CHAPTER VIII
A RIDE TO WILLIAMSBURG
I was received civilly enough at Riverview, and soon determined to remain there until Major Washington returned from the west. My aunt treated me with great consideration, doubtless because she feared to anger me, and I soon fell into the routine of the estate. My cousin James, a roystering boy of fourteen, was not yet old enough to be covetous, and he and I were soon friends. Dorothy treated me as she had always done, with a hearty sisterly affection, which gave me much uneasiness, 't was so unlike my own, and I was at some pains to point out to her that we were not cousins, nor, indeed, any relation whatsoever. In return for which she merely laughed at me.
By great good fortune, I found among the overseers on my aunt's estate a man who had been a soldier of fortune in the Old World until some escapade had driven him to seek safety in the colonies, and with my aunt's permission, I secured him to teach me what he knew of the practice of arms, a tutelage which he entered upon with fine enthusiasm. He was called Captain Paul on the plantation,—a little, wiry man, with fierce mustaches and flashing eyes, greatly feared by the negroes, though he always treated them kindly enough, so far as I could see. He claimed to be an Englishman,—certainly he spoke the language as well as any I ever heard,—but his dark eyes and swarthy skin bespoke the Spaniard or Italian, and his quickness with the foils the French. A strain of all these bloods I think he must have had, but of his family he would tell me nothing, nor of the trouble which had brought him over-sea. But of his feats of arms he loved to speak,—and they were worth the telling. He had been with Plelo's heroic little band of Frenchmen before Dantzic, where a hundred deeds of valor were performed every day, and with Broglie before Parma, where he had witnessed the rout of the Austrians. For hours together I made him recount to me the story of his campaigns, and when he grew weary of talking and I of listening, we had a round with the rapier, or a bout with the sword on horseback, and as the weeks passed, I found I was gaining some small proficiency. He drilled me, too, in another exercise which he thought most important, that of shooting from horseback with the pistol.
"'T is an accomplishment which has saved my life a score of times," he would say, "and of more value in a charge than any swordsmanship. A man must be a swordsman to defend his honor, and a good shot with the pistol to defend his life. Accomplished in both, he is armed cap-a-pie against the world. The pistol has its rules as well as the sword. For instance,—
"'When you charge an adversary, always compel him to fire first, for the one who fires first rarely hits his mark.
"'At the instant you see him about to fire, make your horse rear. This will throw your horse before you as a shield, and if the aim is true, 't will be your horse that is hit and not yourself. The life of a horse is valuable, but that of a man is more so.
"If your horse has not been hit, or is not badly hurt, you have your adversary at your mercy, and can either kill him or take him prisoner, as you may choose. If he be well mounted, and well accoutred, it is usually wisest to take him prisoner.
"'If your horse has been hit mortally, take care that in falling you get clear of him by holding your leg well out and so alighting on your feet. You can easily recover in time to pistol your adversary as he passes.
"'Above everything, learn to aim quickly, with both eyes open, the arm slightly bent, the pistol no higher than the breast. When the arm is fully extended, the tension causes it to tremble and so destroys the aim, and the man who cannot hit the mark without sighting along the barrel is usually dead before he can pull the trigger.'"
These and many other things he told me, and that I threw myself with eagerness into the lessons I need hardly say, though I never acquired his proficiency with either pistol or rapier. For I have seen him bring down a hawk upon the wing, or throwing his finger-ring high into the air, pass his rapier neatly through it as it shot down past him. Another trick of his do I remember,—une, deux, trois, and a turn of the wrist in flanconade,—which seldom failed to tear my sword from my hand, so quickly and irresistibly did he perform it. What his lot has been I do not know, for when the king's troops came to Virginia, he was seized with a strange restlessness and resigned from my aunt's service, going I know not whither; but if he be alive, there is a place at my board and a corner of my chimney for him, where he would be more than welcome.
In the mean time, not a word had been received from Major Washington—we called him major now, deeming that he had well earned the title—since he had plunged into the wilderness at Will's Creek in mid-November, accompanied only by Christopher Gist as guide, John Davidson and Jacob Van Braam as interpreters, and four woodsmen, Barnaby Currin, John M'Quire, Henry Steward, and William Jenkins, as servants. November and December passed, and Christmas was at hand. There had been great preparation for it at Riverview, for we of Virginia loved the holiday the more because the Puritans detested it, and all the smaller gentry of the county was gathered at the house, where there were feasting and dancing and much merry-making. One incident of it do I remember most distinctly,—that having, with consummate generalship, cornered Mistress Dorothy under a sprig of mistletoe, I suddenly found myself utterly bereft of the courage to carry the matter to a conclusion, and allowed her to escape unkissed, for which she laughed at me most unmercifully once the danger was passed, though she had feigned the utmost indignation while the assault threatened. So the holidays went and New Year's came.
