Part 32

How cold it was! how cold! She wondered how long she could sustain it. The longer she sat here in her wrap of otter fur the farther he would be on his way down the Keowee River. If only she could know that he had made good his escape! that she had atoned for the dreadful evil she had wrought in revealing his secret! Then indeed she would be happy! In liberating him, she argued, she had promoted no massacre of women and children. If aught that he had planned threatened them it was frustrated, for he was off and on his way out of the country, and she had aided his flight, nay, made it possible. If only she could know that he had won the river bank and found the canoe! Down and down the Savannah he would paddle the canoe, and a man in buckskins, the usual garb of the country,--for he would soon doff the woman’s habiliments,--would attract no attention from casual observers on the banks; and some night--some dark night soon--he would float out of Charlestown harbor, and finally be picked up by some French man-of-war or merchantman, so many there were then in the southern waters. The pursuit would undoubtedly take head in the opposite direction. Few would imagine it safer to flee directly toward the enemy’s stronghold rather than from it. They would follow him back into the Indian country, where he had friends, influence, the French prestige--a thousand reasons to command succor and concealment. But to Charlestown--into the lion’s mouth? In this instance the lion slept with his mouth open. Somehow she was sure no one would think of this resource but herself. She would give him all the time she could, a good start ahead of all possible pursuit. Six hours it might be, if she could so long endure the cruel cold, before the noise of his escape should be bruited abroad. The noonday meal was just concluded. The British soldier was presumed to eat no supper; at least, only two meals were furnished him, except on the frontier, where to content him the better, perhaps, on the theory that the road to his heart lay through his stomach, a third was served. This came a little before the hour of retreat. She wondered if the prisoners shared in this extra refection. She had an idea that then at all events she must needs call in the guard; she would be able to endure it no longer.

As she sat crouching and still in the only chair of the bleak and bare apartment, her attention was attracted by a crystalline tinkle against the glass of the window. She thought it must be snowing afresh. Presently she rose, stood upon the chair, for the window was exceedingly high, to be out of the reach of any enterprising prisoner, and then she stepped noiselessly upon the table. Looking upward through the grimy glass she could see the whirl of dizzy flakes against the sky. A tumultuous storm it was. A man fleeing through it would be invisible. It would render pursuit impracticable, so long as it should continue. Her heart gave a great throb of triumph. The afternoon was wearing on. The light was dulling fast, and unless a barricade of ice should impede the flow of the river these few hours’ start would mean freedom to a man fleeing for his life!

Reassured, invigorated, she stepped slowly, softly down from the table to the chair, and then from the chair to the floor. She seated herself anew in silence, in loneliness, muffled to her eyebrows in her otter furs, and listening to the gay snatches of song about the great flaring hearth in the guardroom.

And it was cold, it was very cold!

During the afternoon Jock Lesly decided to tramp over to the fort. He had a desire to compare views with Captain Howard and expatiate on the incident of the capture, so full of import to them both,--to the soldier as representing the military element, and the trader the mercantile interests of the post. He had scarcely stretched out his smoking boots to the fire, seated in the officer’s comfortable quarters, than Captain Howard introduced the subject of the weather in reference to the prisoner, intending to thank the trader for the consideration he had manifested in sending blankets to the fort, in view of the arctic temperature.

“We ought to consider our obligations to the helpless,” said the officer, “but, as far as I am concerned, Gad, sir, I’m kept so short for funds that it is often like letting a faithful soldier and servant of the king go cold in order to house and blanket and warm some miscreant enemy to the whole community.”

“Ou, aye, weel,” said auld Jock, a trifle out of countenance, “I’m obleeged for your sarmon, sir. D’ye mean ye think I ought to blanket an’ mainteen the king’s prisoners at bed an’ board?”

“No, oh no,” exclaimed the officer. “I only meant to thank you for the blankets and furs and so on that your daughter brought over to-day, kindly bethinking herself of the likelihood that the prisoner would be neglected. In truth we have been surprisingly short, and if the soldiers were not young and strong and had not a good deal of red blood in their veins, I should expect to hear that some of them had frozen stiff.”

“Wow, man, to be plain, I never heard o’ thae blankets afore!” Jock Lesly confessed. “The lassie helpit her nainsel’, as she has a perfect right to do, and I sall ne’er say her nay. All my gear an’ hoardings will be hers ane day. An’ I doubt not she’ll find some feckless ne’er-do-weel of a husband ter fling it a’ awa’. But it’s hers, it’s a’ hers. I wark for nane else, but,” with an anxious pause and a keen glance, “did ye notice whether it was the lamb’s wool or the yowe’s wool blankets that the bairn had?”

“I did not see them at all,” said the officer hastily. “I only assured her that she should have them all back safe, and bade her distribute them to her own satisfaction.”

