University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Young.

The disappearance of Mr. Woods occasioned no uneasiness
at first. An hour elapsed before the captain thought it
necessary to relate the occurrence to his family, when a
general panic prevailed among the females. Even Maud
had hoped the savages would respect the sacred character
of the divine, though she knew not why; and here was one
of her principal grounds of hope, as connected with Robert
Willoughby, slid from beneath her feet.

“What can we do, Willoughby?” asked the affectionate
mother, almost reduced to despair. “I will go myself, in

search of my son—they will respect me, a woman and a
mother.”

“You little know the enemy we have to deal with, Wilhelmina,
or so rash a thought could not have crossed your
mind. We will not be precipitate; a few hours may bring
some change to direct us. One thing I learn from Woods'
delay. The Indians cannot be far off, and he must be with
them, or in their hands; else would he return after having
visited the mills and the houses beneath the cliffs.”

This sounded probable, and all felt there was a relief in
fancying that their friends were still near them, and were
not traversing the wilderness as captives.

“I feel less apprehension than any of you,” observed
Beulah, in her placid manner. “If Bob is in the hands of
an American party, the brother-in-law of Evert Beekman
cannot come to much harm; with British Indians he will
be respected for his own sake, as soon as he can make himself
known.”

“I have thought of all this, my child” — answered the
father, musing—“and there is reason in it. It will be difficult,
however, for Bob to make his real character certain,
in his present circumstances. He does not appear the man
he is; and should there even be a white among his captors
who can read, he has not a paper with him to sustain his
word.”

“But, he promised me faithfully to use Evert's name,
did he ever fall into American hands” — resumed Beulah,
earnestly—“and Evert has said, again and again, that my
brother could never be his enemy.”

“Heaven help us all, dear child!” answered the captain,
kissing his daughter — “It is, indeed, a cruel war, when
such aids are to be called in for our protection. We will
endeavour to be cheerful, notwithstanding; for we know of
nothing yet, that ought to alarm us, out of reason; all may
come right before the sun set.”

The captain looked at his family, and endeavoured to
smile, but he met no answering gleam of happiness on either
face; nor was his own effort very successful. As for his
wife, she was never known to be aught but miserable, while
any she loved were in doubtful safety. She lived entirely
out of herself, and altogether for her husband, children, and

friends; a woman less selfish, or one more devoted to the
affections, never existing. Then Beulah, with all her reliance
on the magic of Evert's name, and with the deep feelings
that had been awakened within her, as a wife and a
mother, still loved her brother as tenderly as ever. As for
Maud, the agony she endured was increased by her efforts
to keep it from breaking out in some paroxysm that might
betray her secret; and her features were getting an expression
of stern resolution, which, blended with her beauty,
gave them a grandeur her father had never before seen in
her bright countenance.

“This child suffers on Bob's account more than any of
us” — observed the captain, drawing his pet towards him,
placing her kindly on his knee, and folding her to his
bosom. “She has no husband yet, to divide her heart; all
her love centres in her brother.”

The look which Beulah cast upon her father was not reproachful,
for that was an expression she would not have
indulged with him; but it was one in which pain and mortification
were so obvious, as to induce the mother to receive
her into her own arms.

“Hugh, you are unjust to Beulah” — said the anxious
mother—“Nothing can ever cause this dear girl, either, to
forget to feel for any of us.”

The captain's ready explanation, and affectionate kiss,
brought a smile again to Beulah's face, though it shone amid
tears. All was, however, immediately forgotten; for the
parties understood each other, and Maud profited by the
scene to escape from the room. This flight broke up the
conference; and the captain, after exhorting his wife and
daughter to set an example of fortitude to the rest of the
females, left the house, to look after his duties among the
men.

