Cardigan Part 113

Ale they had for the drawing, yet abused it not, respecting the hospitality of the house and its young mistress, and none could point the shameful finger at either to cry: "Fie! Pottle-pot! Malt-worm!

Painted-nose! Go swim!" At times, sitting together on the gra.s.s, cheek by jowl, I heard them singing hymns; at times strolling through the moon-drenched garden paths they lifted up their souls in song:

"The hunter has taken the trail to the East; The little deer run! The little deer run!

Fear not, little deer, for he hunts the Red Beast; Ye are not for his gun! Ye are not for his gun!

"The hunter lies cold on the trail to the East; His bosom is rent! His bosom is rent!

He died for his country, to slay the Red Beast; To Heaven he went! To Heaven he went!"

In the moonlight the doleful chant droned on, night after night, under the dewy lilacs; and the great horned-owl answered, hooting from the pines; and Silver Heels and I listened from the porch, hand clasping hand in fearsome content. For out in the dark world G.o.d was busy shaping the destiny of a people; even the black forest knew it, and thrilled like a vast harp at the touch of the free winds'

fingers--unseen fingers, delicate, tentative, groping for the key to a chord of splendid majesty. And when at last the chord should be found and struck, resounding to the deep world's rock foundation, a free people's voices should repeat, singing forever and for all time throughout the earth:

"Amen!"

Meanwhile, stillness, moonlight, and a "_Miserere_" from the lips of two strange forest-runner folk, free-born and ready when the Lord of all led forth His prophet to command.

On that night I heard a man in the street repeat a name, Was.h.i.+ngton.

And all that night I thought of it, and said it, under my breath. But what it might portend I knew not then.

May ended, smothered in flowers; and with the thickening leaves of June came to us there in the North rumours of the times which were to try men's souls. And again I heard, somewhere in the darkness of the village streets, the name I heard before; and that night, too, I lay awake, forming the word with silent lips, close to my young wife's breast.

The full, yellow moon of June creamed all our garden now; Mount and Renard sat a-squat upon the gra.s.s, chin on fist, to muse and muse and wait--for what? The King of England did not know; but all the world was waiting, too.

Then, one dim morning, while yet the primrose light tinted the far hills, I awoke to see Silver Heels in her white night-robe, leaning from the cas.e.m.e.nt, calling out to me in a strange, frightened voice: "Michael! Michael! They are coming over the hills--over the hills, dear heart, to take you with them!"

At the window, sniffing the fresh dawn, I listened.

"Footfalls in the hills!" she said, trembling. "Out of the morning men are coming! G.o.d make me brave! G.o.d make me brave!"

For a long time we stood silent; the village slept below us; the stillness of the dawn remained unbroken, save by a golden-robin's note, fluting from a spectral elm.

"It is not yet time," I said: "let us sleep on, dear heart."

But she would not, and I was fain to dress me in my leather, lest the summons coming swift might find me all unready at the call.

Then she roused Betty and the maid and servants, bidding them call up Mount and Renard, for the hour was close upon us all.

"Dear love," I said, "this is a strange fear that takes you from your pillows there, at dawn."

"Strange things befall a blindly loving heart," she said; "I heard them in my dreams, and knew them, all marching with their yellow moccasins and racc.o.o.n-caps and green thrums blowing in the wind."

"Riflemen?"

"Ay, dear love."

"Foolish prophetess!"

"Too wise! Too wise!" she whispered, wearily, nestling within my arms, a second only, then:

"Sir Michael!" roared Mount below my window; "Cresap is on the hills with five hundred men of Maryland!"

Stunned, I stared at Silver Heels; her face was marble, glorified.

As the sun rose I left her, and, scarce knowing what I did, threw my long rifle on my shoulder and ran out swiftly through the garden.

Suddenly, as though by magic summoned, the whole street was filled with riflemen, marching silently and swiftly, with moccasined feet, their racc.o.o.n caps pushed back, the green thrums tossing on sleeve and thigh. On they came, rank on rank, like brown deer herding through a rock run; and, on the hunting-s.h.i.+rts, lettered in white across each breast, I read:

LIBERTY OR DEATH.

Mount and the Weasel came up, rifles shouldered, c.o.o.n-skin caps swinging in their hands. Mount shyly touched the hand that Silver Heels held out; Cade Renard took the fingers, and, bending above them with a flicker of his aged gallantly, pressed them with his shrivelled lips.

"We will watch over your husband, my lady," he said, raising his dim eyes to hers.

"Ay, we will bring him back, Lady Cardigan," muttered Jack Mount, twisting his cap in his huge paws.

Silver Heels, holding them each by the hand, strove to speak, but the voice in her white throat froze, and she only looked silently from them to me with pitiful gray eyes.

"To kill the Red Beast," muttered Mount; "it is quickly done, Lady Cardigan. Then your husband will return."

"To kill the Beast," repeated Renard; "the Red Beast with twin heads.

Ay, it can be done, my lady. Then he will return."

"I swear it!" cried Mount, flinging up his great arm. "He will return."

"To doubt it is to doubt G.o.d's grace, child. He will return," said Cade Renard.

She looked at me, at Mount, at the Weasel, then at the torrent of dusty riflemen steadily pa.s.sing without a break.

"If he--he must go--" she began. Her voice failed; she caught my hands and kissed them.

"For our honour--go!" she gasped. "Michael! Michael! Come back to me--"

"Truly, dear heart--truly! truly!"

"Ho! Cardigan!" rang out a voice like a pistol-shot from the pa.s.sing ranks.

Through my tear-dimmed eyes I saw Cresap, sword s.h.i.+ning in his hand.

"We come," cried Mount, shaking his rifle towards the rising sun; "death to the Red Beast!"

"Death to the Beast!" shouted Cresap, shaking his s.h.i.+ning sword.

Half a thousand heavy rifles shook high; half a thousand deep voices roared thunderously through the stony street:

"Liberty! Liberty or Death!"