Jock Lesly rose to his feet. This was a topic on which he could not rest in uncertainty. She might give away the blankets as she would, but his curiosity as to which quality she had seen fit to take actually burned him. He presently went tramping across the parade, and Captain Howard, looking after him smilingly, little dreamed of the errand that was to bring him back again.

The dull dreary evening, with the snow still dizzily whirling, was closing in. Indeed but for the ghastly illumination of the reflection from the snow on the ground, it would now be dark. The peaked roof of the trading-house looming up among the flakes before Jock Lesly knew that he was near it, so stanchly he strode through the deep drifts, was of a benignant aspect to his mind, and he loved it. As he sounded a whistle, that Duncan or Dougal or whatever henchman awaited his coming should perceive his arrival and admit him to the domestic fortress, he noticed how the smoke was flaring up from that flue of the chimney devoted to the hearth so craftily hidden below. His heart warmed at the thought of his ingleside in his subterranean home.

“I hinna seen my bairn a’ the day but by a wee gliff here awa’ an’ there awa’. If the lassie were in Charlestoun now I couldna believe it,” he said to himself as he heard the clatter of the bars falling within. “I’ll mak her sing some o’ thae auld sangs the nicht, when her voice sounds sae like her mither’s, an’ then me an’ the gillie-packmen an’ Luckie Meg will a’ sing the chorus an’ drink some flip. An’ it can snaw an’ sleet, an’ the wind can blaw an’ bleat, an’ awa’ doun there by the red ingle-neuk we’se never ken it at a’.”

Nevertheless when he was inside and the door secured anew, he said to the under-trader, who stood swinging the lantern, “Dougal, whilk o’ thae bales o’ blankets did Miss Lilias open the morn,--the lamb’s wool or the yowe’s wool? An’ how mony did she send to the fort?”

Dougal Micklin opened his eyes wide. “Neither the ane nor the t’ other!” he exclaimed jealously. “An’ what for suld she send blankets to the fort?”

But Jock Lesly would not believe this. Had he not the word of the recipient of her bounty, that is the commandant of the fort,--and he truly thought that Howard must have suggested it!--that she had given him the trader’s blankets to wrap up his prisoner?

“For whether it’s the lamb’s wool or the yowe’s wool, they are baith verra gude, and ower gude to be given awa’ gratis,” Jock Lesly argued. “For sic-like emergencies we brought them out frae Carolina, not for the summer time! We forecast that cauld weather might catch thae carles at the fort without kiver, and Captain Howard might buy them, not beg them. He is the commandant of his majesty’s fort, not a gaberlunzie man! It’s his bounden duty, even suld it cost him a wee penny o’ thae short funds he bleats about, to protect his captives frae suffering frae the inclement weather as a humane man, and as a commandant it’s in the reg’lar way o’ business. I never heard o’ sic a request onless it was made o’ Providence. We’se a’ ask Providence for _onything_,--even to forgie us our debts that we made oursel’s,--an’ I’ll be bound Captain Howard wad say, ‘Forgie us our debts, _an’ interest on same_!’”

He began to laugh satirically, then became suddenly silent, for as the lantern swung before a row of shelves, the light revealed the blankets in question, duly baled, with not a cord cut nor a fold shaken out.

He did not wait for the under-trader to complete a laudatory account of them, upon which Dougal had launched out as if he sought to sell them to auld Jock himself, but which was purely mechanical, declaring that they were of a fine quality and a heavy weight and could not be had cheaper in Charlestown, notwithstanding the great expense of carriage to the trader; that they were no designed for the Indian trade but for such gentles as might--

“Be at the fort an’ afeard o’ freezin’,” interrupted Jock Lesly sardonically. “But thae gentles would rather warm their taes at a guinea than in a blanket that they have to pay for, man! ‘Forgie us interest on same!’” And down Jock Lesly went upon the rungs of his ladder and into his ain ha’ house.

Very cheerful it looked. The supper was already on the board, the hearth swept, and the fire flaring. The little flax-wheel at which Lilias sat so often at night was at one side, silent and motionless, and great buffalo-skins lay before the hearth. No lamp glowed from the little chamber beyond, and Jock Lesly stopped short at the sight of the black darkness within.

“Where is Miss Lilias, Luckie?” he asked of old Meg, busied in brewing the tea.

“I dinna ken,” she replied casually; then looking up, she added, “In the tradin’-house maist likely. She has been flittin’ in an’ out a’ the day, except for the last twa hours or sae.”

“There is not a soul in the trading-house!” cried Jock Lesly, with a sudden cold clutch at his heart.

Snatching a candle from the table he quickly searched her little chamber, the passage, the anteroom, all in vain! It was but a small place after all, this ha’ house, and easily traversed.

