Altsheler Joseph Alexander
In Hostile Red

Chapter Thirteen — Hessian Wrath

There was a narrow lawn in front of Mr. Desmond's house, and between that and the street an ornate iron fence. As I opened the gate that permitted egress, I saw Belfort and Schwarzfelder leaning upon the fence, while Waters hovered near. The two officers were twirling their mustaches after the most approved style of Old World dandies, and were looking at me in a manner that I could interpret only as insolent. I inferred at once that they and the Frenchman Waters were responsible for the search, and had gone there to enjoy a triumph containing the sweetest of flavor, my exposure and disgrace compelled by my own act. I became sure of it when I saw the look of triumph on the faces of Belfort and Schwarzfelder give way to one of surprise and disappointment.

"Where is your prisoner, Lieutenant Melville?" exclaimed Belfort, unable to control himself.

I gave him a stare as haughty as I knew how to make it.

"Did I understand you to ask where my prisoner was, Lieutenant Belfort?" I asked.

Both he and Schwarzfelder nodded.

"Permit me to remark that this is very extraordinary," I said, continuing my haughty manner, which suited my state of mind. "I am sent on a secret errand of great importance by Sir William Howe, and before I can report to him I am called to account concerning it in the streets of Philadelphia by one of his Majesty's sub-lieutenants. Or perhaps I have made a mistake, and General Howe has resigned in your favor. Do I have the pleasure of addressing General Belfort, and not Lieutenant Belfort?"

I gave him an extremely polite bow as I added the last sentence, and my tone grew most humble. But he did not seem to appreciate my homage. His face turned red.

"Lieutenant Melville," he said, "I shall have satisfaction for this insolence."

"Don't make a fuss about it," I said lightly. "I was merely speaking for your good, because if I had reported to you earlier than to Sir William he might have resented it. Still, I don't mind telling you, lieutenant, that we did not find the man, although we searched the house most thoroughly."

I was now happy, feeling my triumph somewhat, which may account for my levity; but the mention of the prisoner again set Belfort on fire.

"Did you look everywhere?" he asked eagerly. "It is certain that he took refuge there."

"Oh yes, sir!" interrupted Blathwayt, touching his cap, "we searched every square inch of the house, and it was impossible for a man to be hid there, and us not find him."

It was disrespectful of Blathwayt to interrupt when his superiors were talking, but for obvious reasons I did not correct him.

"He must have been there! he must have been there!" repeated Belfort, in disappointed tones. "Schwarzfelder says that he saw him dart among the shrubbery around the house, and he did not come out of it again last night."

So it was Schwarzfelder who had played the spy! But even so, he had not seen me give Alloway the warning or he would have betrayed me at once. I began to bear towards Schwarzfelder a feeling akin to that I felt for Belfort.

"I think that Colonel Schwarzfelder must have been mistaken," I said. "It is well known that our valiant Hessian officers often see double, especially when it is so late at night. Forward, march, men!"

I gave the order in a loud, peremptory tone, and my soldiers marched at once in their stiffest and most precise manner. Schwarzfelder was standing in the middle of the pavement, and they would have walked into him had he not skipped to one side in the most undignified way. I think that they would have been glad to do it, as generally the English soldiers hated the Hessians.

Schwarzfelder glowered at me, first because I had taunted him with his German drunkenness and the memory of his ejection from Sir William's headquarters, and secondly because in a metaphorical sense I had thrown him off the sidewalk. But he said nothing. He was choking too badly over his German wrath to enunciate words. I marched on with my men, leaving him and Belfort to concoct whatever mischief they would.

The man Waters, whom in truth I dreaded more than either Belfort or Schwarzfelder, had drawn somewhat nearer and was gazing steadily at me.

"Are you too looking for this American soldier, Waters?" I asked. "It seems that the commander-in-chief is receiving a great deal of voluntary assistance."

"Your pardon, sir," said Waters, with respect, or the assumption of it, "but I could not help hearing what the search was about, and I was merely wondering if that old rebel John Desmond was caught at last."

"Mr. Desmond may be a rebel," I replied angrily, "but it is not for you to speak of him in such a manner."

