our people, that Captain De Lancey knows about."

"Tut, man!" said De Lancey. "Some things must be winked at; we need their farm stuff as much as they want our tea and such. But correspondence from rebels must go to headquarters--where 'tis like to stop, when it's for a family whose head is of Mr. Faringfield's way of thinking."

"Well," said Mr. Cornelius, "Captain Winwood and I have discussed more than one plan by which he might perchance get sight of his people for a minute or so. He has hoped he might be sent into New York under a flag of truce, upon some negotiation or other, and might obtain permission from your general to see his wife while there; but he has always been required otherwise when messengers were to be sent. He has even thought of offering to enter the town clandestinely--"

"Hush!" I interrupted. "You are indiscreet. We are soldiers of the king, remember. But, to be sure, 'tis nonsense; Phil would not be such a fool as to risk hanging."

"Oh, to be sure; nonsense, indeed!" Cornelius stammered, much upset at the imprudence due to his thoughtlessness. "And yet," he resumed presently, "never did a man more crave a sight of those he left behind. He would barter a year of his life, I think, for a minute's speech with his wife. He talks of her by the hour, when he and I are alone together. There was some coolness, you will remember, before their parting; but 'twas not on his side, and his lady seemed to have dropped it when he was taking leave of her; and three years of absence have gone since then. So I am sure she has softened quite, and that she desires his return as much as he longs for her presence. And though he knows all this must be so, he keeps me ever rea.s.suring and persuading him it is. Ah, sir, if ever there was a man in love with his wife!"

I made no reply. I had previously informed him of her good health, in answer to a question whose eagerness came of his friendship for Philip. I asked myself whether his unsuspecting mind was like to perceive aught that would pain him for Philip's sake, in her abandonment to the gaieties of the town, to the attentions of the king's officers, to the business of making herself twice as charming as the pedagogue had ever seen her.

We got it arranged that our prisoner should be put on parole and quartered at Mr. Faringfield's house, where his welcome was indeed a glad one. When Margaret heard of his presence in the town, she gave a momentary start (it seemed to me a start of self-accusation) and paled a little; but she composed herself, and asked in a sweet and gracious (not an eager) tone:

"And Philip?"

I told her all I had learned from Cornelius, to which she listened with a kindly heedfulness, only sometimes pressing her white teeth upon her lower lip, and other times dropping her l.u.s.trous eyes from my purposely steady, and perhaps reproachful, gaze.

"So then," said she, as if to be gay at the expense of her husband's long absence, "now that three years and more have brought him so near us, maybe another three years or so will bring him back to us!" 'Twas affected gaiety, one could easily see. Her real feeling must have been of annoyance that any news of her husband should be obtruded upon her.

She had entered into a way of life that involved forgetfulness of him, and for which she must reproach herself whenever she thought of him, but which was too pleasant for her to abandon. But she had the virtue to be ashamed that reminders of his existence were unwelcome, and consequently to pretend that she took them amiably; and yet she had not the hypocrisy to pretend the eager solicitude which a devoted wife would evince upon receiving news of her long-absent soldier-husband.

Such hypocrisy, indeed, would have appeared ridiculous in a wife who had scarce mentioned her husband's name, and then only when others spoke of him, in three years. Yet her very self-reproach for disregarding him--did it not show that, under all the feelings that held her to a life of gay coquetry, lay her love for Philip, not dead, nor always sleeping?

When Cornelius came to the house to live, she met him with a warm clasp of the hand, and with a smile of so much radiance and sweetness, that for a time he must have been proud of her on Phil's behalf; and so dazzled that he could not yet see those things for which, on the same behalf, he must needs be sorrowful.

Knowing now exactly where Philip was, we were able to send him speedy news of Cornelius's safety, and of the good health and good wishes of us all; and we got in reply a message full of thanks and of affectionate solicitude. The transfer of his troop to New Jersey soon removed the possibility of my meeting him.

In the following Summer (that of 1779), as I afterward learned, Captain Winwood and some of his men accompanied Major Lee's famous dragoons (dismounted for the occasion) to the nocturnal surprise and capture of our post at Paulus Hook, in New Jersey, opposite New York.

But he found no way of getting into the town to see us. And so I bring him to the Winter of 1779, when the main rebel camp was again at Morristown, and Philip stationed near Washington's headquarters. But meanwhile, in New York, in the previous Autumn some additional British troops had arrived from England; and one of these was Captain Falconer.

