9 The Result of a Trial



Culverhouse and I were roused one morning from a state of dejection by Graham, who approached us with a bustling air that indicated important news, ripe for the telling. He gave us the gist of the matter at once. Mr. Pitt had become prime minister, and the King’s forces in America would be roused from disgraceful slumber. Mr. Pitt’s name was guarantee of that.

Graham surmised also that Loudoun had let slip his opportunities, that his day in America was done. This we found to be a very safe conclusion, for it was soon known that he had been recalled, and when at last he departed he was unregretted by all save a few companions of his pleasures. Of his successor, General Abercrombie, many had high hopes.

When these changes had been made, there was no longer any doubt that we would start soon for the north. In the bustle of preparation I met Marion in the city. I told her that we would march in three days. She wished me luck, and that I might come back a general, and we parted like brother and sister. Marion was a good girl, and had little of her father’s sour nature. As in duty bound, I paid my farewell respects to Mr. Arthur also. In the quarrels that had arisen between the English and the Americans during Loudoun’s occupation he had become more English than ever, and there was no improvement in the feeling which we held toward each other. He was very chilly, and trusted that I would not forget my duty to my King. I responded that I would not, nor would I forget my duty to my colony either. My tone indicated that, while I mentioned the colony last, I considered it first. He understood it so, and turned abruptly to his desk, resuming some writing upon which he had been engaged when I entered. So I left him. After many mighty heaves and false starts, the army put itself in motion at last, and in time we reached Albany, upon which we fell like a plague, though, to tell the truth, a part of our forces had been there a long time already, and the Dutchmen had grown somewhat accustomed to them, just as we can learn to bear almost any evil.

I knew many people in Albany, and there was ample opportunity to renew old acquaintances. But I heard at once of a matter that amazed and concerned me greatly. The seigneur and his daughter had gone no farther than Albany—in fact, were held there on a charge of conniving with a French spy who had been taken in the city, but had escaped a day later. I leaped at once to the conclusion that this spy was the mean looking fellow whom Louise and I had seen in the city, but I was convinced as firmly as ever that neither she nor her father had any part in his actions.

My first purpose was to see the seigneur and his daughter as soon as possible. I learned that they were kept in a kind of easy captivity at the house of one Philip Evertsen, a fur trader. I had sufficient influence to procure an order admitting me to their presence, and as soon as I could obtain leave I started to Evertsen’s house, near the fort on the hill behind the town.

Albany interests me, and even then, with an anxious mind, I did not fail to look about at what was passing. Nearly all our great expeditions against the French and the Indians of Canada have been fitted out at Albany, and the Dutch people had grown so familiar with the presence of soldiery that they continued the pursuit of shillings and pence with unbroken calm.

I walked up the great street that ascended from the river to the fort, with its strips of grass and its busy life passing and repassing around the guardhouse, the townhall, and the churches. Verily these worthy Dutchmen could instruct our own New York merchants in some of the arts of trade. The Iroquois used to complain that the Dutch managed to get their furs from them for nothing, and there were many quarrels about it. I won’t say that the Iroquois told falsehoods.

The evening was almost at hand, and the day’s, business was subsiding. The rows of curious Dutch houses on either side, all with their gable ends to the street, and each with its grassy yard, its well, its neatly cultivated garden and great shade trees, looked very thrifty and comfortable. In the big front porch, of which each house had one, the women folks were gathering and talking from one house to another over the dividing fences.

The cows which had been pasturing on the great common at the end of the town walked calmly down the street as they returned home in the evening, their bells tinkling at their necks, caring nothing for the presence of the red-coated soldiers.

Every cow stopped in front of the door of its owner, and there it was milked, the children sitting on the steps, eager of eye, cup or porringer in hand, waiting for their share. Truly the Dutch, whatever may be their faults—and they may be much less than those of some other people—know how to live.

