 | CHAPTER XII. The King of the Hurons |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
The laws, corrupted to their ends that make them,
Serve but for instruments of some new tyranny
That every day starts up.”
—Otway's Venice Preserved.
For a few days succeeding his short sea voyage, Major Grover
kept quietly within his own doors, perfectly contented that he did
not hear the outer air ringing with derisive shouts at his discomfiture.
He denied himself to all visiters, not excepting Shiel and
Midge, until the persevering calls of the latter, whose sycophancy
was his passport, obtained his admission. Grover did not know
to what extent his recent exploit had become public, and notwithstanding
his vigilant watch of the words and manner of his visiter,
for the purpose of gaining some intimation on the subject, the
ensign was careful that he should not be enlightened by any means
of his.
Mr. Midge “was sorry that the major had been ill, was a little off
the hooks himself, hoped it was nothing serious—but this cursed
climate was enough to—to—”
“Yes, certainly, of course,” replied Grover, with an absent look;
“'tis a bad climate, particularly for the gout—but my attack is
nearly over now—and—and—any news stirring, Midge?”
“Not an item,” replied the other, zealously; “there is a perfect
stagnation of gossip—the people have positively nothing at all to
talk about.”
This might be considered stretching a point, considering that the
usual on similar occasions, without a single correct version of the
story being afloat, among the dozens that were current; but it
greatly relieved Grover, who being quite ignorant of Jule's escape,
now supposed that Miss Montaigne must have kept secret his agency
in the transaction. But Midge had gone a step too far; for in his
anxiety to disclaim any knowledge of his friend's disaster, he had
quite forgotten that he really had important intelligence to communicate.
“I am mistaken, after all,” he continued, “in saying there is no
news. Cornbury has unpleasant tidings from the north; Seabury
and his command have been surprised by the Hurons, and George is
now in the hands of Montaigne.”
“Lieutenant Seabury a prisoner of Montaigne! this is sad news
indeed,” exclaimed the major, his countenance lighting up with a
gleam of satisfaction, which contrasted strangely with his language
—“how have you these tidings?”
“By an Indian express from Albany; the runner came through
in two days and reports that the garrison at that place were in
hourly apprehension of an attack.”
“They need not fear it,” replied Grover; “Indians do not often
attack forts, and Montaigne dare not venture so far south; this has
been done by some outlying band of savages—but how does Cornbury
bear the capture of his nephew?”
“As a lioness the loss of a whelp,” replied the other; “he raves
with wrath—rails at the home government for not keeping him
better supplied with troops, but vents his fury chiefly on the French
baron.”
“Good again!” exclaimed Grover, heedlessly; “but what does
he say—what does he say?”
“He says that the Queen's ministers—”
“No—no—no—what does he say of the Baron Montaigne?”
“He says he is a treacherous, crafty, cold-blooded villain; that if
tortured, and that he would not that any harm should happen to
the lad for all New France!”
“Said he so, Midge, said he so?—he is right—Seabury is a
noble fellow, and must be protected at all hazards;” and Grover,
rising to his feet, traversed the room with an excited air for some
minutes, when, turning abruptly to his companion, he continued:
“Mr. Midge, will you do me the great favor to carry an immediate
message for me to Lord Cornbury, confidential and important?”
“Oh, with the greatest possible—”
“Exactly. I anticipated such kindness; I have had occasion
before to acknowledge your valuable services, and shall not forget
my obligations—nay, do not speak now, if you please, but listen:
go to Cornbury, tell him that I can place in his power, within the
next twenty-four hours, such a hostage for his nephew as shall bind
the Baron Montaigne by his very heart-strings! Ask him to send
me immediate authority for the arrest and safe-keeping of any
member of the baron's family who may now be in the province of
New York; and tell him I ask no other reward for my services than
to be made the custodian of the prisoner. I have reasons for not
going personally to Cornbury on this business, and I know that I
can place the fullest reliance on your discretion and fidelity.”
“You shall not regret your confidence in me, Major Grover,”
replied the ensign.
“One word more,” added the major; “you will understand that I
do not desire an interview with the governor, nor to make any
explanations; tell him despatch is required, and if he proposes to
come and see me, I rely upon you to prevent it; tell him, if you
choose, that I am absent from home, arranging the preliminaries of
my project. Go now, if you please, and bring me a speedy answer.”
The ensign promised everything, and departed, not a little
delighted at his embassy, and at being the depository of a state
secret.