There was a ball one night at Captain Morris's country-house some eight or ten miles North of the town, which the rebel authorities had already declared confiscate, if I remember aright, but which, as it was upon the island of Manhattan and within our lines, yet remained in actual possession of the rightful owner. Here Washington (said to have been an unsuccessful suitor to Mrs. Morris when she was Miss Philipse) had quartered ere the British chased the rebels from the island of Manhattan; and here now were officers of our own in residence. 'Twas a fine, white house, distinguished by the n.o.ble columns of its Grecian front; from its height it overlooked the Hudson, the Harlem, the East River, the Sound, and miles upon miles of undulating land on every side.[4]

On this night the lights showed welcome from its many windows, open doors, and balconies, and from the coloured paper lanterns festooned upon its facade and strung aloft over its splendid lawn and gardens.

The house still stands, I hear, and is known as the Jumel Mansion, from the widow who lives there. But I'll warrant it presents no more such scenes as it offered that night, when the wealth and beauty of New York, the chivalry of the king's army, arrived at its broad pillared entrance by horse and by coach in a constant procession. In the great hall, and the adjacent rooms, the rays of countless candles fell upon brilliant uniforms, upon silk and velvet and brocade and broadcloth, upon powdered hair, and fans and furbelows, upon white necks and bosoms, and dazzling eyes, upon jewels and golden buckles and shining sword-hilts.

We that entered from the Faringfield coach were Mrs. Faringfield and my mother, Margaret and f.a.n.n.y, Tom and myself. We had just received the greeting of our handsome hostess, and were pa.s.sing up the hall, when my eyes alighted upon the figure of an officer who stood alone, in an att.i.tude of pensive negligence, beside the mantelpiece. He was fully six feet tall, but possessed a carriage of grace and elegance, instead of the rigid erectness of so many of his comrades. He had a slender, finely cut, English face, a long but delicate chin, gray eyes of a beautiful clearness, slightly wavy hair that was now powdered, and the hands and legs of a gentleman.

"What a handsome fellow! Who is he?" whispered Margaret to f.a.n.n.y.

I glanced at her. Her eyes showed admiration--an expression I had never before seen in them. I looked back at the officer. He in turn had seen her. His face, from having worn a look half melancholy, half languid, had speedily become animated with interest. 'Twas as if each of these two superb creatures had unexpectedly fallen upon something they had scarce hoped to find in their present environment.

"A mighty pretty gentleman, indeed," said my mother.

"Nay," said Margaret, with a swift relapse into indifference, "no such Adonis neither, on second view."

But I saw that she turned the corner of her eye upon him at intervals as she moved forward, and that she was not sorry or annoyed to find that he kept his gaze boldly upon her all the while. Presently he looked about him, and singled out an acquaintance, to whom he made his way. Five minutes later he was being introduced, as Captain Falconer, to Mrs. Winwood.

"'Faith," said he, in a courteous, subdued voice, after bowing very low, "I did not think to find a lady so recently from St. James', in this place. One might swear, looking at you, madam, that this was Almack's."

"Sir, you speak to one that never saw St. James' but in imagination,"

said Margaret, coolly. "Sure one can be white, and moderately civil, and yet be of New York."

"The deuce, madam! A native? You?"

"Ay, sir, of the aborigines; the daughter of a red Indian!"

"'Fore G.o.d, then, 'tis no wonder the American colonists make war upon the Indian race. Their wives and daughters urge 'em to it, out of jealousy of the red men's daughters."

"Why, if they wished the red ladies exterminated, they couldn't do better than send a number of king's officers among 'em--famous lady-killers, I've heard."

"Madam, I know naught of that; nor of the art of lady-killing itself, which I never desired to possess until this evening."

The captain's eyes, so languid with melancholy or ennui a short while before, now had the glow of pre-determined conquest; his face shone with that resolve; and by this transformation, as well as by the inconsistency of his countenance with the soft tone and playful matter of his words, which inconsistency betrayed the gentleness to be a.s.sumed, I read the man through once for all: selfish, resolute, facile, versatile, able to act any part thoroughly and in a moment, constant to his object till it was won, then quick to leave it for another; unscrupulous, usually invincible, confident of his proven powers rather than vain of fancied ones; good-natured when not crossed, and with an irresistible charm of person and manner. And Margaret too--there was more and other meaning in her looks than in her light, ironical speeches.

He led her through two minuets that night, and was her partner in the Virginia reel (the name the Americans give the Sir Roger de Coverly); and his was the last face we saw at our coach window as we started homeward.

"You've made the rest of the army quite jealous of this new captain,"

growled Tom, as we rolled Southward over the stony Harlem road. "The way Major Tarleton glared at him, would have set another man trembling."

"Captain Falconer doesn't tremble so easily, I fancy," said Margaret.

"And yet he's no marvel of a man, as I can see."