Chapter 10

_A Fine Project._

Were it my own history that I am here undertaking, I should give at this place an account of my first duel, which was fought with swords, in Bayard's Woods, my opponent being an English lieutenant of foot, from whom I had suffered a display of that superciliousness which our provincial troops had so resented in the British regulars in the old French War. By good luck I disarmed the man without our receiving more than a small scratch apiece; and subsequently brought him to the humbleness of a fawning spaniel, by a mien and tone of half-threatening superiority which never fail of reducing such high-talking sparks to abject meekness. 'Twas a trick of pretended bullying, which we long-suffering Americans were driven to adopt in self-defence against certain derisive, contemptuous praters that came to our shores from Europe. But 'tis more to my purpose, as the biographer of Philip Winwood, to continue upon the subject of Captain Falconer.

He was the mirror of elegance, with none of the exaggerations of a fop. He brought with him to the Queen Street house the atmosphere of Bond Street and Pall Mall, the perfume of Almack's and the assembly rooms, the air of White's and the clubs, the odour of the chocolate houses and the fashionable taverns. 'Twas all that he represented, I fancy, rather than what the man himself was, and conquering as he was, that caught Margaret's eye. He typified the world before which she had hoped to shine, and from which she had been debarred--cruelly debarred, it may have seemed to her. I did not see this then; 'twas another, one of a broader way of viewing things, one of a less partial imagination--'twas Philip Winwood--that found this excuse for her.

Captain Falconer had the perception soon to gauge correctly us who were of American rearing, and the tact to cast aside the lofty manner by which so many of his stupid comrades estranged us. He treated Tom and me with an easy but always courteous familiarity that surprised, flattered, and won us. He would play cards with us, in his sitting-room, as if rather for the sake of our company than for the pleasure of the game. Indeed, as he often frankly confessed, gambling was no passion with him; and this was remarkable at a time when 'twas the only passion most fine young gentlemen would acknowledge as genuine in them, and when those who did not feel that passion affected it. We admired this fine disdain on his part for the common fashionable occupation of the age (for the pursuit of women was pretended to be followed as a necessary pastime, but without much real heart) as evidence of a superior mind. Yet he played with us, losing at first, but eventually winning until I had to withdraw. Tom, having more money to lose, held out longer.

"Why now," said the captain once, regarding his winnings with a face of perfect ruefulness, "'tis proven that what we seek eludes us, and what we don't value comes to us! Here am I, the last man in the world to court success this way, and here am I more winner than if I had played with care and attention."

Tom once mentioned, to another officer, Captain Falconer's luck at cards as an instance of fortune befriending one who despised her favours in that way.

"Blood, sir!" exclaimed the officer. "Jack Falconer may have a mind and taste above gaming as a pleasure, for aught I know. But I would I had his skill with the cards. 'Tis no pastime with him, but a livelihood. Don't you know the man is as poor as a church-mouse, but for what he gets upon the green table?"

This revelation a little dampened our esteem for the captain's elevation of intellect, but I'll take my oath of it, he was really above gaming as a way of entertaining his mind, however he resorted to it as a means of filling his purse.

Of course Tom's friendly association with him was before there was sure cause to suspect his intentions regarding Margaret. His manner toward her was the model of proper civility. He was a hundred times more amiable and jocular with Fanny, whom he treated with the half-familiar pleasantry of an elderly man for a child; petting her with such delicacy as precluded displeasure on either her part or mine. He pretended great dejection upon learning that her heart was already engaged; and declared that his only consolation lay in the fact that the happy possessor of the prize was myself: for which we both liked him exceedingly. Toward Mrs. Faringfield, too, he used a chivalrous gallantry as complimentary to her husband as to the lady. Only between him and Margaret was there the distance of unvaried formality.

And yet we ought to have seen how matters stood. For now Margaret, though she had so little apparent cordiality for the captain, had ceased to value the admiration of the other officers, and had substituted a serene indifference for the animated interest she had formerly shown toward the gaieties of the town. And the captain, too, we learned, had the reputation of an inveterate conqueror of women; yet he had exhibited a singular callousness to the charms of the ladies of New York. He had been three months in the town, and his name had not been coupled with that of any woman there. We might have surmised from this a concealed preoccupation. And, moreover, there was my first reading of his countenance, the night of the Morris ball; this I had not forgotten, yet I ignored it, or else I shut my eyes to my inevitable inferences, because I could see no propriety in any possible interference from me.