“This is a rare turn of luck,” continued Grover, in soliloquy;
“Cornbury is blind with rage, and will readily assent to my proposition;
having once passed his word he will not recede from it, and
Blanche Montaigne becomes an immate of my house! And why
should she not? If she is not the `captive of my bow and spear,'
the fortune of war has at least thrown her into my hands; Montaigne
wages no civilized warfare, and we will hold him in check by what
means we can. Women have been hostages before now; and where
can the beautiful Blanche be retained with less scandal than in the
house of Major Grover?—here are apartments for her use, servants
for her attendance, the most respectful, ceremonious, courteous
treatment—at least as far as the world will know; and as for the
rest—I alone am responsible.”
Grover had not miscalculated the sentiments or actions of Lord
Cornbury; the messenger returned, armed with the required warrant,
and with a pledge of the fullest compliance with what the
governor called the whimsical terms of his friend. The message
also enjoined speedy action, and the utmost vigilance to prevent any
failure of so momentous and useful an enterprise.
“Seemed he much surprised, ensign?” inquired Grover; “or did
he express any doubts of my ability to make good my engagement?”
“He did, indeed, express surprise,” replied Midge, “and also
some incredulity; he said it was possible there might have been a
disguised son or other relative of the baron among the discharged
crew of the St. Cloud, but that if so, he had doubtless made good
his escape long before this.”
“It is strange, indeed,” said Grover, with an absent air, “that there
are men who pass through life with their eyes wide open, and yet
fail to see what is passing directly before them;—I do not, of course,
mean His Excellency, Mr. Midge!”
“Certainly not,” replied the obsequious ensign.
The young man lingered some time with the hope of receiving
some further clew to the project on foot, and was at length delighted
prepared to lend his aid in the undertaking. As this involved an
intimation to take his leave for the present, Mr. Midge gracefully
withdrew, leaving his companion wrapt in a close-fitting reverie. If
the major manifested less haste than Lord Cornbury's injunctions
seemed to require, it was because he felt certain that Miss Montaigne
had no means of escape; and because the arrangements which he
contemplated for her reception required more time than the fraction
of a day which was already far on its wane. His house at once
exhibited the bustle of an active preparation for the expected guest;
and while no accessaries of comfort were unprovided, a still more
studied regard was paid to decoration. Changes that wearied conjecture
employed the astonished domestics, and even some neighboring
artisans, until a late hour of the night, while the personal
supervision of Grover extended even to the minuter details of their
labor.
“I play a sure card at length,” he said, “and my triumph may
well be graced with a show of magnanimity.”
Mr. Midge was not behind the appointed hour in his return on
the ensuing morning, yet he found Major Grover impatiently awaiting
his arrival, and learned to his great joy that the important
commission was to be intrusted entirely in his own hands. But it
was with some abatement of his delight, though with unbounded
surprise, he learned that the person to be secured was a lady, and a
daughter of the renowned Baron Montaigne. There were few
laurels to be won in such an enterprise, but there was favor to be
gained in high quarters, which was an object of equal importance to
him, and he resolved on the faithful and judicious performance of his
trust.
Grover was unwilling to be personally an actor in an event, which,
in the outset at least, he desired to represent as entirely official, and
dictated by principles of state policy. He knew that his motives
could not remain unsuspected, but he cared nothing for a public
not equal to the frustration of his designs. He believed, as has been
seen, that his connexion with the recent attempt to carry off Miss
Montaigne was not publicly known; and if it should become so, he
did not doubt his ability, through his friends and parasites, to give
it a coloring which should not reflect seriously to his disadvantage.
His success, indeed, in his present achievement was to become subsequently
a matter of boast, as an original and brilliant exploit in
the annals of gallantry, well calculated to obliterate the memory of
any previous failure.
He gave Midge an accurate description of the person of Blanche,
and directed him to accomplish his errand with as little publicity as
possible, and with all proper courtesy. A carriage was, of course, to
be provided for her transportation, and she was to be allowed any
reasonable time to make preparations for what was to be represented
to her as merely a change of abode. Major Grover was not to be
named to her as her custodian, or as being in any way connected
with the movement; as he designed that her first knowledge of her
felicity in that respect should be derived from himself, and under his
own roof. The ensign was to be accompanied informally by a few
men, sufficient to enforce his authority; but he was to make no
unnecessary exhibition of his force, which was not to accompany the
carriage on its return.
With these instructions, which were expected to insure both
success and comparative secresy, the inflated ensign set out upon his
expedition, and at an early hour in the forenoon alighted from his
carriage in front of the domicil of Jacobus Waldron, while his six
followers remained within easy hailing distance. The octogenarian
sat quietly smoking his pipe upon his front stoop, to which Midge
approached with a pompous air, and, pausing at the entrance,
notwithstanding there was no appearance of opposition to his ingress,
formally demanded admittance in the Queen's name. Jacobus did
not take down his pipe for many seconds, and was still pondering
demand was peremptorily repeated.
