26 Two Years Later

“You will find him in the fort on the hill yonder,” said the man. “He has been there for the last hour talking with his officers.”

Time had passed, and I was now in the village called Cincinnati, a little place in its fifth or sixth year, built of log huts and shanties according to the border fashion of making its beginnings. But it was a picturesque village set between high hills, and with the wide and deep Ohio flowing at its feet.

Before me was Fort Washington, its square logs rising to a height of two stories and glistening with whitewash, the mouths of cannon appearing at its bastions, while to the eastward stretched a well-filled garden and the houses of the officers, all forming an odd combination of war and peace.

I walked up the hill, full of my resolve, and came to the fort, where I was stopped by a sentinel, rifle in hand. I gave him my name and business, and when he reported them to those inside I was conducted to a large apartment, but ill lighted by a single window. A half-dozen officers were sitting about, and evidently they had been debating subjects of importance, as maps and papers lay upon a table. He whom I sought was on the far side of the table, a short, thick, rosy-faced man, dressed in a splendid Continental uniform, each garment arranged with such care that its wearer could have been called dandyish, and might have been depreciated by strangers had not the dignity of his manner and penetrating gaze forbidden it. A three-cornered hat with a great rosette upon the side lay at his elbow.

I distinctly saw a sneer upon the faces of several of the officers as I entered and was announced, and the most pronounced of all was that which disfigured the countenance of my cousin Jasper. But I treated such insolence with the coldness and scorn it deserved, and kept my eyes fixed upon him to whom I came. He rose to his feet at the mention of my name, gazed fixedly at me a moment or two, with an expression of surprise changing rapidly—yes, I could not mistake it—to one of pleasure. Then he came forward with a quick, nervous step, and holding out both his hands, cried:

“It is the same John Lee who was by my side that night on the rocks at Stony Point!”

I took the two hands that he offered me, and he must have felt mine tremble as they clasped his own. He knew all the old story, and yet he never hesitated.

“Good old Jack Lee! Brave Jack Lee! Where have you been all these years?” he cried. “They told me in the East that you were dead, that you had been killed somewhere in the woods by the Indians. Out upon such a lie; ’twas past believing! ’twas impossible! What, the warm-blooded youth whom I used to know, the lad who never feared death, slain, obscurely, by breech-clouted savages! ’Twas a lie I believed then, and I know it now! And you have come here now, Jack Lee, to help me in this pass!”

I was looking into the honest and steadfast eyes of Mad Anthony Wayne—what a pity many others were not affected with his particular kind of madness!—and I knew that I stood, as I had hoped, in the presence of a man my friend once, my friend yet—and always. He gave me ample and immediate proof.

“Gentlemen,” he said to the others, and there was a touch of warning in his tone, “John Lee, of the Continental army, one of its most gallant and meritorious officers; one who never flinched in a desperate cause—I who was his comrade ought to know—and who, as some of you perhaps remember, was most unjustly accused and condemned of an infamous crime, but whose innocence all the world shall yet know—gentlemen, Mr. Lee!”

Then he presented them to me one by one, some bowing slightly and coldly, others with more warmth; and last of all was Major Carew—he was a major now—smiling and self-collected as of old.

“We are no strangers,” he said as he took my hand. “I owe him much, and, moreover, we are comrades of the field.”

I saw that he had no fear of me, expecting me to spare him if he would spare me. He was safe from words of mine, but my chief reason was not the one that he had in mind.

“None, general, can be more glad than I to meet Mr. Lee. This is the man who saved my daughter from the worst fate that may befall a woman,” he continued.

“’Twas like honest Jack, brave Jack,” said General Wayne. “He ever had a weakness for the fair sex, and while willing enough to lay down his life for his country, he was more than willing to lay it down for woman, beautiful woman.”

I was sorry that the general’s warmth of commendation carried him quite so far, but ’twould have been a shame to complain. Major Carew merely smiled.

“General Wayne gives you a character concerning the ladies which youth does not despise, and which in my own time I was anxious to have,” he said.

I was not thinking then of his words, but of Rose Carew. Where was she? In Kentucky or in the East? Married, doubtless! What else could I expect? Still I asked no question about her. General Wayne poured wine; he seemed to be in an excellent humour; we had been loyal friends once, though he was the superior in age and rank, and, thank God, were yet, as I could see; and, lifting his glass of wine, he said again, with that note of warning in his voice:

“Gentlemen, drink with me to the health of honest Jack Lee; to the lost who is found; to John Lee, late captain of the Continental army, and now captain in Wayne’s army of the West.”

All drank more or less, and I stared at him in amazement. He put his hand upon my arm as in the old days, and said, in the gentle and winning way that he knew so well how to assume:

“Jack, dear old Jack, will you not oblige me in this little matter? I have power here to give you the commission, and you know how badly I need men like you. This is to be a most arduous campaign. We are to fight a hidden foe, and you, they tell me, know more about the wilderness and its ways than any other man living. Underwood, your new member of Congress, vouches for it too. Now, good old Jack, don’t say me nay.”

It was he who was doing the pleading; it was I who was to grant the favour—it was Mad Anthony’s way. There was water somewhere at the back of my eyes, but I let it come no further, holding it meet that I should bear myself as a man without emotion. I saw at that moment the deepening sneer on Jasper’s face, but it did not have power to touch me; I knew far worse things of the smooth and silky villain than he thought of me, and I took now a firm resolution, the precise opposite of another I had taken that time when a woman’s voice and eyes spoke to me. The friendly touch of an old comrade’s hand and the welcoming sound of his voice aroused a hope that I might reconquer that former world which I had believed dead for me. The others began to say their adieux, Major Carew giving me his hand again ere he went, and then I was alone with Mad Anthony. He pushed me into a seat and bent upon me a look of grave reproach.