Then he called her, his great rich resonant voice sounding from ceiling to floor, from wall to wall, evoking a train of echoes, and alack with so grievous a tremor in it that in listening the tears could but start. The gillies, the under-trader had scoured every nook and cranny in the trading-house and found naught. They looked at each other with white scared faces, each repeating in astonishment at intervals, as if they could not credit the marvel, “She isna here! She isna here!”

Jock Lesly, with an awful sense of responsibility, thought of his wife, dead so long ago,--had he thus discharged the sacred trust of the care of their only child!

There was not a moment to be lost, although perhaps hours had already been wasted. Jock Lesly’s stanch courage rallied to meet the emergency. All his life hereafter he might expend in grief, but the present belonged to Lilias, and every force it could compass should be consecrated to her service. He plunged through the whirl of snow, still falling in the dense darkness; the tears that had poured unrestrained, unheeded, shed unconsciously down his white cheeks, froze upon them, and tiny icicles trembled upon his eyelashes. But he did not sob; his breath held steady; his teeth were set, his every nerve was tense, controlling his great physical strength that it might better seize any opportunity of her rescue. The under-trader distinctly remembered having seen her early in the afternoon returning from the fort and walking with her collie toward the river. The collie had since reached home, and with this testimony that she was no longer in the securities of Fort Prince George they gathered the little group of packmen about them in a close squad, and looking grimly to the priming of their pistols they forcibly searched the Muscogee camp just outside the works, thinking those troublous half-drunken wights might have intercepted her as she came from the fort with the intention of holding her for ransom when the terror at her disappearance should be at the maximum.

Although taken by surprise and obviously astounded by the accusation, the Muscogees could furnish no information, and their camp betrayed not a trace of her presence. This hope dashed, the party followed successively every glimmering _ignis fatuus_ of a possibility that each could suggest; one remembered that a settler’s wife had a child named in compliment “Lilias,” and as it was suddenly ill and near to death, she might have visited it; another recounted the fact that an old Indian woman near Keowee fascinated her with antiquated fables, which she valued and loved to hear; another, upheld by superstition, insisted on repairing to Keowee to consult the cheerataghe and have them work a spell to reveal her whereabouts; and while this was in progress Jock Lesly required the headmen to search the town and the adjacent series of Cherokee habitations, once almost consecutive, from Kulsage (Sugar Town), about a mile above and even at that time extending far down the valley, toward the site of Sinica, burned by the British during the Cherokee War. Hours passed in these fruitless efforts, and at last, when each lure had finally flickered out in the darkness of despair, Jock Lesly turned again as a final hope to the fort. He would consult the last man who saw her there, the sentry at the gate, for perchance she might have expressed to him some inkling of her intention to go elsewhere than home. The gillies all eager, zealous, plunging through the drifts followed him; now and again they fell over the submerged stumps of the clearing and wandered out of their course and far afield, but Jock Lesly as if by instinct avoided every impediment, and albeit the whirl of flakes obscured all intimation of that blended glimmer and hazy aureola that were wont to mark the site of the fort by night, he reached the gate as unerringly as if the bastions, the barracks, the flag on the tower of the block-house were flaunting in the bold light of day.

None was so swift as he of all the light young fellows, but a moment after the sentry’s challenge rang upon the chill night air he heard the ice of the broad moat crack with a great splash, as Duncan, mistaking the direction of the gate, fell into the frozen water of the ditch, and much splutter and torrid exclamations as he scrambled out. The noise attracted the attention of the sentinel in the tower of the block-house, and the sharp report of his musket, as he fired a warning into the air, brought out the main-guard before the corporal could reach the sentry at the gate.

In another moment there was a great commotion upon the parade, erstwhile so dark and silent. A shifting of lanterns here and there threw long cone-shaped shafts of light down the snowy expanse, illuminating in limited sections a log building near at hand, with its drift-laden eaves and window-sills, and all the atmosphere a silent, palpitating mysterious motion as the flakes still whirled. The glitter of the scarlet and steel of the armed guard, its expectant aggressive mien, its quick tramp and alert bearing might seem to offer a sort of reassurance with its note of ready confidence. And indeed Jock Lesly’s hope revived, albeit the jaunty military manner of the young officer of the day was at variance with his anxious intent troubled face, revealed by the lantern held aloft that he might descry his visitor’s care-worn white lineaments.

“Help you to find a trace? See the last man who saw her? That must be the sentry at the gate--and the next, the prisoner himself.”

As to learn from the officer of the guard the name of the sentinel who had been posted at the gate at that hour and since relieved was a work of more or less time, the interval could obviously be employed in interrogating the prisoner himself as to the possible intimations of her immediate intentions that Lilias might have expressed when she quitted his cell. The permission of the commandant would be necessary,--but here suddenly was the commandant himself, roused from sleep by the stir, and with his voice kind and reassuring.

