Philip Winwood Part 24

Philip knew, at the first word, the voice of Ned Faringfield. It took him not an instant to perceive who was a chief--if not _the_ chief--traitor in the affair, or to solve what had long been to him also a problem, that of Ned's presence in the rebel army. The recognition of voice had evidently not been mutual; doubtless this was because Philip's few words had been spoken huskily. Retaining his hoa.r.s.eness, and taking his cue from Ned's allusion to the dragoon cap, he replied:

"'Tis all right. You're our man, I see. Though I don't wear the dragoon cap, I come from New York about Captain Falconer's business."

"Then why the h.e.l.l didn't you give the word?" said Ned, releasing his pressure upon Philip's body.

"You didn't ask for it. Get up--you're breaking my back."

Ned arose, relieving Philip of all weight, but stood over him with a pistol.

"Then give it now," Ned commanded.

"I'll be hanged if you haven't knocked it clean out of my head,"

replied Philip. "Let me think a moment--I have the cursedest memory."

He rose with a slowness, and an appearance of weakness, both mainly a.s.sumed. He still held his sword, which, happily for him, had turned flat under him as he fell. When he was quite erect, he suddenly flung up the sword so as to knock the pistol out of aim, dashed forward with all his weight, and, catching Ned by the throat with both hands, bore him down upon his side among the briars, and planted a knee upon his neck. Instantly shortening his sword, he held the point close above Ned's eye.

"Now," said Phil, "let that pistol fall! Let it fall, I say, or I'll run my sword into your brain. That's well. You traitor, shall I kill you now? or take you into camp and let you hang for your treason?"

Ned wriggled, but finding that Philip held him in too resolved a grasp, gave up.

"Is it you, brother Phil?" he gasped. "Why, then, you lied; you said you came from New York, about Falconer's business. I'd never have thought _you'd_ stoop to a mean deception!"

"I think I'd better take you to hang," continued Philip. "If I kill you now, we sha'n't get the names of the other traitors."

"You wouldn't do such an unbrotherly act, Phil! I know you wouldn't.

You've too good a heart. Think of your wife, my sister--"

"Ay, the traitress!"

"Then think of my father; think of the mouth that fed you--I mean the hand that fed you! You'll let me go, Phil--sure you'll let me go.

Remember how we played together when we were boys. I'll give you the names of the other traitors. I'm not so much to blame: I was lured into this--lured by your wife--so help me G.o.d, I was--and you're responsible for her, you know. _You_ ought to be the last man in the world--"

Philip's mood had changed at thought of Ned's father; the old man's pride of the name, his secret and perilous devotion to the rebel cause: he deserved better of that cause than that his son should die branded as a traitor to it; and better of Phil than that by his hand that son should be slain.

"How can you let me have the names without loss of time, if I let you go, on condition of your giving our army a wide berth the rest of your days?" Philip asked, turning the captive over upon his back.

"I can do it in a minute, I swear," cried Ned. "Will you let me go if I do?"

"If I'm convinced they're the right names and all the names; but if so, and I let you go, remember I'll see you hanged if you ever show your face in our army again."

"Rest easy on that. I take you at your word. The names are all writ down in my pocketbook, with the share of money each man was to get. If I was caught, I was bound the rest should suffer, too. The book is in my waistcoat lining--there; do you feel it? Rip it out."

Philip did so, and, sitting on Ned's chest, with a heel ready to beat in his skull at a treacherous movement, contrived to strike a light and verify by the brief flame of the tow the existence of a list of names. As time was now of ever-increasing value, Philip took it for granted that the list was really what Ned declared it. He then possessed himself of Ned's pistol, and rose, intending to conduct him as far as to the edge of the camp, and to release him only when Philip should have given the alarm, so that Ned could not aid the approach of Falconer's party. But Philip had no sooner communicated this intention than Ned suddenly whipped out a second pistol from his coat pocket, in which his hand had been busy for some time, and aimed at him. Thanks to a spoiled priming, the hammer fell without effect.

