3 A Shot from the Window

Whitestone and I held a small conference in the dark. Though regretting that the matter had ended in such tragic way, we believed we had done a great thing, and I am not loath to confess that I expected words of approval the next day when we would take the news of it to the army. We agreed that we must not relax our vigilance in the smallest particular, for where there was one plot there might be a dozen. Whitestone went down into the valley while I remained near the house.

In my lonely watch I had great space for thought. I was grieved by my discoveries in regard to Kate Van Auken. Of a truth she was nothing to me, being betrothed, moreover, to Chudleigh the Englishman; but we had been children together, and it was not pleasing to believe her a patriot and find her a traitor. I could get no sort of satisfaction out of such thoughts, and turning them aside walked about with vigor in an attempt to keep myself from becoming very sleepy.

The moon was still showing herself, and I could see the house very well. No light had appeared in it since our last withdrawal, but looking very closely I saw what appeared to be a dark shadow at one of the windows. I knew that room to be Mistress Kate’s, and I surmised that she was there seeking to watch us. I resolved in return that I would watch her. I stepped back where I would be sheltered by a tree from her sight, and presently had my reward. The window was opened gently and a head, which could be none other than that of Kate, was thrust out a bit.

I could see her quite well, even the features of her face. She was looking very earnestly into the surrounding night, and of a truth anxiety was writ plainly on her countenance. She stretched her head out farther and examined all the space before the house. I was hidden from her gaze, but down in a corner of the yard she could see the sentinel pacing back and forth. She inspected him with much earnestness for some time, and then withdrew her head, closing the window.

I was of the opinion that some further mischief was afoot or intended, but the nature of it passed me. It seemed that what had happened already was not a sufficient warning to them. I began to walk around the house that I might keep a watch upon it from every point. Sleepiness no longer oppressed me. In truth, I forgot all about it.

I passed to the rear of the building and spoke to the sentinel stationed in the yard there. He had seen nothing of suspicious nature so far. I knew he was a faithful, watchful man, and that I could trust him. I left him and pushed my way between two large flower bushes growing very close together. Standing there, I beheld the opening of another window in the house. Again the head of Mistress Kate appeared, and precisely the same act as before was repeated. She looked about with the intentness and anxiety of a military engineer studying his ground. She saw the sentinel as she had seen his fellow before the house, and her eyes rested long upon him. Her examination finished, she withdrew, closing the window.

I set myself to deciphering the meaning of this, and of a sudden it flashed upon me with such force that I believed myself stupid not to have seen it before. Kate Van Auken herself was planning to go through our lines with the news of Burgoyne’s plight. She was a bold girl, not much afraid of the dark or the woods, and the venture was not beyond her. The conviction of the truth depressed me. I felt some regard for Kate Van Auken, whom I as a little boy had liked as a little girl, and I had slight relish for this task of keeping watch upon her. Even now I had caught her planning great harm to our cause.

I confess that I scarce knew what to do. Perhaps it was my duty, if the matter be considered in its utmost strictness, to arrest both the women at once as dangerous to our cause, and send them to the army. But such a course was quite beyond my resolution. I could not do it. Being unable to decide upon anything else, I continued my watch, determined that Mistress Kate should not escape from the house.

The moon withdrew herself and then there was an increase of darkness. Again I was thankful that I had been vigilant, for I saw a small door in the rear of the house open. I could not doubt that it opened to let forth Catherine Van Auken upon her traitorous errand. I made my resolution upon the instant. If she came out, I would seize her and compel her to return to the house in all quiet, in order that Whitestone and the others might not know.

My suspicions—my fears, in truth I may call them—were justified, for in a few moments her well-known figure appeared in the doorway all clothed about in a great dark cloak and hood, like one preparing for a long night’s journey. I retreated a little, for it was my purpose to draw her on and then catch her, when no doubt about her errand could arise.

She stood in the doorway for perhaps two minutes repeating her actions at the window; that is, she looked around carefully to note how we were watching. I could not see her face owing to the increase of darkness and her attitude, but I had no doubt the same anxiety and eagerness were writ there.

