The day following the occurrences noted in the preceding chapter was an eventful one to the Haviland family, developing circumstances calculated to hasten the crisis to which the conflicting feelings and conduct of the father and daughter had been for some time silently tending, and to give a new turn to their respective destinies.
It was late in the afternoon. No event had thus far during the day occurred to mar the usual tranquillity of the family; and Haviland, yet uninformed of the untoward affair which befell his party the last evening at Manchester, and little dreaming of the bold and decisive measures adopted by the Council of Safety, was seated at a table in his usual sitting-room, examining, with a satisfied and triumphant air, a map of New York, on which he was tracing out the intended route of the British army in its hitherto victorious way from the St. Lawrence to Albany. At length he began to muse aloud, partly to himself, apparently, and partly to his daughter, who, with a pensive brow, was seated at an open window in the same room, quietly engaged with her needle-work.
“As soon as General Burgoyne can clear the road of the trees and other obstructions, with which the rebels, in their impotent spite, have filled it, so that he can move on to the Hudson, how that grand army will sweep away the feeble and undisciplined bands that may venture to oppose its victorious march! And when a junction of the British armies is formed at Albany, what can this infatuated people think of doing then? With the north completely cut off from the south, as will then be the case, what can these two sections, which together can hardly raise a respectable force, do, when thus divided and prevented from all concert and cooperation? Ay, what will they do then? Come, Sabrey,” he added, turning with an exulting air to his daughter, “perhaps you, who appear to have so high an opinion of rebel prowess—perhaps you can answer the question?”
“I may be better prepared to answer the question, perhaps when I see the junction you anticipate really effected. Burgoyne has not reached Albany yet,” replied the other, with playful significance.
“Be sure not; but what is to prevent him? What force can the rebels oppose that he will not scatter like chaff before the wind? None! I tell you, girl, their doom is sealed!”
“It might be, if they would consent to let you fight their battles for them, father. But the battle which they are preparing to give Burgoyne they will choose to fight themselves, I imagine. A few Bunker Hill lessons, on his way, might materially alter the general's prospects.”
“Bunker Hill? Pooh! Why, we routed them even there behind their breastworks. Besides, we never had so fine an army as this in the field before. I only wish I was as sure of some good commission in Burgoyne's army, as I am that he will march triumphantly through to Albany, and thus bring this unnatural war to a close.”
“Would you think of going into that army, father, should you receive such an appointment?” asked the daughter, in a tone of surprise and expostulation.
“Why, I should be proud to be there, Sabrey, in an army that contains so much of the first talents and chivalry of England.”
At this stage of the conversation, a man rode up to the door, and, dismounting and entering the house, handed to Mr. Haviland, after inquiring his name, a gorgeously-sealed packet.