The absence of Joel cast a shade of doubt over the minds
of the disaffected. These last were comparatively numerous,
comprising most of the native Americans in the Hut, the
blacks and Joyce excepted. Strides had been enabled to
effect his purposes more easily with his own countrymen,
by working on their good qualities, as well as on their bad.
Many of these men — most of them, indeed — meant well;
but their attachment to the cause of their native land laid

them open to assaults, against which Mike and Jamie Allen
were insensible. Captain Willoughby was an Englishman,
in the first place; he was an old army-officer, in the next;
and he had an only son who was confessedly in open arms
against the independence of America. It is easy to see how
a demagogue like Joel, who had free access to the ears of
his comrades, could improve circumstance like these to his
own particular objects. Nevertheless, he had difficulties to
contend with. If it were true that parson Woods still insisted
on praying for the king, it was known that the captain
laughed at him for his reverence for Cæsar; if Robert Willoughby
were a major in the royal forces, Evert Beekman
was a colonel in the continentals; if the owner of the manor
were born in England, his wife and children were born in
America; and he, himself, was often heard to express his
convictions of the justice of most of that for which the provincials
were contending — all, the worthy captain had not
yet made up his mind to concede to them.

Then, most of the Americans in the Hut entertained none
of the selfish and narrow views of Joel and the miller. Their
wish was to do right, in the main; and though obnoxious to
the charge of entertaining certain prejudices that rendered
them peculiarly liable to become the dupes of a demagogue,
they submitted to many of the better impulses, and were
indisposed to be guilty of any act of downright injustice.
The perfect integrity with which they had ever been treated,
too, had its influence; nor was the habitual kindness of Mrs.
Willoughby to their wives and children forgotten; nor the
gentleness of Beulah, or the beauty, spirit, and generous
impulses of Maud. In a word, the captain, when he went
forth to review his men, who were now all assembled under
arms within the palisades for that purpose, went to meet a
wavering, rather than a positively disaffected or rebellious
body.

“Attention!” cried Joyce, as his commanding officer
came in front of a line which contained men of different
colours, statures, ages, dresses, countries, habits and physiognomies,
making it a sort of epitome of the population of
the whole colony, as it existed in that day — “Attention!
Present, arms.”

The captain pulled off his hat complacently, in return to

this salute, though he was obliged to smile at the array
which met his eyes. Every one of the Dutchmen had got
his musket to an order, following a sort of fugleman of their
own; while Mike had invented a “motion” that would have
puzzled any one but himself to account for. The butt of
the piece was projected towards the captain, quite out of
line, while the barrel rested on his own shoulder. Still, as
his arms were extended to the utmost, the county Leitrim-man
fancied he was performing much better than common.
Jamie had correct notions of the perpendicular, from having
used the plumb-bob so much, though even he made the
trifling mistake of presenting arms with the lock outwards.
As for the Yankees, they were all tolerably exact, in everything
but time, and the line; bringing their pieces down, one
after another, much as they were in the practice of following
their leaders, in matters of opinion. The negroes defied
description; nor was it surprising they failed, each of them
thrusting his head forward to see how the “motions” looked,
in a way that prevented any particular attention to his
own part of the duty. The serjeant had the good sense to
see that his drill had not yet produced perfection, and he
brought his men to a shoulder again, as soon as possible.
In this he succeeded perfectly, with the exception that just
half of the arms were brought to the right, and the other
half to the left shoulders.

“We shall do better, your honour, as we get a little more
drill”—said Joyce, with an apologetic salute—“Corporal
Strides has a tolerable idea of the manual, and he usually
acts as our fugleman. When he gets back, we shall improve.”

“When he gets back, serjeant — can you, or any other
man, tell when that will be?”

“Yes, yer honour,” sputtered Mike, with the eagerness
of a boy. “I'se the man to tell yees that same.”

“You? — What can you know, that is not known to all
of us, my good Michael?”

“I knows what I sees; and if you isn't Misther Strhides,
then I am not acquainted with his sthraddle.”

Sure enough, Joel appeared at the gate, as Mike concluded
his assertions. How he got there, no one knew; for a good
look-out had been kept in the direction of the mill; and, yet,

here was the overseer applying for admission, as if he had
fallen from the clouds! Of course, the application was not
denied, though made in a manner so unexpected, and Joel
stood in front of his old comrades at the hoe and plough,
if not in arms, in less than a minute. His return was proclaimed
through the house in an incredibly short space of
time, by the aid of the children, and all the females came
pouring out from the court to learn the tidings, led by Mrs.
Strides and her young brood.

“Have you anything to communicate to me in private,
Strides?” the captain demanded, maintaining an appearance
of sang froid that he was far from feeling — “or, can your
report be made here, before the whole settlement?”

