5 My Superior Officer

The relief came early in the morning, bringing with it the news that our army, which was stronger every day than on the yesterday, had moved still closer to Burgoyne. My blood thrilled as ever at this, but I had chosen a new course of action for myself. It would be an evil turn for me if Albert Van Auken were taken at the house and should run the risk of execution as a spy; it might be said that I was the chief cause of it.

I was very tired, and stretching myself on the turf beneath the shade of a tree in the valley, I fell into a sound sleep in two minutes. When I awoke at the usual time I found that the guard had been re-enforced, and, what was worse, instead of being first in command I was now only second. This in itself was disagreeable, but the character of the man who had supplanted me was a further annoyance. I knew Lieutenant Belt quite well, a New Englander much attached to our cause, but of a prying disposition and most suspicious. The re-enforcements had been sent because of the previous attempt to break through the line at this point, the lay of the ground being such that it was more favorable for plans of escape than elsewhere.

“You need not stay unless you wish,” said Belt. “No positive instructions were given on that point. As for myself, I confess I would rather be with the army, since much is likely to happen there soon.”

“I think things will drag for some time yet,” I said with as careless an air as I could assume, “and I suspect that they have been more active here than they are with the army. Another attempt to break through our line may be made at this point, and I believe I’d rather remain for a day or two.”

But just then, as if for the sole purpose of belying my words about dullness at the front, there was a sharp crackle of distant skirmishing and the red flare of a cannon appeared on the horizon. It called the attention of both of us for a moment or two.

“The bullets appear to be flying over there, but if you prefer to remain here, of course you can have your wish,” said Belt with sarcasm.

I did not answer, as no good excuse happened to my mind, and we went up the hillside together. I looked about carefully to see what arrangements he had made, but it was merely a doubling of the guard. Otherwise he had followed my dispositions. Belt looked at the house.

“I hear that some people are there. Who are they?” he asked.

“Only two,” I replied, “women both—Madame Van Auken and her daughter.”

“For us, or against us?” he asked.

“Against us,” I replied. “The son and brother is in the English army with Burgoyne, over there; moreover, the daughter is betrothed to an Englishman who has just been taken prisoner by us.”

I thought it best to make no disguise of these matters.

“That looks suspicious,” he said, his hawk face brightening at the thought of hidden things to be found.

“They might do us harm if they could,” I said, “but they have not the power. Our lines surround the house; no one save ourselves can go to them, nor can they go to any one.”

“Still, I would like to go through the house,” he said, some doubt yet showing in his tone.

“I have searched it twice and found nothing,” I said indifferently.

He let the matter drop for the time and busied himself with an examination of the ground; but I knew he was most likely to take it up again, for he could not suppress his prying nature. I would have been glad to give warning to Kate, but I could think of no way to do it.

“Who is the best man that you have here?” he asked presently.

“Whitestone—Sergeant Whitestone,” I replied, glad to place the sergeant in his confidence, for it might turn out to my advantage. “There is none more vigilant, and you can depend upon all that he says.”

We separated there, our work taking us in different directions. When we returned to the valley, which we had made a kind of headquarters, I heard him asking Whitestone about the Van Aukens.

“Tartars, both of ’em,” said the good sergeant; “if you go in there, leftenant, they’ll scold you till they take your face off.”

The look on Belt’s face was proof that not even Whitestone’s warning would deter him. At least it so seemed to me. In a half hour I found that I had judged aright. He told me he was not in a state of satisfaction about the house, and since the responsibility for it lay with him he proposed to make a search of it in person. He requested me to go with him.

“This seems to be the main entrance,” he said, leading the way to the portico, which faced the north, and looking about with very inquiring eyes. “Madame Van Auken and her daughter must be much frightened by the presence of troops, for I have not yet seen the face of either at door or window.”

He knocked loudly at the door with the hilt of his sword, and Kate appeared, very calm as usual. I made the introductions as politely as I was able.

“Lieutenant Belt is my senior, Miss Van Auken,” I said, “and therefore has superseded me in command of the guard at this point.”