"I beg your pardon, sir, if I was presumptuous," he said meekly, dropping his eyes. Yet I was sure that he was deriding me, and I walked off, feeling an unpleasant chill again. I reported duly to Sir William that the search had brought forth nothing, and he expressed disappointment.

"I cannot understand how the man escaped," he said thoughtfully. "It was told to me that he was in the Desmond house, and I should have been glad to find him there, because it would give me a power over this rebellious old Quaker which I should be glad to use. I chose you for the task because I felt sure of your loyalty and devotion to the king, and also I know that you are a good friend of mine. There might have been promotion in it for you."

I thanked him humbly for his consideration, and I began to feel that the well-meant friendship of Sir William Howe would prove troublesome. Yet I was able to preserve a thankful countenance. Then he excused me, saying, as I departed, that I might look for further rewards at his hands, even in the short time left to him. Again I gave him thanks, and went out into the street, where I knew that I should find some of my new comrades ogling the pretty Philadelphia maids. The first that I beheld were Marcel and Vincent Moore, walking arm in arm. Marcel was in a splendid new uniform that fairly glittered with gold lace, – where he got it he has never told me, although I suppose that promptly after its arrival from England he won it at cards from some brother officer, perhaps from Harding, the new cousin, as they were about of a size and the uniform fitted Marcel beautifully. Moore also had achieved his utmost splendor, looking almost as fine as Marcel, and I saw clearly that the two were out to "kill" whatever beauty came their way.

"And you did not find the man, Melville?" exclaimed Marcel, seizing me by the arm; I was sure that he had heard the vain result of the search.

"If the bird was ever there, it had flown before our arrival," I replied, putting as much regret into my tones as I could.

"Then let war go! Come with us and look for the smiles of beauty," said Marcel, in his high flown manner. In truth, after inviting me, they gave me no choice, for Marcel took me by one arm and Moore by the other, and I could not escape swaggering on with them. I felt such relief from the situation of the morning, and the sunshine was so brilliant and inspiring, that I began to share their exultant views of life. We presently met Miss Rankin and another girl whom we knew, and, turning in our course, we walked beside them, exchanging the courtesies of the day, pouring out extravagant compliments, and otherwise behaving in a manner not unusual to masculine youth on such occasions.

Marcel, with incredible effrontery, began to tell some of the latest news about people of fashion in London, speaking as if he knew them intimately. I supposed that he had picked up the gossip, like the uniform, from Harding. This lasted a full ten minutes, and then we met Miss Desmond and her father, also walking in the sunshine. We gave them most ornate salutations, but their reply was not in kind. Miss Desmond's slight bow was accompanied by a look of surprise and disdain directed towards me. I know that I reddened under the glance, for, in truth, I became suddenly ashamed of myself, being fully aware that I had been behaving like a Jack o' dandy with more youth than brains. But there was no escape for me, and I walked on with my chattering companions, suddenly become silent, although they did not notice it, since they were making so much noise themselves. The ladies left us in another ten minutes, and then I would have excused myself from Marcel and Moore, but they would not hear of it.

"If we don't keep you, you will get into mischief," said Marcel, with a significance that Moore did not see, and they retained hold of my arms. Shortly after, our party was increased by Vivian and Catron, and we filled the sidewalk from edge to edge, all talking in lively fashion except myself, Marcel being in his element. In truth, there was no need that I should talk, since Marcel and Moore were doing enough and to spare for us all. They continued to twirl their mustaches and look for the pretty maids, but our next acquaintances who approached us were men not maids, being, in truth, Belfort, Schwarzfelder, and Graves, arm in arm, with the German in the centre. They walked straight towards us, and I saw that unless either they or we turned aside, a most unpleasant collision would occur, as the sidewalk was narrow. I observed no evidence of an intent on the part of either my comrades or Belfort and his friends to change their course, and I was annoyed excessively at the prospect of a collision and a quarrel. In fact, I have never felt any desire to be a swaggerer, and I began to wonder how I could get out of the difficulty. If the others insisted upon trouble for themselves, they might have it.