“It's just as the captain pleases,” answered the wily demagogue;
“though, to my notion, the people have a right
to know all, in an affair that touches the common interest.”

“Attention! men” — cried the serjeant — “By platoons,
to the right—”

“No matter, Joyce,” interrupted the captain, waving his
hand—“Let the men remain. You have held communications
with our visiters, I know, Strides?”

“We have, captain Willoughby, and a desperate sort of
visiters be they! A more ugly set of Mohawks and Onondagas
I never laid eyes on.”

“As for their appearance, it is matter of indifference to
me—what is the object of their visit?”

“I mean ugly behaved, and they deserve all I say of'em.
Their ar'nd, according to their own tell, is to seize the
captain, and his family, in behalf of the colonies.”

As Joel uttered this, he cast a glance along the line of
faces paraded before him, in order to read the effect it might
produce. That it was not lost on some, was as evident as
that it was on others. The captain, however, appeared unmoved,
and there was a slight air of incredulity in the smile
that curled his lip.

“This, then, you report as being the business of the party,
in coming to this place!” he said, quietly.

“I do, sir; and an ugly ar'nd it is, in times like these.”

“Is there any person in authority in a party that pretends
to move about the colony, with such high duties?”

“There's one or two white men among 'em, if that's
what the captain means; they pretend to be duly authorised
and app'inted to act in behalf of the people.”

At each allusion to the people, Joel invariably looked towards
his particular partisans, in order to note the effect the
use of the word might produce. On the present occasion,
he even ventured to wink at the miller.

“If acting on authority, why do they keep aloof?—I have
no such character for resisting the laws, that any who come
clothed with its mantle need fear resistance.”

“Why, I s'pose they reason in some such manner as this.
There's two laws in operation at this time; the king's law,
and the people's law. I take it, this party comes in virtue
of the people's law, whereas it is likely the law the captain
means is the king's law. The difference is so great, that
one or t'other carries the day, just as the king's friends or
the people's friends happen to be the strongest. These men
don't like to trust to their law, when the captain may think
it safest to trust a little to his'n.”

“And all this was told you, Strides, in order to be repeated
to me?”

“Not a word on't; it's all my own consait about the
matter. Little passed between us.”

“And, now,” said the captain, relieving his breast by a
long sigh, “I presume I may inquire about your companion.
You probably have ascertained who he is?”

“Lord, captain Willoughby, I was altogether dumbfounded,
when the truth came upon me of a sudden! I
never should have known the major in that dress, in the
world, or out of the world either; but he walks so like the
captain, that as I followed a'ter him, I said to myself, who
can it be? — and then the walk came over me, as it might
be; and then I remembered last night, and the stranger that
was out with the captain, and how he occupied the room
next to the library, and them things; and so, when I come
to look in his face, there was the major sure enough!”

Joel lied famously in this account; but he believed himself
safe, as no one could very well contradict him.

“Now, you have explained the manner in which you recognised
my son, Strides,” added the captain, “I will thank
you to let me know what has become of him?”

“He's with the savages. Having come so far to seize
the father, it wasn't in natur' to let the son go free, when
he walked right into the lion's den, like.”

“And how could the savages know he was my son? Did
they, too, recognise the family walk?”

Strides was taken aback at this question, and he even had
the grace to colour a little. He saw that he was critically
placed; for, in addition to the suggestions of conscience, he
understood the captain sufficiently to know he was a man
who would not trifle, in the event of his suspicions becoming
active. He knew he deserved the gallows, and Joyce was
a man who would execute him in an instant, did his commander
order it. The idea fairly made the traitor tremble
in his shoes.

“Ah! I've got a little ahead of my story,” he said,
hastily. “But, perhaps I had best tell everything as it
happened—”

“That will be the simplest and clearest course. In order
that there be no interruption, we will go into my room,
where Joyce will follow us, as soon as he has dismissed his
men.”

This was done, and in a minute or two the captain and
Joel were seated in the library, Joyce respectfully standing;
the old soldier always declining to assume any familiarity
with his superior. We shall give the substance of most of
Joel's report in our own language; preferring it, defective
as it is, to that of the overseer's, which was no bad representative
of his cunning, treacherous and low mind.