“Never fear, dear fellow,” he said, passing his arm fraternally through the quaking Lesly’s, “we’ll find her if we have to search the Indian country inch by inch. They’ll never dare to harm her, for they will hold her for ransom. I can feel for you, for have I not two daughters of my own?”

But as they strode together through the guardroom, with its flaring fire and its tramping, thronging, military inmates, and opened the inner door to the dark and chill military prison beyond, Captain Howard’s sentiments fell far the other side of friendly, for there, her golden head pillowed on the hard table, her mantle of otter fur drawn close about her ears, her feet perched upon the rung of the chair, sat fast asleep the trader’s daughter, while the great flakes of snow jingled crystalline and keen against the glass of the window, and the dark hours merged deep into the mid-glooms of the night.

And Captain Howard’s valuable prisoner was gone! His prisoner--whom valiant men had risked their lives to secure. His prisoner--whom hundreds of miles of cruel forced marches, privations incredible, and dangers unnumbered had brought at last to his door. His prisoner--whom other commanders had tried in vain to take, for whose capture many other plans of specious wiles had failed and fallen short. His prisoner--on whose triumphant delivery to the military and civil authorities in Charlestown his majority depended. This prisoner--gone, gone! And in his stead, in his secure cell with not a bar broken, not a sentry bribed, no vigilance relaxed, was a girl, just awakened, half frozen, all bewildered and beginning to cry.

Jock Lesly caught the officer’s first outburst of dismay and surprise and rage as a man might a blow, putting up his arm to guard his face.

“Hegh, Captain,” he said, his hand clasping the girl’s as she cowered and blinked before the light that coldly fell upon the bare walls, the high window, the dusty floor, all infinitely bleak and gloomy. “I’se gae nae furder in a’ this gear! Let but the bairn get to the fire! I confess! I’m bound to confess! My heart can haud sic a care o’ deceit nae langer! ’Twas me that planned to liberate the callant! I sent the lassie here to win ye by a trick an’ to turn him loose drest in sic gear as hers an’ to tak his place. ’Twas _me_, Captain, an’ I surrender!”

Great as were the variant urgencies of the situation, the cold coerced the group mechanically toward the fire in the guardroom, and they stood on the broad hearth, the soldiers withdrawing a few paces to give them space. The glittering muskets had been all stacked anew; the open door showed a broad lane of light gleaming down the snowy parade outside, the flakes still madly whirling. Captain Howard in his hastily assumed military uniform, with his ungartered hose wrinkled and loose, and evidently unconscious that he still wore a red flannel nightcap with a queer tassel, had a touch of the grotesque, in contrast with the dapper perfection of the ensign’s regimentals with his up-all-night expectation as officer of the day. All looked in dismay, in growing anger, in gathering doubt at Jock Lesly.

The trader stanchly returned their gaze. The shoulders of his great match-coat were covered with snow, which was beginning to drip as it thawed with the heat of the fire, and he held pressed close to his side his golden-haired daughter. She was fully awake now, and looking out with alert, wide-eyed expectation from her mantle of otter fur drawn partially over her head.

“Jock Lesly,” cried the captain, “you are lying! Why should you, always a loyal subject, with the interest of your trade dependent upon the preservation of the peace with the Cherokees, set free this turbulent Laroche, this stirrer-up of strife along the frontier?”

“Ou,--ay,” said Jock Lesly, holding up his chin and gazing about him speculatively as if he looked for his inspiration in the air, “a’ that is verra true; but this lad hae eat o’ my salt up in the Tennessee country, an’”--

“You are lying!” cried the officer angrily, “and if you were not, it would be as much as my life is worth to tell you so, even with my guard around me! You know, and I know, that the child did it of her own accord,--and for what, missy? Why did you liberate the man?”

“Ye’ll no ask the bairn questions, Captain Howard!” interposed Jock Lesly angrily. “I stand here ready to tak the responsibility an’ answer for the deed! The lassie is no accountable for what she says! She’s cauld, half starved! I surrender! I surrender! It’s no the lassie’s will that brought her here! I sent her! ’Twas me, her cruel father! She is cauld! I surrender! I”--

“I let the prisoner out!” said Lilias suddenly, and her voice rang in that grim guardroom like some sweet string of a harp, keyed so high above any vibrations to which it was accustomed, yet rich and resonant with its fullness of tone. “I let him out because he was betrayed by my word. I tauld Callum MacIlvesty that he was French, for he had avowed it to me; but I was thinkin’ then ’twas known to a’ the warld, an’ sae Callum MacIlvesty tauld you, Captain Howard, that he was no Tam Wilson, as Lieutenant Everard took him to be, but French, and ye sent to tak him. An’ now since I hae nae treachery to answer for,--for _I_’m no keeper o’ the guard-house here,--I’ll gae to gaol or where ye will wi’ a free heart. I care na for naught!”