Presently she seemed to arrange her dark draperies in a manner more satisfactory and, stooping somewhat, came out of the house. The sentinel in this part of the yard was doing his duty and was as watchful as could be, but he could scarce see this shadow gliding along in the larger shadow of the rose bushes. I deemed it good fortune that I was there to see and prevent the flight. I would face her and confound her with the proof of her guilt.

She came on quite rapidly, and I shrank a little farther back into the rose bushes. Her course was directly toward me, and suddenly I rose up in the path. I expected her to show great surprise and to cry out after the fashion of women, but she did not. In truth I fancied I saw a start, but that was all. In a moment she whirled about and fled back toward the house with as little noise as the shadow she resembled. I had scarce recovered my presence of mind when she was halfway to the house, but I pursued in the effort to overtake her and confound her.

I observed that when she came forth she had shut the door behind her, but as she fled swiftly back it seemed to open of its own accord for her entrance. She passed within, disappearing like a ghost, and the door was shut with a snap almost in my face. I put my hands upon it and found it was very real and substantial perhaps a stout two inches in thickness.

I deliberated with myself for a moment or two and concluded to do nothing further in the matter. Perhaps it had turned out as well as might be, for I had stopped her errand, and her return, doubtless, had released me from unpleasant necessities.

I made no effort to force the door or to enter the house otherwise, but visited the sentinels, telling them to be of good caution, though I gave them no hint of what had happened.

I found Whitestone in the valley sitting on a stump and sucking at his pipe, which contained neither fire nor tobacco. He told me naught unusual had happened there. I took him back to the house with me, and together we watched about it until the coming of the day, without further event of interest.

Sunrise found my men and me very tired and sleepy, as we had a right to be, having been on guard near to twenty-four hours, with some very exciting things occurring in that long space. I awaited the relief which must come soon, for we were not iron men.

The sun had scarce swung clear of the earth when a door of the house was opened and Mistress Kate coming out, a pail in hand, walked lightly toward the well. I approached her, and she greeted me with an unconcern that amazed me.

“I trust that you enjoyed your night watch, Master Shelby?” she said.

“As well as was likely under the circumstances,” I replied. “I hope that you slept soundly?”

“Nothing disturbed us after your invasion of our house,” she said with fine calmness. “Now, will you help me draw this water? Since the approach of the armies there is no one left in the house save my mother and myself, and we must cook and do for ourselves.”

I helped draw the water, and even carried the filled pail to the house for her, though she dismissed me at the door. But she atoned partly for her scant courtesy by bringing us a little later some loaves of white bread, which she said she had baked with her own hands, and which we found to be very good.

We had but finished breakfast when the soldiers who were to relieve us came, and right glad were we to see them. They were followed a few minutes later by the colonel in charge, to whom I related the affair of Captain Martyn, and to whom I showed the order commanding us to withdraw. He instantly pronounced it a forgery and commended us for staying.

“It was a traitorous attempt to get through our line,” he said, “but we are none the worse off, for it has failed.”

I said nothing of Kate Van Auken’s share in the conspiracy, but I told him the women in the house inclined strongly to the Tory side.

“I will see that the house is watched every moment of the day and night,” he said.

Then I felt easy in mind and went off to sleep.

When I awoke it was about two by the sun, and the afternoon was fine. I heard that fresh troops had arrived from the Massachusetts and New Hampshire provinces in the morning, and the trap was closing down on Burgoyne tighter than ever. Everybody said another great battle was coming, and coming soon. Even then I heard the pop-pop of distant skirmishing and saw an occasional red flash on the horizon.

I was eager to be at the front, but such duty was not for me then. As soon as I had eaten I was sent back with Sergeant Whitestone and the same men to keep watch at precisely the same point.

“Best take it easy,” said the sergeant consolingly. “If the big battle’s fought while we’re away we can’t get killed in it.”

Then he lighted the inevitable pipe, smoked, and was content.

I questioned very closely the men whom we relieved near the house, and they said there had been nothing to note. The elder woman had never come out of the house, but the younger had been seen in the yard several times, though she had naught to say, and seemed to be concerned not at all about anything.

I thought it best not to visit the house, and took my station with Whitestone in the valley, disposing the men in much the same manner as before. Whitestone puffed at his pipe with the usual regularity and precision, but some of his taciturnity was gone. He was listening to the sounds of the skirmishing which came to us fitfully.