It seems, then, that the bearers of the flag were amicably
received by the Indians. The men towards whom they were
led on the rocks, were the chiefs of the party, who treated
them with proper respect. The sudden movement was explained
to them, as connected with their meal; and the chiefs,
accompanied by the major and Strides, proceeded to the
house of the miller. Here, by means of a white man for
an interpreter, the major had demanded the motive of the
strangers in coming into the settlement. The answer was
a frank demand for the surrender of the Hut, and all it contained,
to the authorities of the continental congress. The
major had endeavoured to persuade a white man, who professed
to hold the legal authority for what was doing, of the

perfectly neutral disposition of his father, when, according
to Joel's account, to his own great astonishment, the argument
was met by the announcement of Robert Willoughby's
true character, and a sneering demand if it were likely
man who had a son in the royal army, and who had kept
that son secreted in his own house, would be very indifferent
to the success of the royal cause.

“They've got a wonderful smart man there for a magistrate,
I can tell you,” added Joel, with emphasis, “and he
ra'ally bore as hard on the major as a lawyer before a court.
How he found out that the major was at the Hut is a little
strange, seein' that none of us know'd of it; but they've got
extraor'nary means, now-a-days.”

“And, did major Willoughby admit his true character,
when charged with being in the king's service?”

“He did—and like a gentleman. He only insisted that
his sole ar'nd out here was to see his folks, and that he intended
to go back to York the moment he had paid his
visit.”

“How did the person you mention receive his explanations?”

“Waal, to own the truth, he laugh'd at it, like all natur'.
I don't believe they put any great weight on a syllable the
major told 'em. I never see critturs with such onbelievin'
faces! After talking as long as suited themselves, they ordered
the major to be shut up in a buttery, with a warrior
at the door for a sentinel; a'ter which they took to examining
me.”

Joel then proceeded with an account — his own account,
always, be it remembered—of what passed between himself
and the strangers. They had questioned him closely touching
the nature of the defences of the Hut, the strength of the
garrison, its disposition, the number and quality of the arms,
and the amount of the ammunition.

“You may depend on't, I gave a good account,” continued
the overseer, in a self-satisfied way. “In the first
place, I told'em, the captain had a lieutenant with him that
had sarved out the whull French war; then I put the men
up to fifty at once, seein' it was just as easy to say that, as
thirty or thirty-three. As to the arms, I told'em more than
half the pieces were double-barrelled; and that the captain,

in particular, carried a rifle that had killed nine savages in
one fight.”

“You were much mistaken in that, Joel. It is true, that
celebrated chief once fell by this rifle; even that is not a
matter for boasting.”

“Waal, them that told me on't, said that two had fallen
before it, and I put it up to nine at once, to make a good
story better. Nine men had a more desperate sound than
two; and when you do begin to brag, a man shouldn't be
backward. I thought, howsever, that they was most nonplussed,
when I told'em of the field-piece.”

“The field-piece, Strides!—Why did you venture on an
exaggeration that any forward movement of theirs must
expose?”

“We'll see to that, captain — we'll see to that. Field-pieces
are desperate dampers to Indian courage, so I thought
I'd just let'em have a six-pounder, by way of tryin' their
natur's. They look'd like men goin' to execution, when I
told'em of the cannon, and what a history it had gone
through.”

“And what may have been this history, pray?”

“I just told'em it was the very gun the captain had took
from the French, about which we've all heern tell; and
that, as everybody knows, was a desperate piece, havin'
killed more than a hundred reg'lars, before the captain
charged baggonet on it, and carried it off.”

This was a very artful speech, since it alluded to the most
distinguished exploit of captain Willoughby's military life;
one of which it would have been more than human, had he
not been a little proud. All who knew him, had heard of
this adventure, and Joel cunningly turned it to account, in
the manner seen. The allusion served to put to sleep, for
the moment at least, certain very unpleasant suspicions that
were getting to be active in his superior's mind.

“There was no necessity, Strides, for saying anything
about that affair”—the captain, modestly, interposed. “It
happened a long time since, and might well be forgotten.
Then, you know we have no gun to support your account;
when our deficiency is ascertained, it will all be set down
to the true cause—a wish to conceal our real weakness.”