“Jack, it was wrong of thee,” he said, theeing and thouing me after the fashion that he sometimes adopted with me in the earlier time, learned perhaps from his Pennsylvania Quaker brethren. “Thou shouldst have outfaced ’em all. It was a lie, and your friends knew it. There was Buxton, of the Jersey Horse, who fought a duel in behalf of thee, running his man neatly through the shoulder. I should have fought one myself had my rank permitted it. I repeat, Jack, it was wrong of thee —wrong to thyself and to thy friends.”

“Nay, general,” I said. “What else was left to me? The evidence was against me, and the verdict of the court. I was lucky in not being hanged—or perhaps unlucky. I say again there was naught else for me to do but to hide myself and my honour.”

“Ever the same stubborn fool!” he said with vehemence. “But we knew that you were innocent, Jack, and by all the gods that are in the mythology—Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and every other kind—it shall yet be proved!”

I shook my head.

“Nay, general,” I said; “I expect to keep the stain, faded a little, perhaps, by time.”

“And I maintain that you shall not!” he said, smiting the table with his fist. “I would have you to know, sir, that I am commander here, and when I say a thing shall be done it will be done.”

I was about to speak, but he turned upon me with a sudden change of tone.

“Nay, Jack, don’t tell me anything,” he said. “I heard but vaguely about the trial, but I sha’n’t believe you guilty, even if you swear that you were. As your friend, not as your commander, I now entreat you not to say another word upon that subject, but to come to the reception to my officers and myself to-morrow night at the residence of Mr. Converse, and to come, too, in your uniform as captain. Montrose, my aide, will furnish you with the uniform.”

Not pausing for an answer, he knocked upon the door of an adjoining room, and Montrose, an honest-faced man of six- or eight-and-twenty, came forth. General Wayne introduced me as one of his new captains, and whether Lieutenant Montrose knew my history or not, he gave me a hand grasp that was warm and sincere.

“Now, Captain Lee, I leave you for the present in the care of Lieutenant Montrose,” said General Wayne. “Don’t forget that I expect you to-morrow night at the house of Mr. Converse.”

I could do nothing but continue with Montrose, while General Wayne closed the door upon us. In my soul I was deeply thankful to Mad Anthony, but knowing no way to express my thanks to him, I determined to attempt none. Had he not taken such advantage of me I should have refused to go to the house of this man Converse, but I suddenly asked myself, “Why should I not go?” The kindness of General Wayne seemed to open new ways for me; I would go! The glimpse of friendly faces had set the old world to calling in a louder voice than ever, and I was in a mood to heed its note.

An errand took me from the town into the forest an hour or two later, and I did not return until the next day, but I was in time for the reception to be given to the officers of the army by Mr. Converse, hastening at once to my new friend, Lieutenant Montrose, who was ready with the uniform, a spare one of his own that sat upon me well. It had been years since I arranged a toilet with such care, but I felt now with great force the need of making a good, even fastidious, appearance; and when I contemplated the result in a small handglass I felt a reasonable degree of satisfaction. It is true that I was almost as brown as an Indian, but, after all, tan is not unbecoming, and while I had been reckoning myself old I realized with sudden force and delight that I was young. A small but tempting voice whispered in my ear, “You are young enough yet, John Lee, to win back honour and happiness,” and I felt come over me a sudden glow like the memory of a lost joy that may be brought back again. All young soldiers are dandies, and I had been such in my time, but I saw that my forest life had not injured me; instead, it had given somewhat more flexibility, as the youthful military officer is likely to be a stiff figure.

When the inspection was finished I clapped upon my head a gorgeous cocked hat, and buckled by my side a fine sword that General Wayne himself sent me, and thus accoutred I felt ready for the social fray, howsoever fierce it might be, at the house of Mr. Converse, although I fancied that its nature could not be very grave in this little backwoods town. Still, it was a great step for me, inasmuch as I had not taken part in any such affair, not even of the humblest kind, for years, although once extremely fond of them, and I felt my heart beating like that of a youth about to make his first venture upon the floor of a drawing-room.

“Let us go together,” said Montrose, linking his arm in mine in most friendly fashion. I was soon sure that General Wayne had been talking to him about me, and his naturally good heart accounted for the rest of his geniality.

He hung a lantern upon his other arm, as Cincinnati was too early in its infancy and too far in the wilderness to be provided with any lighting at night save that of the moon, which is of a most inconstant nature. ’Twas thus that we approached the home of Mr. Converse, a place of some pretensions and considerable size, built of logs and oak boards, and showing many corners and angles. However rude a house so constructed may seem to some, it is truth that such primitive abodes in the West often shelter people of breeding and quality. Many families of the finest education and manners are among those who went over the Alleghanies, risking the perils of the wilderness and Indian wars, to find homes on the lands of the West, which are richer than those of the East. Hence I knew that, despite appearances, I should be in no mean company. In truth, as we approached we saw several carriages in front of the house, which stood on the crest of one of the lower hills, while boys bearing torches like the link boys in the East were running about, and lights were glittering in every window. We beheld already, even before entrance, a scene of pleasing bustle and gaiety, and again I felt my youth, for, as I have said before, I liked these things, and still like them. The background of wooded hills, yellow, winding river, and wilderness added the picturesque touch that was needed, and I began to feel most glad that I had come. Montrose saw my face, and he said:

“You are right, Lee. As an officer of General Wayne ’tis your duty to be present, and ’tis well when duty and pleasure go together.”

►   ▲