I saw no solution of the difficulty; but, to my great amazement, my friends suddenly stepped to one side when we were within a half-dozen paces of our antagonists, forming a line at the edge of the sidewalk, as if we were a guard of honor stationed there to give distinction to the passage of Belfort and his companions; furthermore, they strengthened the idea by taking off their caps and giving the others a bow of astonishing sweep and depth, which Graves returned in kind, Belfort slightly, and Schwarzfelder not at all. Not a word was said, the three stalking solemnly past us, and then disappearing down the street, while we returned to our natural place on the sidewalk, and walked on in the way that we had been going.

"Gentlemen," I said gravely, when we had gone about twenty yards, "I did not think this of you."

"And why not?" replied Marcel. "Could we have done otherwise after the delicate attentions that you have received from Colonel Schwarzfelder. We were the larger party, and therefore it was our duty, under the circumstances, to give way to the smaller. Is that not so, Moore?"

"Certainly," replied Moore. "We did our duty."

I looked at them questioningly, and Marcel's eye began to twinkle.

"Oh, you have not heard of the billet-doux that Schwarzfelder has written you?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" I replied.

"It was done in the most perfect manner," said Moore; "I wish that it had come for me."

"I refuse to go a step farther unless you tell me what you are talking about," I said, and I stopped short. They could have carried me on only by dragging me, and that would have looked undignified.

"Suppose we let him have the letter, – Schwarzfelder's masterly production," said Marcel.

"Yes, let him see it," said Vivian.

Marcel accordingly took from his waistcoat pocket, an envelope with a broken seal, superscribed in a large heavy hand, "To Captain, the Honorable Charles Montague." I put it to my nose, and it smelled of both tobacco and wine.

"But think of its contents," said Marcel.

I opened it, and stared at the writing, of which I could not read a word. It was in German. The others burst into laughter.

"That billet-doux," said Marcel, "is a challenge from your dear friend, Schwarzfelder. It seems that you did him a wrong this morning, or at least he thinks so, and off he rushed to his headquarters so blindingly angry that he must challenge you at once. He thinks of me as your best friend, and, still mad with anger, he forgets himself so far as to write the body of the letter in German, and also to ignore the use of a second for himself. But Belfort has set all of that right. Now it seems that fate won't let you fight Belfort; but I don't see how you can keep from meeting Schwarzfelder. Lieutenant Melville, if I had your quarrelsome disposition, I certainly should expect to die on the field of honor before I was turned twenty-five."

Then they laughed again, enjoying my plight and vexation.

"Belfort is at any rate a gentleman," I said; "but Schwarzfelder is at least three-fourths ruffian, and I think that it would be a disgrace to meet him."

"But you cannot refuse on that account," said Catron, gravely, "these men seem bent upon persecuting you, Melville, and you will have to put a stop to it with either sword or pistol. Suppose that we go to your quarters and discuss it."

I was willing, and ten minutes later we were around a table in our room, talking over the situation. Marcel had ordered wine from the commissariat, and the glasses were filled by the orderly, Waters, who was silent, and, as usual, apparently respectful.

"It is obvious that our friend Melville must meet Schwarzfelder," said Marcel, at length. "This Hessian is a drunkard and a bravo; but he is an officer of rank, even of much higher rank than Melville. Our man, therefore, must teach him a lesson. Do you say so, gentlemen?"

"We do say so," replied Catron, Moore, and Vivian together.

I saw that they were right, according to the code of the day, and I began, in spite of myself, to feel a willingness for the combat. Catron said that they were persecuting me, and that word "Persecute" began to inflame my anger. I would show them that persecuting had its risks.

"I am not much of a swordsman," I said; "but I am a good shot, and so I choose pistols at twenty paces."

"Then pistols it is," said Catron; "and now for a letter to Belfort, who is to be Schwarzfelder's second, which will show that we know how to manage such an affair as this in the most courteous manner."

Then we set ourselves to the task of writing the letter, – a labor that was by no means small, – and while we were hard-set at it, Waters came into the room again and saluted.

"Well?" said Catron, impatiently.

"Your honor," said Waters, apologetically, "there is some news of interest in the city, and I thought that you would pardon me for telling it to you."

"Wait! Do you not see that we are busy? You should not interrupt!" replied Marcel.

"But this is a most extraordinary affair, and the whole town is ringing with it," rejoined the man.

I saw now that his eyes were sparkling after the manner of one who has a budget of good gossip to tell and is anxious to tell it. The others noticed it too, and our own curiosity began to rise.