“The bees are stinging,” said he. Then he added, with a fine mixture of metaphors: “The mouse is trying to feel his way out of the trap. The big battle can’t be far off, for Burgoyne must know that every day lost is a chance lost.”

It seemed to me that he was right, and I regretted more than ever my assignment to sentinel duty. I do not pretend to uncommon courage, but every soldier will bear me out that such waiting as we were doing is more trying than real battle.

Of a sudden the skirmishing seemed to take on an increase of vigor and to come nearer. Flashes appeared at various points on the horizon. Whitestone became deeply interested. He stood at his full height on a stump, and I would have done likewise had there been another stump. Presently he leaped down, exclaiming:

“I fancy there is work for us!”

I saw at once what he meant. A dozen men were coming down the valley at full speed. The bright sun even at the distance brought out the scarlet of their uniforms, and there was no mistaking the side to which they belonged. Evidently a party of Burgoyne’s skirmishers had slipped through our main line somehow and were bent upon escape southward, with all its momentous consequences.

That escape we would prevent. I sent Whitestone in a run to the two men near the house to bid them take refuge behind it and fight from its shelter. He was back in a breath, and he and I and the other soldiers prepared to hold the passage of the valley. Most fortunate for us, a rail fence ran across this valley, and we took refuge behind it—a wise precaution, I think, since the approaching party outnumbered us.

All of ours, except myself, had rifles, and I carried two good pistols, with which I am no bad shot. The British came on with much speed. Two of them were mounted.

I glanced toward the house. At one of the windows I saw a figure. I trusted if it was Kate Van Auken that she would withdraw speedily from such an exposed place. But I had no time to note her presence further, for just then the British seemed to perceive that we barred the way, for they stopped as if hesitating. I suppose they saw us, as we were sheltered but in part by the fence.

Wishing to spare bloodshed I shouted to them to surrender, but one of the men on horseback shook his head, said something to the others, and they dashed toward us at all speed. I recognized this man who appeared to be their leader. He was Chudleigh, the Englishman, the betrothed of Kate Van Auken, and, so far as I knew, an honest, presentable fellow.

Whitestone poised his rifle on the top rail of the fence and I surmised that it was aimed at Chudleigh. Were the matter not so desperate I could have wished for a miss. But before Whitestone pulled the trigger one of the men from the shelter of the house fired, and Chudleigh’s horse, struck by the ball intended for his master, went down, tossing Chudleigh some distance upon the ground, where he lay quite still. Whitestone transferred his aim and knocked the other mounted man off his horse.

The remainder, not daunted by the warmth of our greeting and the loss of their cavalry, raised a cheer and rushed at us, firing their pistols and muskets.

I do not scorn a skirmish. It may, and often does, contain more heat to the square yard than a great battle with twenty thousand men engaged. These men bore down upon us full of resolution. Their bullets pattered upon the rails of the fence, chipping off splinters. Some went between the rails and whizzed by us in fashion most uncomfortable. One man cried out a bit as the lead took him in the fleshy part of the leg, but he did not shrink from the onset.

Meanwhile we were not letting the time pass without profit, but fired at them with as much rapidity and aim as we could. The two men at the corner of the house helped us much with fine sharpshooting.

Our fortification, though but slender, gave us a great advantage, and nearly a third of their number had fallen before they were within a dozen feet of the fence. But it was our business not only to defeat them but to keep any from passing us. I was hopeful of doing this, for the sound of the firing had reached other portions of the line, and I saw re-enforcements for us coming on the run.

Our fire had been so hot that the British when within a dozen feet of us shrank back. Of a sudden one of them, a very active fellow, swerved to one side, darted at the fence, and leaping it with a single bound ran lightly along the hillside. I called to Whitestone and we followed him at all speed. I was confident that the others would be taken by our re-enforcements, who were coming up fast, and this man who had passed our line must be caught at all hazards.

One of my men at the house fired at the fugitive, but missed. My pistols were empty, and so was Whitestone’s rifle. It was a matter which fleetness would decide and we made every effort.