It was the thirteenth of January, and in the dusk of the evening I was riding back to the house as usual after my bout with Captain Paul, when I heard far up the road behind me the beat of horse's hoofs. Instinctively I knew it was Major Washington, and I drew rein and watched the rider swinging toward me. In a moment he was at my side, and we exchanged a warm handclasp from saddle to saddle.
"I am on my way to Riverview," he said, as we again urged our horses forward. "I hope to stay there the night and start at daybreak for Williamsburg to make my report to the governor. Do you care to accompany me, Mr. Stewart?"
"Do you need to ask?" I cried. "And what was the outcome of your mission, sir?"
"There will be war," he said, and his face darkened. "It is as I foresaw. The French are impudent, and claim the land belongs to them and not to us."
Neither of us spoke again, but I confess I was far from sharing the gloom of my companion. Had I not determined to be a soldier, and how was a soldier to find employment, but in war? I looked at him narrowly as we rode, and saw that he was thinner than when he had left us, and that his face was browned by much exposure.
Right heartily was he welcomed to Riverview, and when dinner had been served and ended, nothing would do but that he should sit down among us and tell us the story of his mission. He could scarce have failed to draw inspiration from such an audience, for Dorothy's eyes were sparkling, and I was fairly trembling with excitement. Would that I could tell the story as he told it, but that were impossible.
He and his little party had gone from Will's Creek to the forks of the Ohio, through the untrodden wilderness and across swollen streams, struggling on over the threatening mountains and fighting their way through the gloomy and unbroken forest, and thence down the river to the Indian village of Logstown. There he had parleyed with the Indians for near a week before he could persuade the Half King and three of his tribesmen to accompany him as guides. Buffeted by unceasing storms, they toiled on to Venango, where there was an English trading-house, which the French had seized and converted into a military post. Chabert de Joncaire commanded, and received the party most civilly. Major Washington was banqueted that evening by the officers of the post, and as the wine flowed freely, the French forgot their prudence, and declared unreservedly that they intended keeping possession of the Ohio, whether the English liked it or not. Joncaire, however, asserted that he could not receive Dinwiddie's letter, and referred Major Washington to his superior officer at Fort le Boeuf. So, leaving Venango, for four days more the party struggled northward. The narrow traders' path had been quite blotted out, and the forest was piled waist-deep with snow. At last, when it seemed that human endurance could win no further, they sighted the squared chestnut walls of Fort le Boeuf.
The commander here, Legardeur de Saint-Pierre, also received them well, and to him Major Washington delivered his letter from Governor Dinwiddie, asking by what right the French had crossed the Lakes and invaded British territory, and demanding their immediate withdrawal. Saint-Pierre was three days preparing his answer, which he intrusted to Major Washington, and at the end of that time the latter, with great difficulty persuading his Indians to accompany him, started back to Virginia. They reached Venango on Christmas Day. Here their horses gave out, and he and Gist pushed forward alone on foot, leaving the others to follow as best they might. A French Indian fired at them from ambush, but missed his mark, and to escape pursuit by his tribesmen, they walked steadily forward for a day and a night, until they reached the Allegheny. They tried to make the crossing on a raft, but were caught in the drifting ice and nearly drowned before they gained an island in the middle of the river. Here they remained all night, foodless and well-nigh frozen, and in the morning, finding the ice set, crossed in safety to the shore. Once across, they reached the house of a man named Fraser, on the Monongahela,—a house they were to see again, but under far different circumstances,—and leaving there on the first day of January, they made their way back to the settlements without adventure. Major Washington had reached Mount Vernon that afternoon, and after stopping to see his mother, had ridden on to Riverview.
Long before the recital ended, I was out of my chair and pacing up and down the room, and Dorothy clapped her hands with joy when that perilous passage of the Allegheny had been accomplished.
"So you think there will be war?" I asked. "But you do not know what M. de Saint-Pierre has written to the governor."
"I can guess," he answered, with a smile. "Yes, there will be war."
"And if there is?" I cried, all my eagerness in my face.
"And if there is, Mr. Stewart," he said calmly, but with a deep light in his eyes, "depend upon it, you shall go with me."
I wrung his hand madly. I could have embraced him. Dorothy laughed at my enthusiasm, but with a trace of tears in her eyes, or so I fancied.