"You double traitor!" cried Philip, rus.h.i.+ng upon Ned with threatening sword. But Ned, with a curse, bent aside, and, before Philip could bring either of his weapons into use, grappled with him for another fall. The two men swayed together an instant; then Philip once more shortened his sword and plunged the point into Ned's shoulder as both came down together.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n your soul!" cried Ned, and for the time of a breath hugged his enemy the tighter. But for the time of a breath only; the hold then relaxed; and Philip, rising easily from the embrace of the limp form, ran unimpeded to the road, mounted the waiting horse, and galloped to the rebel lines.

When our party, all the fatigue of the ride forgotten in a thrill of expectation, reached the spot where Ned Faringfield was to join us, our leader's low utterance of the signal, and our eager peerings into the wood, met no response. As we stood huddled together, there broke upon us from the front such a musketry, and there forthwith appeared in the open country at our left such a mult.i.tude of mounted figures, that we guessed ourselves betrayed, and foresaw ourselves surrounded by a vastly superior force if we stayed for a demonstration.

"'Tis all up, gentlemen!" cried Captain Falconer, in a tone of resignation, and without even an oath; whereupon we wheeled in disappointment and made back upon our tracks; being pursued for some miles, but finally abandoned, by the cavalry we had seen, which, as we did not learn till long afterward, was led by Winwood. We left some dead and wounded near the place where we had been taken by surprise; and some whose horses had been hurt were made prisoners.

For his conduct in all this business, an offer was made to Philip of promotion to a majority; but he firmly declined it, saying that he owed the news of our expedition to such circ.u.mstances that he chose not, in his own person, to profit by it.[6]

CHAPTER XIV.

_The Bad s.h.i.+lling Turns up Once More in Queen Street._

"This will be sad news to Mrs. Winwood, gentlemen," said Captain Falconer to Tom and me, as we rode toward the place where we should take the boats for New York. The day was well forward, but its gray sunless light held little cheer for such a silent, dejected crew as we were.

The captain was too much the self-controlled gentleman to show great disappointment on his own account, though he had probably set store upon this venture, as an opportunity that he lacked in his regular duties on General Clinton's staff, where he served pending the delayed enlistment of the loyalist cavalry troop he had been sent over to command. But though he might hide his own regrets, now that we were nearing Margaret, it was proper to consider our failure with reference to her.

"Doubtless," he went on, "there was treachery against us somewhere; for we cannot suppose such vigilance and preparation to be usual with the rebels. But we must not hint as much to her. The leak may have been, you see, through one of the instruments of her choosing--the man Meadows, perhaps, or--" (He stopped short of mentioning Ned Faringfield, whose trustworthiness on either side he was warranted, by much that he had heard, in doubting.) "In any case," he resumed, "'twould be indelicate to imply that her judgment of men, her confidence in any one, could have been mistaken. We'd best merely tell her, then, that the rebels were on the alert, and fell upon us before we could meet her brother."

We thought to find her with face all alive, expectant of the best news, or at least in a fever of impatience, and that therefore 'twould be the more painful to tell her the truth. But when the captain's servant let the three of us in at the front door (Tom and I had waited while Falconer briefly reported our fiasco to General Clinton) and we found her waiting for us upon the stairs, her face was pale with a set and tragic wofulness, as if tidings of our failure had preceded us.

There was, perhaps, an instant's last flutter of hope against hope, a momentary remnant of inquiry, in her eyes; but this yielded to despairing certainty at her first clear sight of our crestfallen faces.

"'Twas all for nothing, then?" she said, with a quiet weariness which showed that her battle with disappointment had been fought and had left her tired out if not resigned.

"Yes," said the captain, apparently relieved to discover that no storm of disappointment or reproach was to be undergone. "They are too watchful. We hadn't yet come upon your brother, when a heavy fire broke out upon us. We were lucky to escape before they could surround us. Nine of our men are missing."