The fugitive curved toward a wood back of the house, and we followed. I heard a rifle shot from a new direction, and Whitestone staggered; but in a moment he recovered himself, saying it was only a flesh wound. I was amazed, not at the shot but at the point from which it came. I looked up, and it was no mistake of hearing, for there was the white puff of smoke rising from an upper window in the house. It was but the glance of a moment, as the fugitive then claimed my attention. His speed was slackening and he seemed to be growing very tired.

A little blood appeared on Whitestone’s arm near the shoulder, but he gave no other sign that the wound affected him. Our man increased his speed a bit, but the effort exhausted him; he stopped of a sudden, dropped to the earth, and lay there panting, strength and breath quite gone.

We ran up to him and demanded his surrender. He was too much exhausted to speak, but he nodded as if he were glad the thing was over. We let him rest until his breath came back. Then he climbed to his feet, and, looking at us, said in the fashion of one defending himself:

“I did the best I could; you can’t say I didn’t.”

“I guess you did,” I replied. “You went farther than any of your comrades.”

He was a most likely young fellow, not more than twenty, I should say, and I was very glad he had come out of the affair unhurt. We took him back to the valley, where the conflict was over. Our re-enforcements had come up so fast that the remainder of the British surrendered after a few shots. All the prisoners were delivered to one of our captains who had arrived, and he took them away. Then I turned my attention to Whitestone. Having some small knowledge of surgery, I asked him to let me see his arm. He held it out without a word.

I pushed up his sleeve and found that the bullet had cut only a little below the skin. I bound up the scratch with a piece of old white cloth, and said:

“You needn’t bother about that, Whitestone; the bullet, that cut it wasn’t very well aimed.”

“It was aimed pretty well, I think, for a woman,” he said.

“You won’t say any more about that, Whitestone, will you?” I asked quietly.

“Not to anybody unless to you,” he replied.

There was a faint smile on his face that I did not altogether like; but he thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, took out his pipe, lighted the tobacco with great deliberation, and began to smoke as if nothing had happened.

The prisoners taken away and other signs of conflict removed, we were left to our old duty, and hill and hollow resumed their quiet. I was much troubled, but at last I made up my mind what to do. Asking Whitestone to keep a good watch, I went to the house and knocked with much loudness at the front door. Kate opened the door, self-possessed and dignified.

“Miss Van Auken,” I said with all my dignity, “I congratulate you upon your progress in the useful art of sharpshooting. You have wounded Sergeant Whitestone, a most excellent man, and perhaps it was chance only that saved him from death.”

“Why should you blame me?” she said. “I wished the man you were pursuing to escape, and there was no other way to help him. This is war, you know.”

I had scarce expected so frank an admission.

“I will have to search the house for your weapon,” I said. “How do I know that you will not shoot at me as I go away?”

“Do not trouble yourself,” she said easily, “I will bring it to you.”

She ran up the stairway and returned in a moment with a large, unloaded pistol, which she held out to me.

“I might have tried to use it again,” she said with a little laugh, “but I confess I did not know how to reload it.”

She handed me the pistol with a gesture of repulsion as if she were glad to get rid of it. Her frankness changed my purpose somewhat, and I asked her how her mother fared. “Very well, but in most dreadful alarm because of the fighting,” she replied.

“It would be best for both of you, for your own safety, to remain in the house and keep the windows closed,” I said.

“So I think,” she replied.

I turned away, for I wished to think further what disposition to make of Kate Van Auken and her mother. It seemed that they should remain no longer at such a critical point of our line, where in an unwatched moment they might do us a great evil. Moreover, I was much inflamed against Kate because of the treacherous shot which had come so near to ending Whitestone’s career. But even then I sought for some mitigating circumstance, some excuse for her. Perhaps her family had so long worked upon her that her own natural and patriotic feelings had become perverted to such an extent that she looked upon the shot as a righteous deed. Cases like it were not new.

I thought it best to take Whitestone into my confidence.

“We can not do anything to-day,” he said, “for none of us can leave here; but it would be well to keep a good watch upon that house again to-night.”

This advice seemed good, for like as not Kate Van Auken, not at all daunted by her failure, would make another attempt to escape southward.

Therefore with much interest I waited the coming of our second night there, which was but a brief time away.

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