“Come in, den, in de Queen's name, ef you want to, young
man,” he said, at length; “de door is wite open; nobody will hurt
you.”
Midge accordingly marched on to the stoop, and advancing to
the old man, said:
“You are suspected of harboring under your roof Miss Blanche
Montaigne, a daughter of the Baron Montaigne, of New France, and
I have authority to require you to surrender her into my charge.”
“Dere is no such beeples in mine house,” said Jacobus, shaking
his head.
“We have the fullest proof that she is a resident of your house,”
replied Midge, “and if she is not quietly given up, I must at once
search the premises.”
“Dere is no such beeples, I tell you,” exclaimed the old man,
waxing angry; “dere is noboty but Sally, and Hans, and Doxy, and
Ruppy, and de two wenches, and de tog.”
The ensign, unwilling to be trifled with, stepped to the outer
edge of the stoop, and waved his sword as a signal for his men to
advance.
“It is folly to deny Miss Montaigne's presence,” he said; “we
know that she is here, and she cannot escape us; you will perceive
that I have authority for my acts,” he continued, exhibiting his
warrant; “Anne—Regina—by the grace, etc.,—and there's the
seal, and there's the signature—Cornbury.”
The old man took the writ, and peered at it with much earnestness
for some minutes, occasionally deluging it with an emission of
smoke, which concealed every trace of the paper from view, after
which he handed it calmly back to the ensign, remarking, as before:
“Dere is no such beeples!”
“Well, sir,” said the ensign, still reluctant to take any harsh
measures; “here are my men; and although I had hoped to avoid
is not the least harm designed to your guest, and if you will procure
me a moment's speech with her, I think I can show her the
necessity of a peaceable compliance with my orders—otherwise,
remember, sir, that you are guilty of concealing the Queen's enemies,
and may have to answer for it with your head.”
“I answer mit mine head, now,” said Jacobus, shaking that
member violently, with a negative gesture; “I answer no—no—no
—dere is no Montaignes, nor no barons, nor no lady Blanches in
mine house, now den!”
“Come on, my men!” exclaimed Midge, drawing his sword with
a nervous and excited air; “let these two remain without, to guard
the doors, and see that no one escapes; the rest will follow me—
forward, march!” and the ensign led the way into the nearest
apartment, which proved to be the kitchen, where the venerable
partner of Mynheer Waldron sat knitting in a corner, and two female
slaves, desisting suddenly from their labors, stood shaking with fear
on the hearth.
“Hey den!” exclaimed the old lady, in a sharp key, and looking
up over her spectacles; “what for do you come trainin' in my
house? isn't der room enough out doors for you, hey?”
“About nineteen years old—five feet, six inches high—slight in
figure—very fair—blue eyes—brown hair in ringlets,” said Midge,
reading from a memorandum in his hand, and then glancing
momentarily around the room; “She isn't here, certainly,” he continued:
and without condescending to give any reply to his questioner,
he passed on with his followers into another apartment.
The house was by no means a large one, and was soon explored
from cellar to attic; the grumbling Jacobus following close upon the
heels of his visiters, and reminding the disconcerted ensign, at every
turn, that he had predicted the result. No doors were fastened, no
places of concealment visible, and no attempt made in any way to
obstruct the search; yet neither Blanche nor Emily was found.
toilet, and although she was at once passed by, as not answering to
the description, Midge subsequently resolved to make more sure by
a closer scrutiny. But there was evidently nothing artificial about
the round red cheeks and flaxen hair of Doxy Waldron; and
although her plumpness might have owed something to her apparel,
there was no such thing as compressing five feet six inches of height
into the short squabby figure which stood trembling before the
soldiers.
“Let me go if you please,” said the frightened girl—“I'm only
Doxy; Miss Blanche Roselle, and Miss Emily, and cousin Henrich
—”
“Shut up your head, youngster! shut up your head!” exclaimed
old Jacobus, in the Dutch language and in a loud voice, from the
back-ground, where he had been for some time pantomiming to the
girl, who under this invocation became suddenly mute; and, notwithstanding
all the entreaties and threats of Midge, could not be
persuaded to say another word. The Dutch warning was sufficiently
intelligible to the ensign by its effects; and after menacing the old
man with the punishment of the laws, he resolved on another and
still more vigorous search, which was accordingly made, and with a
minuteness that could have overlooked nothing larger than a mouse.
Like the first, however, it was unsuccessful, and Mr. Ensign Midge
betook himself to his carriage, having first directed his men to return
to their quarters, by as many different roads as they could conveniently
find.
| CHAPTER XII. The King of the Hurons | |