from the scythe and reaper to the musket.
and now, with all the desperate energy of men who risked everything that mortal can have in jeopardy, we prepared to meet the invasion.
the tidings of the next few days but amplified what enoch had told us. thomas spencer, the half-breed, forwarded full intelligence of the approaching force; oneida runners brought in stories of its magnitude, with which the forest glades began to be vocal; colonel gansevoort, working night and day to put into a proper state of defence the dilapidated fort at the mohawk's headwaters, sent down urgent demands for supplies, for more men, and for militia support.
at the most, general schuyler could spare him but two hundred men, for albany was in sore panic at the fall of ticonderoga and the menace of burgoyne's descent in force through the champlain country. we watched this little troop march up the river road in a cloud of dust, and realized that this was the final thing congress and the state could do for us. what more was to be done we men of the valley must do for ourselves.
it was almost welcome, this grim, blood-red reality of peril which now stared us in the face, so good and wholesome a change did it work in the spirit of the valley. despondency vanished; the cavillers who had disparaged washington and schuyler, sneered at stout governor clinton, and doubted all things save that matters would end badly, ceased their grumbling and took heart; men who had wavered and been lukewarm or suspicious came forward now and threw in their lot with their neighbors. and if here and there on the hillsides were silent houses whence no help was to come, and where, if the enemy once broke through, he would be welcomed the more as a friend if his hands were spattered with our blood--the consciousness, i say, that we had these base traitors in our midst only gave us a deeper resolution not to fail.
general herkimer presently issued his order to the tryon militia, apprising them of the imminent danger, and summoning all between sixteen and sixty to arms. there was no doubt now where the blow would fall. cherry valley, unadilla, and the sacondaga settlements no longer feared raids from the wilderness upon their flanks. the invaders were coming forward in a solid mass, to strike square at the valley's head. there we must meet them!
it warms my old heart still to recall the earnestness and calm courage of that summer fortnight of preparation. all up and down the valley bottom-lands the haying was in progress. young and old, rich and poor, came out to carry forward this work in common. the meadows were taken in their order, some toiling with scythe and sickle, others standing guard at the forest borders of the field to protect the workers. it was a goodly yield that year, i remember, and never in my knowledge was the harvest gathered and housed better or more thoroughly than in this period of genuine danger, when no man knew whose cattle would feed upon his hay a month hence. the women and girls worked beside the men, and brought them cooling drinks of ginger, molasses, and vinegar, and spread tables of food in the early evening shade for the weary gleaners. these would march home in bodies, a little later, those with muskets being at the front and rear; and then, after a short night's honest sleep, the rising sun would find them again at work upon some other farm.
there was something very good and strengthening in this banding together to get the hay in for all. during twenty years of peace and security, we had grown selfish and solitary--each man for himself. we had forgotten, in the strife for individual gain and preferment, the true meaning of that fine old word "neighbor"--the husbandman, or boer, who is nigh, and to whom in nature you first look for help and sympathy and friendship. it was in this fortnight of common peril that we saw how truly we shared everything, even life itself, and how good it was to work for as well as to fight for one another--each for all, and all for each. forty years have gone by since that summer, yet still i seem to discover in the mohawk valley the helpful traces of that fortnight's harvesting in common. the poor bauers and squatters from the bush came out then and did their share of the work, and we went back with them into their forest clearings and beaver-flies and helped them get in their small crops, in turn. and to this day there is more brotherly feeling here between the needy and the well-to-do than i know of anywhere else.
when the barns were filled, and the sweet-smelling stacks outside properly built and thatched, the scythe was laid aside for the musket, the sickle for the sword and pistol. all up the valley the drums' rattle drowned the drone of the locusts in the stubble. the women moulded bullets now and filled powder-horns instead of making drinks for the hay-field. there was no thought anywhere save of preparation for the march. guns were cleaned, flints replaced, new hickory ramrods whittled out, and the grindstones threw off sparks under the pressure of swords and spear-heads. even the little children were at work rubbing goose-grease into the hard leather of their elders' foot-gear, against the long tramp to fort stanwix.
by this time, the first of august, we knew more about the foe we were to meet. the commander whom enoch had heard called sillinger was learned to be one colonel st. leger, a british officer of distinction, which might have been even greater if he had not embraced the old-world military vice of his day--grievous drunkenness. the gathering of indians at oswego under claus and brant was larger than the first reports had made it. the regular troops, both british and german, intended for our destruction, were said to alone outnumber the whole militia force which we could hope to oppose to them. but most of all we thought of the hundreds of our old tory neighbors, who were bringing this army down upon us to avenge their own fancied wrongs; and when we thought of them we moodily rattled the bullets in our deerskin bags, and bent the steel more fiercely upon the whirling, hissing stone.