I heard the evening trumpets from the fort, and the twilight was at hand when I reached Evertsen’s house. Two soldiers stood guard at the door, but my written order passed me in without trouble. By the Dutch handmaiden who received me I sent my compliments to the Seigneur de St. Maur and his daughter, and requested the honor of seeing them. I waited with eagerness in the little Dutch parlor, for it had been a long time now since I had seen Louise de St. Maur. She came alone, saying that her father was taking a walk with his friendly jailer, Mr. Evertsen. She was as beautiful as ever, more so to me, and when she gave me her hand she smiled so warmly that I knew she looked upon me as a good friend in a hostile land. I told her of those whom she had known in New York, and then I asked about the detention of her father and herself in Albany. I felt that I knew her well enough to put such a question.

“It was by order of General Abercrombie,” she said. “You will recall the man whom we saw in New York the day of the excursion and the storm. He was a Frenchman—a spy, as you have perhaps guessed. I knew him, but neither I nor my father had before known anything of his presence there. He was taken here, and escaped the next day, but he remained in captivity long enough to say that he knew us. Since then suspicion has been directed against us, and General Abercrombie has refused to pass us through his lines to our own people. He says he will dispose of us after he has disposed of Montcalm.”

Then she added with a sparkle of patriotic fire:

“A great army is gathered here, and they talk of beating the French as if it were already done. The English do not seem to learn from experience.”

“But the French can scarce expect to beat such an army as we have now,” I said.

The seigneur returned presently with Evertsen, and I found him as proud and as great a figure as ever, but his welcome to me was most gratifying. He made an amendment to his daughter’s statement that his case was not to be disposed of until after the campaign, as he had just received a message to appear before General Abercrombie on the following day.

I bade them adieu, much moved by the injustice of Abercrombie toward them, and resolved to assist them if I could find a way, though I was aware that any testimony I might give would be to their prejudice instead of their favor, since I was the only positive witness that Mlle. de St. Maur had known of the spy’s presence in New York, and that she had seen him there.

Nevertheless, I resolved to be present at the examination of the seigneur, and I set about the task of managing it, which was not so difficult as it might have seemed. I discovered that General Abercrombie, Lord Howe, who was second in command, and some other distinguished officers were temporary guests at the house of Mrs. Schuyler, in the meadows beyond the town, the same Mrs. Schuyler who was the aunt of our General Schuyler of the Revolution, and a very fine woman, too, as everybody said who knew her.

Through my acquaintance with Mrs. Schuyler, and some social influence which I was able to exert indirectly, I procured an invitation to take luncheon with other officers at her house the next day. With the lax methods of discipline—or rather indiscipline, if I may coin such a word—prevailing among us, I thought by the use of a fair degree of wit I could prolong my stay there throughout the afternoon.

Upon arrival at Mrs. Schuyler’s at the appointed hour on the following day, I was introduced to General Abercrombie, whom I had seen before, but had never met. We had hoped much of him, and there had been great talk of his valor, skill, and force of mind, but the sight of him was never encouraging to me. He was heavy of both body and countenance. His face was puffed and inflamed with rich food and drink, and he had the droop of an old man, though he was but a year or two past fifty. It was said in Albany, so I soon heard, that he was perhaps a trifle less frivolous than Loudoun, but a better hand at the table.

“So you are coming with us to learn how war should be made,” he said to me with the lofty condescension becoming a British general to a colonial subaltern.

I said that I was, and humbly trusted that I would have some small part in the great events to come.

“You provincials may do well enough as scouts, guides, skirmishers, and that sort of thing,” he said, “but when the heavy work comes I think that we will have to trust to the British bayonet.”

He took a pinch of snuff and looked critically at me.

I felt like telling him that it was bad policy to say such things to the provincials, who formed at least half his army. Even I, a subaltern, knew the folly of talk like that. But then the British were in the habit of saying them, although all the facts were against them, and they did not seem to care for the result.

“I think, general, that the lieutenant will be as sure to do his duty as if he were born and bred a Briton,” said a young man, stepping forward from a corner of the room, where I had not noticed him before.

His interposition in my behalf caused me to look at him with great interest, and my interest was increased by his frank manners, his fine, open face, the kindliness of his eye, and his youth—he was only a year or two past thirty.

It was my first meeting with Lord Howe, the one British general in that war who understood both English and Americans, was loved by both, and who knew how to make use of both. How different things would have been years later had all the British officers then been such as he!