"What is it, Waters?" I asked.

He opened his hands, showing a piece of white paper about a foot long and perhaps half as wide.

"There is writing upon it; I ask your honor to read it," he said.

I took it and read:

To Sir William Howe, Commander-in-chief of His Britannic Majesty's forces in Philadelphia: —

I beg to present to you my compliments, and to notify you that I shall pay a visit to the City of Philadelphia one night this week, in order that you may prepare a reception worthy of yourself and me.

Yours faithfully,

William Wildfoot,

Captain in the Continental Army.

"It is said that over twenty of these have been found in the city to-day," said Waters, "all exactly alike, and written in the same hand."

The penmanship was large, rough, and angular, evidently that of a man more accustomed to grasping the sword than the goose quill.

Catron swore a tremendous oath.

"Well, of all unmitigated impertinences this is the greatest!" he exclaimed.

"It's mere bravado," said Vivian. "Of course the man will not think of venturing into Philadelphia."

"They say that he surely will come," said Waters; "it is the gossip of the city."

"If he does," added Vivian, scornfully, "he will come only to be hanged."

I was not so sure, but I said nothing. I remembered our former encounter with Wildfoot, and the singular words that he shouted to me as he dashed past. The others discussed the insolent placards with some degree of heat.

"Have you heard what Sir William says about this piece of presumption?" asked Vivian of Waters, letting his curiosity overcome his dignity.

"I have heard only, sir, that he was extremely angry," replied Waters.

"An entirely natural emotion under the circumstances," added Marcel.

Then we returned to the discussion of my own affair, and shortly after the important letter was finished, notifying Belfort that I accepted Schwarzfelder's challenge, naming pistols as the weapons, and stating that Captain Montague would call upon him as soon as possible to make arrangements as to time and place.

"There," said Marcel, his face flushing with satisfaction, as he looked at the completed letter, "I think that's as pretty a piece of work as any one of us has done in many a day. I don't want you to kill that Hessian fellow, Melville; but if you could let a lot of blood from him with a bullet, say in his shoulder, it would improve both his appearance and his manners."

Waters was deputed to bear the letter to Belfort, and then we went out to enjoy the small portion of the day and the sunshine that was left to us. This was Tuesday, and Marcel and Moore began to calculate when they could have the duel, the two undertaking to manage it, just as they had managed my abortive affair with Belfort. Marcel was of the opinion that the meeting could be held within two or three days, the time to be just at dawn, and the place to be a spot in the Northern suburbs, barely within the line of the British pickets, but where they could not see us.

We were not permitted to think long of the proposed duel. Wildfoot's placard was making a great buzz in the city, and many of the British officers who believed that he would keep his promise thought that the time to catch him had come.

Chapter Fourteen – According to Promise

I was at mess when an orderly arrived from Sir William, bidding my immediate presence at his quarters, a command that I could not think of disobeying, however reluctant I might be to go. It was in truth somewhat unpleasant to leave the brilliantly lighted room with its glittering china and silver, its abundant wines, and the talk and laughter of the good comrades who were there, for the loneliness and work of the commander-in-chief's house. I like to be popular with my superior officers, but now and then popularity is burdensome, and I leave it to anybody if Sir William's favor was not extremely embarrassing to one in my position. So I rose and apologized with reluctance for my departure, which I said I must take at once, and at the same time naming the cause.

"Farewell, Melville," they shouted with mock solemnity. "He goes to sure promotion, and this is another good man lost to those who love him."

I found Sir William at the table in his workroom, and the heap of papers that lay before him was larger than the one which had been there the first night that I had helped him. These were the closing days of his command, and much remained to be done. He was, as I have said before, and as all the world knows, an easy, sluggish, good-natured man, fond of pleasure, and his work always came last. Vivian was there helping him, and not looking over-happy. I was sure that he, like myself, was thinking longingly of the mess and its lights and the good company. But his face brightened a bit when he saw me, knowing now that he would have a companion in misery.

Sir William turned to me a face upon which annoyance was plainly written, and I saw in his hand a placard like that which Waters had shown to us.

"Melville, have you heard of this?" he asked, holding up the placard.