Well, we were finally abed, and up betimes in the morning. Our horses were brought round from the stable, and our bags swung up behind the saddles. I had tried in vain, all the morning, to corner Dorothy so that I might say good-by with no one looking on, but the minx had eluded me, and I had to be content with a mere handclasp on the steps before the others. But as we rode away and I looked back for a last sight of her, she waved her hands to me and blew me a kiss from her fingers. So my heart was warm within me as we pushed on through the dark aisles of the forest.
The roads were heavy with mud and melting snow, for the weather had turned warm, and it was not until mid-afternoon that we reached Fredericksburg. We stopped there an hour to feed and wind our horses, and then pressed on to the country seat of Mr. Philip Clayton, below Port Royal, on the Rappahannock. Major Washington had met Mr. Clayton at Williamsburg, and he welcomed us most kindly. By the evening of the second day we had reached King William Court House, where we found a very good inn, and the next day, just as evening came, we clattered into Williamsburg, very tired and very dirty. But without drawing rein, Major Washington rode straight to the governor's house, threw his bridle to a negro, and ordered a footman to announce him at once to his master.
"You are to come with me, Mr. Stewart," he said, seeing that I hesitated. "'T will be a good time to present you to his Excellency," and we walked together up the wide steps which led to the veranda.
Even as we reached the top, the door at the end of the hall was thrown violently open, and Governor Dinwiddie stumbled toward us, his face red with excitement. He had evidently just risen from table, for he carried a napkin in his hand, and there were traces of food on his expansive waistcoat, for he was anything but a dainty feeder. His uncertain gait showed that he still suffered from the effects of a recent attack of paralysis.
"By God, Major Washington," he cried, "but I'm glad to see you! I'd begun to think the French or the Indians had gobbled you up. So you've got back, sir? And did you see the French?"
"I saw the French, your Excellency," answered Washington, taking his outstretched hand. "I delivered your message, and brought one in reply. But first let me present my friend, Mr. Thomas Stewart, who is a neighbor of mine at Mount Vernon and a man of spirit."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Stewart," said Dinwiddie, and he gave me his hand for an instant. "We may have need erelong of men of spirit."
"I trust so, certainly, your Excellency," I cried, and bowed before him.
Dinwiddie looked at me for an instant with a smile.
"Come, gentlemen," he said, "you have been riding all day, I dare say, and must have some refreshment," but Washington placed a hand on his arm as he turned to give an order to one of the waiting negroes.
"Not until I have made my report, Governor Dinwiddie," he said.
Dinwiddie turned back to him.
"You're a man after my own heart, Major Washington!" he cried. "Come into my office, both of you, for, in truth, I am dying of impatience to hear of the journey," and he led the way into a spacious room, where there was a great table littered with papers, a dozen chairs, but little other furniture. The candles were brought, and Dinwiddie dropped into a deep chair, motioning Washington and myself to sit down opposite him. "Now, major," he cried, "let us have your story."
So Washington told again of the trip over the mountains and through the forests, Dinwiddie interrupting from time to time with an exclamation of wonder or approbation.
"Here is the message from M. de Saint-Pierre," concluded Washington, drawing a sealed packet from an inner pocket. "'T is somewhat stained by water, but I trust still legible."
Dinwiddie took it with nervous fingers, glanced at the superscription, tore it open, and ran his eyes rapidly over the contents. My hands were trembling, for I realized that on this note hung the issue of war or peace for America. He read it through a second time more slowly, then folded it very calmly and laid it down before him on the table. My heart sank within me,—it was peace, then, and there would be no employment for my sword. I had been wasting my time with Captain Paul. But when Dinwiddie raised his eyes, I saw they were agleam.
"M. de Saint-Pierre writes," he said, "that he cannot discuss the question of territory, since that is quite without his province, but will send my message to the Marquis Duquesne, in command of the French armies in America, at Quebec, and will await his orders. He adds that, in the mean time, he will remain at his post, as his general has commanded."
We were all upon our feet. I drew a deep breath, and saw that
Washington's hand was trembling on his sword-hilt.
"Since he will not leave of his own accord," cried Dinwiddie, his calmness slipping from him in an instant, "there remains only one thing to be done,—he must be made to leave, and not a French uniform must be left in the Ohio valley! Major Washington, I offer you the senior majorship of the regiment which will march against him."
"And I accept, sir!" cried Washington, moved as I had seldom seen him. "May I ask your Excellency's permission to appoint Mr. Stewart here one of my ensigns?"
"Certainly," said the governor heartily. "From what I have seen of Mr. Stewart, I should conclude that nothing could be better;" and when I tried to stammer my thanks, he waved his hand to me kindly and rang for wine. "Let us drink," he said, as he filled the glasses, "to the success of our arms and the establishment of his Majesty's dominion on the Ohio."