“Then I trust that Lieutenant Belt will relax some of the rigors of the watch,” she said, “and not subject us to the great discomfort of repeated searches of our house.”

She turned her shoulder to me as if she would treat me with the greatest coldness. I understood her procedure, and marveled much at her presence of mind. It seemed to be successful too, for Belt smiled, and looked ironically at me, like one who rejoices in the mishap of his comrade.

She took us into the house, talking with much courtesy to Belt, and ignoring me in a manner that I did not altogether like, even with the knowledge that it was but assumption. She led us into the presence of madame, her mother, who looked much worn with care, though preserving a haughty demeanor. As usual, she complained that our visits were discourtesies, and Belt apologized in his best manner. Glad that the brunt did not now fall upon me, I deemed it best to keep silence, which I did in most complete manner.

Madame invited us to search the house as we pleased, and we took her at her word, finding nothing. I was much relieved thereat. I had feared that Albert, knowing I would not make another search so long as I was in command, would not be in proper concealment. With my relief was mingled a certain perplexity that his place of hiding should evade me.

Belt was a gentleman despite his curiosity, which I believe the New England people can not help, and for which, therefore, they are not to be blamed, and when he had finished the vain quest he apologized again to Madame Van Auken and her daughter for troubling them. He was impressed by the fine looks of the daughter, and he made one or two gallant speeches to her which she received very well, as I notice women mostly do whatever may be the circumstances. I felt some anger toward Belt, though there seemed to be no cause for it. When we left the house he said:

“Miss Van Auken doesn’t look so dangerous, yet you say she is a red-hot Tory.”

“I merely included her in a generality,” I replied. “The others of the family are strong Tories, but Miss Van Auken, I have reason to think, inclines to our cause.”

“That is good,” he said, though he gave no reason why it should seem good to him. After that he turned his attention to his main duty, examining here and there and displaying the most extreme vigilance. The night found him still prowling about.

Directly after nightfall the weather turned very cool in that unaccountable way it sometimes has in the late summer or early autumn, and began to rain.

It was a most cold and discouraging rain that hunted every hole, in our worn uniforms, and displayed a peculiar knack of slipping down our collars. I found myself seeking the shelter of trees, and as the cold bit into the marrow my spirits drooped until I felt like an old man. Even the distant skirmishers were depressed by the rainy night, for the shots ceased and the hills and the valleys were as silent and lonely as ever they were before the white man came.

I was thinking it was a very long and most dismal night before us, when I heard a chattering of teeth near me, and turning about saw Belt in pitiable condition. He was all drawn with the cold damp, and his face looked as shriveled as if it were seventy instead of twenty-five. Moreover, he was shaking in a chill. I had noticed before that the man did not look robust.

“This is a little hard on me, Shelby,” he said, his tone asking sympathy. “I have but lately come from a sick-bed, and I fear greatly this rain will throw me into a fever.”

He looked very longingly at the house.

I fear there was some malice in me then, for he had put aspersions upon my courage earlier in the day, which perhaps he had a right to do, not knowing my secret motives.

“The weather is a trifle bad, one must admit, lieutenant,” I said, “but you and I will not mind it; moreover, the darkness of the night demands greater vigilance on our part.”

He said nothing, merely rattled his teeth together and walked on with what I admit was a brave show for a man shaking in a bad chill. As his assistant I could go and come pretty much as I chose, and I kept him in view, bent on seeing what he would do.

He endured the chill most handsomely for quite a time, but the wet and the cold lent aggravation to it, and presently he turned to me, his teeth clicking together in most formidable fashion.

“I fear, Shelby, that I must seek shelter in the house,” he said. “I would stick to the watch out here, but this confounded chill has me in its grip and will not let go. But, as you have done good work here and I would not seem selfish, you shall go in with me.”

I understood his motive, which was to provide that in case he should incur censure for going into the house, I could share it and divide it with him. It was no very admirable action on Belt’s part, but I minded it not; in truth I rather liked it, for since he was to be in the house, I preferred to be there too, and at the same time, and not for matters concerning my health. I decided quickly that I must seem his friend and give him sympathy; in truth I was not his enemy at all; I merely found him inconvenient.