"Yes, sir, I have heard of it."

"This placard, or paper, or whatever it may be, is the most unexampled impertinence," he said, the red flushing into his swarthy face. "I think that it is intended as a personal insult to me. This outlaw Wildfoot must know of my forthcoming departure for England, and he is seeking to taunt me. But he shall not do it! I tell you, he shall not do it!"

He struck his fist upon the table to give emphasis to his statement that he would not allow a rebel partisan to upset his dignity, but it was entirely obvious that it was very much upset.

"If the man is so foolish and reckless as to enter Philadelphia," continued Sir William, "he will never get out again. I shall at least have the satisfaction of disposing of this troublesome fellow before I go to England."

The thought gave him consolation, and he began to dictate to us orders about the watch for Wildfoot, doubling the sentries, cautioning them to increase their vigilance, and making new dispositions of the pickets which he thought would guard the city better. Many of these movements could not be executed before the next morning; but Sir William did not look for Wildfoot for two or three nights, provided he came at all, and his countenance and voice began, by and by, to express satisfaction.

"We shall have our trap set," he said, "and the outlaw will walk into it just as we wish."

The time passed slowly, and we were reinforced presently by another secretary, who proved to be young Graves, a man who was the friend of Belfort and Schwarzfelder, and more or less hostile to me. But he was in a good humor, thinking of the prospective duel, in which he was to have a part as one of the managers, – a circumstance which flattered his pride, and he was very courteous to me. He exchanged a word occasionally with me about it in a whisper, and informed me, by and by, that he was not sure Schwarzfelder would win.

In a short while, Graves was sent to the anteroom to copy some documents there. He sat at a table near the wall, and once, when I went to take him some papers, I saw the sentinel, loaded gun on shoulder, walking back and forth in front of the door. I heard the sound of footsteps outside and, looking through the window, beheld a company of troops marching past. It was evident that Sir William's anger over Wildfoot's impertinence was producing activity. Then I went back to the commander-in-chief's table and resumed my work there.

I think it was about 10 o'clock when Sir William told me to go and help Graves, who seemed to be falling behind in his task. I drew up a chair and sat down at the table facing Graves, and with my back to the door. He, feeling his importance, wanted to exchange with me more whispered comments on the duel; but I wished to avoid the subject, and worked so industriously that he gave up the attempt.

We heard nothing during the next quarter of an hour but the scratching of our goose quills and the occasional words of Sir William in the next room as he gave an order. Then, chancing to look up, I beheld a most extraordinary expression on the face of Graves. His eyes were distended to a great width, and the white in them was shot with little specks of red, the muscles of his face were drawn, and his whole look was that of a man suffering from the most alarmed surprise.

"Why, what under the sun is the matter, Graves?" I exclaimed.

He did not say a word, but pointed behind me. I wheeled around to see; but powerful hands grasped me by the throat, while other hands thrust the muzzle of a pistol into my face. It was not necessary for anybody to say to me: "Move a foot, or say a word, and you shall be a dead man!" I knew it perfectly well without the telling, and I neither moved nor spoke. Graves, who at the same instant had been served as I was, showed a similar wisdom. Something soft, but very filling, was thrust into my mouth, and, with an expedition as unpleasant as it was astonishing, I was bound tightly to the table. Then the strong hands slipped off me, and I was at liberty to gaze as much as I wished into the eyes of Graves, who sat opposite me just as he had sat when we were at work, and who was as securely bound and gagged as I. I always fancy that we made a pretty pair, trussed up there like two turkeys ready for the spit. I would have given much for a few words to express my feelings, but my mouth was too full. I merely read the various looks in the eyes of Graves, all of which expressed anger.

The men, four in number, who had performed this impolite deed, brushed past me, and I saw only their backs, which were large and powerful. The door between our room and Sir William's was shut; but they opened it, leaving it so, and entered. I faced the apartment, and I saw distinctly all that passed. Thus it was my fortune, while listening to the most amazing conversation that I ever heard, to see also those who talked, though only the back of one of the most important.