General Abercrombie did not seem to resent Lord Howe’s interference. In fact, he let the earl have his way in military matters, which was the one piece of good sense that he showed. I heard afterward that Pitt intended Howe to be the real moving spirit of the campaign, prompting and directing the sluggish Abercrombie.

Abercrombie sauntered off to make gallant speeches to some of the ladies who were present, and Lord Howe, drawing me to a window, where we were a little apart from the others, began to question me about the troops who had arrived from New York, the feeling among the men and officers of my rank, their condition, and what they expected from the campaign. He showed so much understanding, and his manner was so sympathetic and so kind, that I was moved to make an appeal to him in behalf of the seigneur and his daughter. Though I omitted the meeting with the spy in New York, I told him I knew the de St. Maurs well, and was confident the seigneur had not sought to abuse his mission into our colony and use it for any covert purposes.

He listened to me very attentively.

“You take much interest in them, do you not?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“In which do you take the greater interest, the seigneur or his daughter?”

I was a trifle confused, but, as I saw a twinkle in his eye, I knew there was no necessity for an answer. Then he added:

“This matter is to be disposed of by the general this afternoon before the council of the officers is held. It does not seem to me that there is proof upon which we can continue to hold the seigneur in violation of his safe conduct, though, of course, you will not quote me as saying so, as General Abercrombie is in supreme command here.”

There was a great party at luncheon, mostly British, however. General Abercrombie found the wine good, and showed his appreciation of it in large measure, whereupon he grew very mellow, and when the gentlemen were alone in the parlor afterward told stories which it were better not to repeat. After a little of this, which went a long way, Lord Howe whispered something to him, and he announced with pompous gravity that the time for wit and humor had passed, and we must now dispose of a serious matter. I was by far the lowest in rank then in the room, but General Abercrombie made no objection to my presence. I suppose Lord Howe had prepared that for me. Then he dispatched a messenger for the seigneur, who came speedily, escorted by two soldiers.

The soldiers stopped at the drawing-room door, and the seigneur entered, walking directly toward General Abercrombie. He was the old lion all over, haughty and fierce, and looking much more fit to try the general than the general was to try him. Lord Howe courteously invited him to take a seat. He declined at first, but when the earl insisted he accepted. He took no note of me, but he must have seen me.

General Abercrombie was yet mellow with his wine, otherwise I doubt whether even he would have held this little court in such an informal manner. He stated in a rambling way that the Seigneur Raymond de St. Maur was accused of conniving with one Jean Leloir, a French spy who had been taken and escaped, but who before escaping had said he was a friend of the seigneur, then within the English lines on a mission connected with exchange of prisoners.

The seigneur, in a manner of the utmost coldness and haughtiness, said he knew no one named Jean Leloir, nor any spy of any name whatever; whereupon I assumed that the spy had given a false name, and that Mlle. Louise had never told her father about the meeting. At the end of his denial the seigneur said that he made the statement voluntarily, that he did not recognize the right of the English commander in chief to detain him or to question him, inasmuch as he was within the lines by agreement of the hostile forces, and on an errand recognized by the military laws of all civilized nations.

General Abercrombie flushed very red at the stinging and I think deserved reproach, and would have made some insulting answer, but his good mentor. Lord Howe, was at his elbow, and restrained him. Instead, he asked him some questions about his movements at New York and Albany, to all of which the seigneur returned such prompt and clear answers that it was obvious to every mind present not muddled that he could have had no connection with the spy.

General Abercrombie seemed to be disappointed. Lord Howe whispered to him, but he shook his head, and this time seemed bent upon having his way. He ordered that the seigneur be taken into an adjoining room and be kept there for the present. The seigneur retired, his expression half amusement, half contempt.

“There is a lady, M. de St. Maur’s daughter, who is concerned in this case,” said General Abercrombie. “We must have her testimony also.—Lord Howe, will you send for her at once?”

The earl immediately turned to me and asked me to bring Mlle. de St. Maur. I was grateful to him for having chosen me, which I knew he had done from deliberation, but it was not a time or place to thank him, and, as soon as I received the written order to the sentinel at the Evertsen house, I hurried away.