We went again to the front door and knocked many times before any answer came to us. Then two heads—the one of Mistress Kate, the other of her mother—were thrust out of an upper window and the usual question was propounded to us.

“Lieutenant Belt is very ill,” I said, taking the word from his lips, “and needs must have shelter from the cruelty of the night. We would not trouble you were not the case extreme.”

I could see that Belt was grateful for the way I had put the matter. Presently they opened the door, both appearing there for the sake of company at that hour, I suppose. Belt tried to preserve an appearance in the presence of the ladies, but he was too sick. He trembled with his chill like a sapling in a high wind, and I said:

“Lieutenant Belt’s condition speaks for itself; nothing else could have induced us to intrude upon you at such an untimely hour.”

I fancy I said that well, and both Madame Van Auken and her daughter showed pity for Belt; yet the elder could not wholly repress a display of feeling against us.

“We can not turn any one ill, not even an enemy, away from our door,” she said, “but I fear the rebel armies have left us little for the uses of hospitality.”

She said this in the stiff and rather precise way that our fathers and mothers affected, but she motioned for us to come in, and we obeyed her. I confess I was rather glad to enter the dry room, for my clothes were flapping wet about me.

“Perhaps the lieutenant would like to lie down,” said Madame Van Auken, pointing to a large and comfortable sofa in the corner of the room that we had entered.

But Belt was too proud to do that, though it was needful to him. He sat down merely and continued to shiver. Mistress Kate came presently with a large draught of hot whisky and water which smelled most savorous. She insisted that Belt drink it, and he swallowed it all, leaving none for me. Madame Van Auken placed a lighted candle upon a little table, and then both the ladies withdrew.

Belt said he felt better, but he had a most wretched appearance. I insisted that he let me feel his pulse, and I found he was bordering upon a high fever, and most likely, if precautions were not taken, would soon be out of his senses. The wet clothes were the chief trouble, and I said they must come off. Belt demurred for a while, but he consented at last when I told him persistent refusal might mean his death.

I roused up the ladies again, explaining the cause of this renewed interruption, and secured from them their sympathy and a large bedquilt. I made Belt take off his uniform, and then I spread the quilt over him as he lay on the sofa, telling him to go to sleep. He said he had no such intention; but a second hot draught of whisky which Kate brought to the door gave him the inclination, if not the intention. But he fought against it, and his will was aided by the sudden revival of sounds which betokened that the skirmishing had begun again. Through the window I heard the faint patter of rifles, but the shots were too distant, or the night too dark to disclose the flash. This sudden spurt of warlike activity told me once again that the great crisis was approaching fast, and I hoped most earnestly that events at the Van Auken house would culminate first.

Belt was still struggling against weakness and sleep, and he complained fretfully when he heard the rifle shots, bemoaning his fate to be seized by a wretched, miserable chill at such a time.

“Perhaps after all the battle may be fought without me,” said he with unintended humor.

I assured him that he would be all right in the morning. His resistance to sleep, I told him, was his own injury, for it was needful to his health. He took me at my word and let his eyelids droop. I foresaw that he would be asleep very soon, but he roused up a bit presently and showed anxiety about the guard. He wanted to be sure that everything was done right, and asked me to go out and see Whitestone, whom we had left in charge when we entered the house.

I was averse in no particular and slipped quietly out into the darkness. I found Whitestone in the valley.

“All quiet,” he reported. “I’ve just come from a round of the sentinels and there’s nothing suspicious. I’m going back myself presently to watch in front of the house.”

I knew Whitestone would ask no questions, so I told him the lieutenant was still very ill and I would return to him; I did not know how long I would stay in the house, I said. Whitestone, like the good, silent fellow he was, made no reply.

I returned to the front door. I was now learning the way into the house very well. I had traveled it often enough. I stood for a moment in the little portico, which was as clean and white as if washed by the sea. The rain had nearly ceased to fall, and the blaze of the distant skirmishing suddenly flared up on the dark horizon like a forest fire. I wondered not that the two women in the house should be moved by all this; I wondered rather at their courage. In the yard stood Whitestone, his figure rising up as stiff and straight as a post.

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