“I beg your honour's pardon,” put in Joyce—“I think
Strides has acted in a military manner in this affair. It is
according to the art of war for the besieged to pretend to be
stronger than they are; and even besiegers sometimes put a
better face than the truth will warrant, on their strength.
Military accounts, as your honour well knows, never pass
exactly for gospel, unless it be with the raw hands.”

“Then,” added Joel, “I know'd what I was about, seein'
that we had a cannon ready for use, as soon as it could be
mounted.”

“I think I understand Strides, your honour,” resumed
the serjeant. “I have carved a `quaker,' as an ornament
for the gateway, intending to saw it in two, in the middle,
and place the pieces, crosswise, over the entrance, as your
honour has often seen such things in garrisons — like the
brass ornaments on the artillery caps, I mean, your honour.
Well, this gun is finished and painted, and I intended to split
it, and have it up this very week. I suppose Joel has had
it in his mind, quaker fashion.”

“The serjeant's right. That piece looks as much like a
real cannon as one of our cathechisms is like another. The
muzzle is more than a foot deep, and has a plaguy gunpowder
look!”

“But this gun is not mounted; even if it were, it could
only be set up for show,” observed the captain.

“Put that cannon up once, and I'll answer for it that no
Injin faces it. 'Twill be as good as a dozen sentinels,” answered
Joel. “As for mountin', I thought of that before I
said a syllable about the crittur. There's the new truck-wheels
in the court, all ready to hold it, and the carpenters
can put the hinder part to the whull, in an hour or two, and
that in a way no Injin could tell the difference between it
and a ra'al cannon, at ten yards.”

“This is plausible, your honour,” said Joyce, respectfully,
“and it shows that corporal Strides”—Joel insisted he
was a serjeant, but the real Simon Pure never gave him a
title higher than that of corporal—“and it shows that corporal
Strides has an idea of war. By mounting that piece,
and using it with discretion — refusing it, at the right moment,
and showing it at another — a great deal might be
done with it, either in a siege or an assault. If your honour

will excuse the liberty, I would respectfully suggest that it
might be well to set the quaker on his legs, and plant him
at the gate, as an exhorter.”

The captain reflected a moment, and then desired the
overseer to proceed in his account. The rest of Joel's story
was soon told. He had mystified the strangers, according
to his own account of the matter, so thoroughly, by affecting
to withhold nothing, that they considered him as a sort
of ally, and did not put him in confinement at all. It is
true, he was placed en surveillance; but the duty was so
carelessly performed, that, at the right moment, he had
passed down the ravine, a direction in which a movement
was not expected, and buried himself in the woods, so very
effectually that it would have baffled pursuit, had any been
attempted. After making a very long détour, that consumed
hours, he turned the entire valley, and actually reached the
Hut, under the cover of the rivulet and its bushes, or precisely
by the route in which he and Mike had gone forth, in
quest of Maud, the evening of the major's arrival. This
latter fact, however, Joel had reasons of his own for concealing.

“You have told us nothing of Mr. Woods, Strides,” the
captain observed, when Joel's account was ended.

“Mr. Woods! I can tell the captain nothing of that gentleman;
I supposed he was here.”

The manner in which the chaplain had left the Hut, and
his disappearance in the ravine, were then explained to the
overseer, who evidently had quitted the mill, on his return,
before the divine performed his exploit. There was a
sinister expression in Joel's eyes, as he heard the account,
that might have given the alarm to men more suspicious
than the two old soldiers; but he had the address to conceal
all he felt or thought.

“If Mr. Woods has gone into the hands of the Injins, in
his church shirt,” rejoined the overseer, “his case is hopeless,
so far as captivity is consarned. One of the charges
ag'in the captain is, that the chaplain he keeps prays as
regulairly for the king as he used to do when it was lawful,
and agreeable to public feelin'.”

“This you heard, while under examination before the
magistrate you have named?” demanded the captain.

“As good as that, and something more to the same p'int.
The 'squire complained awfully of a minister's prayin' for
the king and r'yal family, when the country was fightin'
'em.”

“In that, the Rev. Mr. Woods only obeys orders,” said
the serjeant.

“But they say not. The orders is gone out, now, they
pretend, for no man to pray for any on'em.”