One evening in December there was a drum at Colonel Philipse's town house, which Margaret did not attend. She had mentioned, as reason for absenting herself, a cold caught a few nights previously, through her bare throat being exposed to a chill wind by the accidental falling of her cloak as she walked to the coach after Mrs. Colden's rout. As the evening progressed toward hilarity, I observed that Tom Faringfield became restless and gloomy. At last he approached me, with a face strangely white, and whispered:

"Do you see?--Captain Falconer is not here!"

"Well, what of that?" quoth I. "Ten to one, he finds these companies plaguey tiresome."

"Or finds other company more agreeable," replied Tom, with a very dark look in his eyes.

He left me, with no more words upon the subject. When it was time to go home, and Mrs. Faringfield and Fanny and I sought about the rooms for him, we found he had already taken his leave. So we three had the chariot to ourselves, and as we rode I kept my own thoughts upon Tom's previous departure, and my own vague dread of what might happen.

But when Noah let us in, all seemed well in the Faringfield house. Margaret was in the parlour, reading; and she laid down her book to ask us pleasantly what kind of an evening we had had. She was the only one of the family up to receive us, Mr. Faringfield having retired hours ago, and Tom having come in and gone to bed without an explanation. The absence of light in Captain Falconer's windows signified that he too had sought his couch, for had he been still out, his servant would have kept candles lighted for him.

The next day, as we rode out Northward to our posts, Tom suddenly broke the silence:

"Curse it!" said he. "There are more mysteries than one. Do you know what I found when I got home last night?"

"I can't imagine."

"Well, I first looked into the parlour, but no one was there. Instead of going on to the library, I went up-stairs and knocked at Margaret's door. I--I wanted to see her a moment. It happened to be unlatched, and as I knocked rather hard, it swung open. No one was in that room, either, but I thought she might be in the bedchamber beyond, and so I crossed to knock at that. But I chanced to look at her writing-table as I passed; there was a candle burning on it, and devil take me if I didn't see a letter in a big schoolboy's hand that I couldn't help knowing at a glance--the hand of my brother Ned!"

"Then I'll engage the letter wasn't to Margaret. You know how much love is lost between those two."

"But it was to her, though! 'Dear M.,' it began--there's no one else whose name begins with M in the family. And the writing was fresh--not the least faded. I saw that much before I thought of what I was doing. But when I remembered 'twasn't my letter, I looked no more."

"But how could he send a letter from the rebel camp to her in New York?"[5]

"Why, that's not the strangest part of it. There's no doubt Washington has spies in the town, and ways of communicating with the rebel sympathisers here; I've sometimes thought my father--but no matter for that. The fact is, there the letter was, as certainly from Ned as I'm looking at you; and we know he's in the rebel army. But the wonder, the incredible thing, is that he should write to Margaret."

"'Tis a mystery, in truth."

"Well, 'tis none of ours, after all, and of course this will go no further--but let me tell you, the devil's in it when those two are in correspondence. There's crookedness of some kind afoot, when such haters combine together!"

"You didn't ask her, of course?"

"No. But I knocked at her chamber door, and getting no answer I went down-stairs again. This time she was in the parlour. She had been in the library before, it seemed; 'twas warmer there."

But, as I narrowly watched the poor lad, I questioned whether he was really convinced that she had been in the library before. He had said nothing of Captain Falconer's sitting-room, of which the door was that of the transformed large parlour, and was directly across the hall from the Faringfields' ordinary parlour, wherein Tom had first sought and eventually found her.

'Twas our practice thus to ride back to our posts when we had been off duty, although our rank did not allow us to go mounted in the service. For despite the needs of the army, the Faringfields and I contrived to retain our horses for private use. All of that family were good riders, particularly Margaret. She often rode out for a morning's canter, going alone because it was her will thereto, which was not opposed, for she had so accustomed us to her aloofness that solitary excursions seemed in place with her. One day, a little later in that same December, Tom and I had taken the road by way of General De Lancey's country mansion at Bloomingdale, rather than our usual course, which lay past the Murray house of Incledon. As I rode Northward at a slow walk, some distance ahead of my comrade, I distinctly heard through a thicket that veiled the road from a little glade at the right, the voice of Captain Falconer, saying playfully:

"Nay, how can you doubt me? Would not gratitude alone, for the reparation of my fortunes, bind me as your slave, if you had not chains more powerful?"

And then I caught this answer, in a voice that gave me a start, and sent the blood into my face--the voice of Margaret:

"But will those chains hold, if this design upon your gratitude fail?"