I found mademoiselle somewhat anxious over the result of the examination. I told her that her turn had come now, and bade her to be of courage, as we had a powerful friend in Lord Howe. But my attempt to animate her was not needed. She said with great spirit that if the English expected to win campaigns by such methods it did not become a Frenchman or a Frenchwoman to seek to prevent them. I perceived that she was a true daughter of France, and I was quite confident that she would be able to hold her own in the presence of Abercrombie and all the others.

We attracted attention as we walked through the streets, which contained much soldiery, including some officers, but, with mademoiselle upon my arm, I passed them all, ignoring their looks. I escorted mademoiselle directly to the drawing room where General Abercrombie and the others awaited her. Lord Howe was standing at a window, but he turned about the moment we entered, and I saw a look of admiration upon his face. He hastened forward to escort Mlle. de St. Maur to a chair, and was of such exceeding courtesy that my liking for him, already strong, increased much.

Most of the officers had withdrawn, but all present rose when she entered, except General Abercrombie. I supposed that he had forgotten the courtesy because he had partaken so freely of the good wine. I gave him that much credit. He was sitting in a great cushioned chair, with his face partly turned away from us, and did not seem to think it worth while to turn about when we entered.

Lord Howe, with the same decision and kindliness, for which I again thanked him, took the matter in hand. He explained with the greatest courtesy that Mlle. de St. Maur and her father were suspected of complicity with a French spy named Leloir, and General Abercrombie was compelled to ask her some questions.

“Very well,” said Louise with quite a haughty air. “Ask them.”

Lord Howe bent over General Abercrombie’s chair a moment, and then said:

“The general wishes to ask you, Mlle. de St. Maur, if you know this man Jean Leloir?”

“I do not know any Jean Leloir, nor had I ever heard the name until this charge was made against us,” she replied.

General Abercrombie seemed satisfied, but the earl whispered to him a moment. Then he said:

“Your father has never spoken to you of knowing any one in Canada named Leloir?”

“No.”

“No Frenchman in disguise has ever communicated with you or your father either in New York or Albany?”

“No.”

“So far as you know, your father has confined himself strictly to his legitimate errand—the exchange of prisoners?”

“Yes.”

All this was the strict truth.

The earl whispered to the general again. I was devoutly thankful to him for prompting General Abercrombie so successfully.

“The general is satisfied with your replies and those of your father,” said the earl. “He believes they are the truth, and regrets that the matter should have hung on so long and discommoded you so much.”

“I thank you and him, my lord,” said Mlle. Louise.

“He asks me to say to you,” continued the earl, “that your safe conduct will be renewed at once, and you will be passed as soon as you wish within the French lines.”

“I thank you again, my lord,” said Louise with a bright smile.

“Lieutenant Charteris,” said the earl, turning to me, “you will assist in carrying out General Abercrombie’s wishes and orders by escorting Mlle. de St. Maur and her father to their quarters. See that they receive every attention in Mr. Evertsen’s power.”

I rose to cross the room and carry out my orders, and in doing so I obtained a full view of General Abercrombie’s face, and perceived that he was sleeping soundly. Even as we passed through the door in search of the seigneur his snore rose upon the peaceful air and permeated the apartment.

Just how the earl broke the news of the verdict to the general I never knew, for Abercrombie always kept silent about the matter, as I am sure I, too, would have done had I been in his place.

When I had escorted the seigneur and his daughter to Mr. Evertsen’s house, I returned to Mrs. Schuyler’s to get further orders from the earl. But when I entered the hall I saw a round dozen of our American colonels gathered there, all red with wrath, and some swearing with vigor and profusion. I knew one of them, Edgerton, of Connecticut, and I felt privileged to ask him what the trouble might be.

“You know the old claim of the British officers,” he said, “that rank in the provincial armies amounts to nothing as compared with theirs. An order has just arrived from London directing that a provincial colonel shall never outrank a captain of British regulars. We’ve come to the general’s council, but we’re denied admission, as at best we’re only equal to captains in rank.”

I left, wondering at this latest proof of British tact. As an officer of the Royal Americans, my commission came from the King, and I was in his pay, but my sympathies were all for my countrymen. Mine truly was a sword of two and rival camps, and I was catching the dust of both.