i have read much of war, both ancient and modern. i declare solemnly that in no chronicle of warfare in any country, whether it be of great campaigns like those of marlborough and the late king of prussia, and that strange buonaparte, half god, half devil, who has now been caged at last at st. helena; of brutal invasions by a foreign enemy, as when the french overran and desolated the palatinate; or of buccaneering and piratical enterprise by the spaniards and portuguese; or of the fighting of savages or of the don cossacks--in none of these records, i aver, can you find so much wanton baseness and beast-like bloodthirstiness as these native-born tories showed toward us. mankind has not been capable of more utter cruelty and wickedness than were in their hearts. beside them the lowest painted heathen in their train was a christian, the most ignorant hessian peasant was a nobleman.
ever since my talk with colonel dayton i had been trying to look upon these tories as men who, however mistaken, were acting from a sense of duty. for a full year it seemed as if i had succeeded; indeed, more than once, so temperately did i bring myself in my new philosophy to think of them, i was warned by my elders that it would be better for me to keep my generous notions to myself. but now, when the stress came, all this philanthropy fell away. these men were leading down to their old home an army of savages and alien soldiers; they were boasting that we, their relatives or whilom school-fellows, neighbors, friends, should be slaughtered like rats in a pit; their commander, st. leger, published at their instigation general orders offering his indians twenty dollars apiece for the scalps of our men, women, and children! how could one pretend not to hate such monsters?
at least i did not pretend any longer, but worked with an enthusiasm i had never known before to marshal our yeomanry together.
under the pelting july sun, in the saddle from morning till night--to cherry valley, to stone arabia, to the obscure little groups of cabins in the bush, to the remote settlements on the unadilla and the east creek--organizing, suggesting, pleading, sometimes, i fear, also cursing a little, my difficult work was at last done. the men of the mohawk district regiment, who came more directly under my eye, were mustered at caughnawaga, and some of the companies that were best filled despatched forward under captain adam fonda, who was all impatience to get first to fort dayton, the general rendezvous. in all we were likely to gather together in this regiment one hundred and thirty men, and this was better than a fortnight ago had seemed possible.
they were sturdy fellows for the most part, tall, deep-chested, and hard of muscle. they came from the high forest clearings of kingsland and tribes hill, from the lower valley flatlands near to schenectady, from the bush settlements scattered back on aries creek, from the rich farms and villages of johnstown, and caughnawaga, and spraker's. there were among them all sorts and conditions of men, thrifty and thriftless, cautious and imprudent, the owners of slaves along with poor yokels of scarcely higher estate than the others' niggers. here were posted thick in the roll-call such names as fonda, starin, yates, sammons, gardenier, and wemple. many of the officers, and some few of the men, had rough imitations of uniform, such as home-made materials and craft could command, but these varied largely in style and color. the great majority of the privates wore simply their farm homespun, gray and patched, and some had not even their hat-brims turned up with a cockade. but they had a look on their sunburned, gnarled, and honest faces which the butlers and johnsons might well have shrunk from.
these men of the mohawk district spoke more dutch than anything else, though there were both english and high german tongues among them. they had more old acquaintances among the tories than had their palatine friends up the river, for this had been the johnsons' own district. hence, though in numbers we were smaller than the regiments that mustered above at stone arabia and zimmerman's, at canajoharie and cherry valley, we were richer in hate.
at daybreak on august 2, the remaining companies of this regiment were to start on their march up the valley. i rode home to my mother's house late in the afternoon of the 1st, to spend what might be a last night under her roof. on the morrow, samson sammons and jelles fonda, members of the committee of safety, and i, could easily overtake the column on our horses.
i was greatly perplexed and unsettled in mind about daisy and my duty toward her, and, though i turned this over in my thoughts the whole distance, i could come to no satisfactory conclusion. on the one hand, i yearned to go and say farewell to her; on the other, it was not clear, after that letter of her husband's, that i could do this without unjustly prejudicing her as a wife. for the wife of this viper she still was, and who could tell how soon she might not be in his power again?
i was still wrestling with this vexatious question when i came to my mother's house. i tied the horse to the fence till tulp should come out for him, and went in, irresolutely. at every step it seemed to me as if i ought instead to be going toward cairncross.
guess my surprise at being met, almost upon the threshold, by the very woman of whom of all others i had been thinking! my mother and she had apparently made up their differences, and stood together waiting for me.