She gave a shudder, then came to us, kissed Tom with more than ordinary tenderness, grasped my hand affectionately, and finally held the captain's in a light, momentary clasp.

"You did your best, I'm sure," she said, in a low voice, at the same time flas.h.i.+ng her eyes furtively from one to another as if to detect whether we hid any part of the news.

We were relieved and charmed at this resigned manner of receiving our bad tidings, and it gave me, at least, a higher opinion of her strength of character. This was partly merited, I make no doubt; though I did not know then that she had reason to reproach herself for our failure.

"And that's all you have to tell?" she queried. "You didn't discover what made them so ready for a surprise?"

"No," replied the captain, casually. "Could there have been any particular reason, think you? To my mind, they have had lessons enough to make them watchful."

She looked relieved. I suppose she was glad we should not know of her interview with Philip, and of the imprudent taunts by which she herself had betrayed the great design.

"Well," said she. "They may not be so watchful another time. We may try again. Let us wait until I hear from Ned."

But when she stole an interview with Bill Meadows, that worthy had no communication from Ned; instead thereof, he had news that Captain Faringfield had disappeared from the rebel camp, and was supposed by some to have deserted to the British. Something that Meadows knew not at the time, nor I till long after, was of the treasonable plot unearthed in the rebel army, and that two or three of the partic.i.p.ants had been punished for the sake of example, and the less guilty ones drummed out of the camp. This was the result of Philip's presentation to General Was.h.i.+ngton of the list of names obtained from Ned, some of the men named therein having confessed upon interrogation. Philip's account of the affair made it appear to Was.h.i.+ngton that his discovery was due to his accidental meeting with Ned Faringfield, and that Faringfield's escape was but the unavoidable outcome of the hand-to-hand fight between the two men--for Philip had meanwhile ascertained, by a personal search, that Ned had not been too severely hurt to make good his flight.

Well, there pa.s.sed a Christmas, and a New Year, in which the Faringfield house saw some revival of the spirit of gladness that had formerly prevailed within its comfortable walls at that season. Mr.

Faringfield, who had grown more gray and taciturn each year, mellowed into some resemblance to his former benevolent, though stately, self.

He had not yet heard of Ned's treason. His lady, still graceful and slender, resumed her youth. f.a.n.n.y, who had ever forced herself to the diffusion of merriment when there was cheerlessness to be dispelled, reflected with happy eyes the old-time jocundity now reawakened. My mother, always a cheerful, self-reliant, outspoken soul, imparted the cordiality of her presence to the household, and both Tom and I rejoiced to find the old state of things in part returned. Margaret, perhaps for relief from her private dejection, took part in the household festivities with a smiling animation that she had not vouchsafed them in years; and Captain Falconer added to their gaiety by his charming wit, good-nature, and readiness to please. Yet he, I made no doubt, bore within him a weight of dashed hopes, and could often have cursed when he laughed.

The happy season went, leaving a sweeter air in the dear old house than had filled it for a long time. All that was missing, it seemed to us who knew not yet as much as Margaret knew, was the presence of Philip. Well, the war must end some day, and then what a happy reunion! By that time, if Heaven were kind, I thought, the charm of Captain Falconer would have lost power over Margaret's inclinations, and all would be well that ended well.

One night in January, we had sat very late at cards in the Faringfield parlour, and my mother had just cried out, "Dear bless me, look at the clock!"--when there sounded a dull, heavy pounding upon the rear hall door. There were eight of us, at the two card-tables: Mr. Faringfield and his lady, my mother, Margaret and f.a.n.n.y, Mr. Cornelius, Tom, and myself. And every one of us, looking from face to face, showed the same thought, the same recognition of that half-cowardly, half-defiant thump, though for so long we had not heard it. How it knocked away the years, and brought younger days rus.h.i.+ng back upon us!