Sir William and Vivian were writing busily at the large table in the centre of the room, when the intruders entered. Sir William sat at the side of the table facing us, and Vivian was at the end. I saw the faces of both clearly by the light of wax candles. Sir William had begun to wear his usual placid look. I inferred that he was pleased at what he was writing just then, and I think that it was instructions which he felt soon would cause the capture of Wildfoot. The largest man of the four put his hand on a chair, and drawing it up to the table sat down opposite to Sir William and with his back to me. Neither Sir William nor Vivian noticed their entrance until then, as they had walked with extreme lightness. But when Sir William looked up and beheld the stranger sitting uninvited and so calmly before him, his face flamed into anger. I could see the rush of blood to his head.

"Who are you, and how dare you come here?" he cried, springing to his feet.

"Be seated, Sir William, be seated," replied the man, in a strong, clear, and soothing voice. "There is no occasion for surprise or wrath. I am not an intruder. I sent you word in writing that I would call."

I saw Sir William's face turn quite black, and he began to choke.

"You are – you are – " he gasped.

"You have divined it, Sir William," replied the man. "I am Captain William Wildfoot, captain of rangers in the Continental service. Your guest, if you please, and I must warn you and your assistant not to shout for help, or my men will shoot you instantly. The young lieutenants in the front room, as you can see for yourself, will keep very quiet."

What I wished most of all at that moment was to see the man's face. His effrontery, his astonishing recklessness, inspired me with the deepest curiosity. I thought that Marcel and I had shown considerable presumption, but we were children, raw beginners, compared with this man.

"What do you want?" asked Sir William, at last.

"First, that you and your assistant put your hands upon the table, or else I shall have to bind you," replied Wildfoot.

Sir William frowned and choked again; but there was no recourse, and he and Vivian both laid their empty hands upon the table.

"That is better," said Wildfoot, in a pleased tone; "I know that it is undignified in you, but the good of our service demands it. And now for serious talk. I came to show you, Sir William, the insecurity of your position, and the great resources of the patriots."

"I must say," replied Sir William, "that I never before saw a man so anxious to give his side of the argument."

"Yes," replied Wildfoot, "I have been at some trouble and risk to do so."

I saw a faint gleam of humor appear in the eyes of Sir William, and I inferred that the quality of geniality or good fellowship in him, which perhaps made him such a poor soldier, was rising to the surface. He seemed to appreciate, to a slight degree at least, the humor of the situation. His eye suddenly sought mine, and then I distinctly saw a trace of amusement mingling with his perplexed and annoyed expression.

"You seem to have made sure of the attention of Lieutenant Melville and Lieutenant Graves," he said.

"I have no doubt that they can maintain their interest," replied Wildfoot, "and their present position is only temporary."

"You say that you came to show me the strength and resources of the colonists. Will you tell me how this is so?" asked Sir William.

"That I am here is the proof of it."

"It is true that you are here, but I have an idea, Captain Wildfoot, that you will not go away again."

"Why not?"

"I am hospitable. We need you. Philadelphia needs you."

"I know it, and so I shall come back again."

"No, we wish you to stay with us now."

I should have laughed at this point had not the gag been in my mouth, not at the conversation of Sir William and Wildfoot, but at the funny look on the face of Graves. He had a great sense of dignity and aristocratic importance, and it was hurt by the sudden intrusion of Wildfoot. I said: "Never mind, Graves, it will soon be over," but the words stopped short against that gag, and he did not hear them. I did not even hear them myself. Vivian, on the contrary, was bearing himself like a gentleman. He sat perfectly still, with his eyes either on Sir William or Wildfoot, and so far as I could see, his face was without expression. The three men who accompanied Wildfoot remained standing, but motionless, each with a cocked pistol in his hand. One stood with his face turned towards me, but every feature was hidden by a thick, bushy, black beard.

"So I take it, that you have done this thing merely in a spirit of bravado," said Sir William, "and I wish you to understand, Captain Wildfoot, that I thoroughly appreciate your daring. I could wish that you were one of us; in the king's service you would be a colonel at least, and not a mere rebel captain; moreover, your neck would be in no danger."

"But I would be colonel in a losing cause," replied Wildfoot, "and to tell the truth, Sir William, I enjoy my captaincy among the rebels, as you call them, much more than any man enjoys his colonelcy among the king's men. No, Sir William, I am happy where I am; then why seek unhappiness elsewhere?"