"were you going away, douw, without coming to see me--to say good-by?" asked daisy, with a soft reproach in her voice. "your mother tells me of your starting to-morrow--for the battle."
i took her hand, and, despite my mother's presence, continued to hold it in mine. this was bold, but there was little enough of bravery in my words.
"yes, we go to-morrow; i wanted to come--all day i have been thinking of little else--yet i feared that my visit might--might----"
very early in this tale it was my pride to explain that my mother was a superior woman. faults of temper she may have had, and eke narrow prejudices on sundry points. but she had also great good sense, which she showed now by leaving the room.
"i came to you instead, you see," my dear girl said, trying to smile, yet with a quivering lip; "i could not have slept, i could not have borne to live almost, it seems, if i had let you ride off without a word, without a sign."
we stood thus facing each other for a moment--mumbling forth some commonplaces of explanation, she looking intently into my eyes. then with a sudden deep outburst of anguish, moaning piteously, "must you truly go?" she came, nay, almost fell into my arms, burying her face on my shoulder and weeping violently.
it is not meet that i should speak much of the hour that followed. i would, in truth, pass over it wholly in silence--as being too sacred a thing for aught of disclosure or speculation--were it not that some might, in this case, think lightly of the pure and good woman who, unduly wrung by years of grief, disappointment, and trial, now, from very weariness of soul, sobbed upon my breast. and that would be intolerable.
we sat side by side in the little musty parlor. i did not hold her hand, or so much as touch her gown with my knee or foot.
we talked of impersonal things--of the coming invasion, of the chances of relieving fort stanwix, of the joy it would be to me if i could bear a good part in rescuing my dear friend gansevoort, its brave young commandant. i told her about peter, and of how we two had consorted together in albany, and later in quebec. and this led us back--as we had so often returned before during these latter hateful months--to the sweet companionship of our own childhood and youth. she, in turn, talked of mr. stewart, who seemed less strong and contented in his new home at cairncross. he had much enjoyment now, she said, in counting over a rosary of beads which had been his mother's, reiterating a prayer for each one in the romish fashion, and he was curiously able to remember these long-disused formulas of his boyhood, even while he forgot the things of yesterday. i commented upon this, pointing out to her that this is the strange quality of the roman faith--that its forms and customs, learned in youth, remain in the affections of papists to their dying day, even after many years of neglect and unbelief; whereas in the severe, spanish-drab protestantism to which i was reared, if one once loses interest in the tenets themselves, there is nothing whatever left upon which the mind may linger pleasantly.
thus our conversation ran--decorous and harmless enough, in all conscience. and if the thoughts masked by these words were all of a forbidden subject; if the very air about us was laden with sweet influences; if, when our eyes met, each read in the other's glance a whole world of meaning evaded in our talk--were we to blame?
i said "no" then, in my own heart, honestly. i say it now. why, think you! this love of ours was as old as our intelligence itself. looking back, we could trace its soft touch upon every little childish incident we had in common memory; the cadence of its music bore forward, tenderly, sweetly, the song of all that had been happy in our lives. we were man and woman now, wise and grave by reason of sorrow and pain and great trials. these had come upon us both because neither of us had frankly said, at a time when to have said it would have been to alter all, "i love you!" and this we must not say to each other even now, by all the bonds of mutual honor and self-respect. but not any known law, human or divine, could hold our thoughts in leash. so we sat and talked of common things, calmly and without restraint, and our minds were leagues away, in fields of their own choosing, amid sunshine and flowers and the low chanting of love's cherubim.
we said farewell, instinctively, before my mother returned. i held her hands in mine, and, as if she had been a girl again, gently kissed the white forehead she as gently inclined to me.
"poor old father is to burn candles for your safety," she said, with a soft smile, "and i will pray too. oh, do spare yourself! come back to us!"
"i feel it in my bones," i answered, stoutly. "fear nothing, i shall come back."
the tall, bright-eyed, shrewd old dame, my mother, came in at this, and daisy consented to stop for supper with us, but not to spend the night with one of my sisters as was urged. i read her reason to be that she shrank from a second and public farewell in the morning.
the supper was almost a cheery meal. the women would have readily enough made it doleful, i fancy, but my spirits were too high for that. there were birds singing in my heart. my mother from time to time looked at me searchingly, as if to guess the cause of this elation, but i doubt she was as mystified as i then thought.
at twilight i stood bareheaded and watched daisy drive away, with enoch and tulp as a mounted escort. the latter was also to remain with her during my absence--and major mauverensen almost envied his slave.