“Ay — orders from the magistrates, perhaps. But the
Rev. Mr. Woods is a divine, and has his own superiors in
the church, and they must issue the commands that he obeys.
I dare to say, your honour, if the archbishop of Canterbury,
or the commander-in-chief of the church, whoever he may
be, should issue a general order directing all the parsons
not to pray for King George, the Rev. Mr. Woods would
have no scruple about obeying. But, it's a different thing
when a justice of the peace undertakes to stand fugleman
for the clergy. It's like a navy captain undertaking to
wheel a regiment.”

“Poor Woods!” exclaimed the captain — “Had he been
ruled by me, he would have dropped those prayers, and it
would have been better for us both. But, he is of your
opinion, serjeant, and thinks that a layman can have no
authority over a gownsman.”

“And isn't he right, your honour! Think what a mess
of it the militia officers make, when they undertake to meddle
with a regular corps. Some of our greatest difficulties
in the last war came from such awkward hands attempting
to manage machines of which they had no just notions. As
for praying, your honour, I'm no wise particular who I pray
for, or what I pray for, so long as it be all set down in general
orders that come from the right head-quarters; and I
think the Rev. Mr. Woods ought to be judged by the same
rule.”

As the captain saw no use in prolonging the dialogue, he
dismissed his companions. He then sought his wife, in
order to make her acquainted with the actual state of things.
This last was a painful duty, though Mrs. Willoughby and
her daughters heard the truth with less of apprehension
than the husband and father had anticipated. They had
suffered so much from uncertainty, that there was a relief

in learning the truth. The mother did not think the authorities
of the colony would hurt her son, whom she fancied
all men must, in a degree, love as she loved. Beulah thought
of her own husband as Bob's safeguard; while Maud felt it
to be comparative happiness to know he was unharmed, and
still so near her.

This unpleasant duty discharged, the captain began to
bethink him seriously of his military trust. After some
reflection, and listening to a few more suggestions from
Joyce, he consented to let the “quaker” be put on wheels.
The carpenters were immediately set at work to achieve
this job, which the serjeant volunteered to superintend, in
person. As for Joel, his wife and children, with the miller,
occupied most of the morning; the day turning, and
even drawing towards its close, ere he became visible,
as had formerly been his wont, among the men of the settlement.

All this time, everything without the palisades lay in the
silence of nature. The sun cast its glories athwart the lovely
scene, as in one of the Sabbaths of the woods; but man
was nowhere visible. Not a hostile Indian, or white, exhibited
himself; and the captain began to suspect that, satisfied
with their captures, the party had commenced its return
towards the river, postponing his own arrest for some other
occasion. So strong did this impression become towards
the close of the day, that he was actually engaged in writing
to some friends of influence in Albany and on the Mohawk
to interpose their names and characters in his son's behalf,
when the serjeant, about nine o'clock, the hour when he had
been ordered to parade the guard for the first half of the
night, presented himself at the door of his room, to make
an important report.

“What now, Joyce?” demanded the captain. “Are any
of our fellows sleepy, and plead illness?”

“Worse than that, your honour, I greatly fear,” was the
answer. Of the ten men your honour commanded me to
detail for the guard, five are missing. I set them down as
deserters.”

“Deserters! — This is serious, indeed; let the signal be
made for a general parade — the people cannot yet have
gone to bed; we will look into this.”

As Joyce made it matter of religion “to obey orders,”
this command was immediately put in execution. In five
minutes, a messenger came to summon the captain to the
court, where the garrison was under arms. The serjeant
stood in front of the little party, with a lantern, holding his
muster-roll in his hand. The first glance told the captain
that a serious reduction had taken place in his forces, and
he led the serjeant aside to hear his report.

“What is the result of your inquiries, Joyce?” he demanded,
with more uneasiness than he would have liked to
betray openly.

“We have lost just half our men, sir. The miller, most
of the Yankees, and two of the Dutchmen, are not on parade;
neither is one of them to be found in his quarters.
They have either gone over to the enemy, captain Willoughby,
or, disliking the appearance of things here, they have
taken to the woods for safety.”

“And abandoned their wives and children, serjeant! Men
would scarcely do that.”

“Their wives and children have deserted too, sir. Not a
chick or child belonging to either of the runaways is to be
found in the Hut.”