She spoke as in jest, but with a perceptible undercurrent of earnestness. This was a new attitude for her, and what a revelation to me! In a flash I saw her infatuation for this fine fellow, some fear of losing him, a pursuit of some plan by which she might repair his fortunes and so bind him by obligation. Had Margaret, the invincible, the disdainful, fallen to so abject a posture? And how long had these secret meetings been going on?

There was new-fallen snow upon the road, and this had deadened the sound of our horses' feet to those beyond the thicket. Tom was not yet so near as to have heard their voices. I saw the desirability of his remaining in ignorance for the present, so I uttered a loud "chuck," and gave a pull at my reins, as if urging my horse to a better gait, my purpose being to warn the speakers of unseen passers-by ere Tom should come up. I had not let my horse come to a stop, nor had I otherwise betrayed my discovery.

But, to my dread, I presently heard Tom cry sharply, "Whoa!" and, looking back, saw he had halted at the place where I had heard the voices. My warning must have failed to hush the speakers. Never shall I forget the look of startled horror, shame, and anger upon his face. For a moment he sat motionless; then he turned his horse back to an opening in the thicket, and rode into the glade. I galloped after him, to prevent, if possible, some fearful scene.

When I entered the glade, I saw Margaret and Captain Falconer seated upon their horses, looking with still fresh astonishment and discomfiture upon the intruder. Their faces were toward me. Tom had stopped his horse, and he sat regarding them with what expression I could not see, being behind him. Apparently no one of the three had yet spoken.

Tom glanced at me as I joined the group, and then, in a singularly restrained voice, he said:

"Captain Falconer, may I beg leave to be alone with my sister a few moments? I have something to ask her. If you would ride a little way off, with Mr. Russell--"

'Twas, after all, a most natural request. A brother may wish to speak to his sister in private, and 'tis more fitting to put a gentleman than a lady to the trouble of an absence. Seeing it thus, and speaking with recovered composure as if nothing were wrong, the captain courteously replied:

"Most certainly. Mr. Russell, after you, sir--nay, no precedence to rank, while we are simply private gentlemen."

He bowed low to Margaret, and we two rode out to the highway, there to pace our horses up and down within call. Of what passed between brother and sister, I afterward received a close account.

"I must have a straight answer," Tom began, "for I must not be put to the folly of acting without cause. Tell me, then, upon your honour, has there been reason between you and Captain Falconer for me to fight him? The truth, now! Of course, I shall find another pretext. It looks a thousand to one, there's reason; but I must be sure."

"Why, I think you have lost your wits, Tom," said she. "If a gentleman known to the family happens to meet me when I ride out, and we chance to talk--"

"Ay, but in such a private place, and in such familiar tones, when you scarce ever converse together at home, and then in the most formal way! Oh, sister, that it should come to this!"

"I say, you're a fool, Tom! And a spy too--dogging my footsteps! What right have you to call me to account?"

"As your brother, of course."

"My younger brother you are; and too young to understand all you see, for one thing, or to hold me responsible to you for my actions, for another."

"I understand when your honour calls for my actions, however! Your very anger betrays you. I will kill Falconer!"

"You'll do nothing of the kind!"

"You shall see! I know a brother's duties--his rights, by heaven!"

"A brother has no duties nor rights, concerning a sister who is married."

"Then, if not as your brother, I have as your husband's friend. For, by God, I _am_ Phil's friend, to the death; and while he's not here to see what's passing, I dare act on his behalf. If I may not have a care of my sister's honour, I may of Philip Winwood's! And now I'll go to your captain!"

"But wait--stay, Tom--a moment, for God's sake! You're mistaken, I tell you. There's naught against Philip Winwood's honour in my meeting Captain Falconer. We have conferences, I grant. But 'tis upon a matter you know nothing of--a matter of the war."

"What nonsense! To think I should believe that! What affair of the war could you have to do with? It makes me laugh!"

"I vow there's an affair I have to do with. What do you know of my secrets, my planning and plotting? 'Tis an affair for the royal cause, I'll tell you that much. Nay, I'll tell you all; you won't dare betray it--you'd be a traitor to the king if you did. You shall be let into it, you and Bert. Call back Captain Falconer and him."

Puzzled and incredulous, but glad to test any assertion that might clear his sister of the suspicion most odious, Tom hallooed for us. When we re-entered the glade, Margaret spoke ere any one else had time for a word:

"Captain Falconer, I think you'll allow me the right to admit these gentlemen into the secret of our interviews. They are both loyal, both so dear to me that I'd gladly have them take a part in the honour of our project--of which, heaven knows, there'll be enough and to spare if we succeed."

"Madam," said he, "its chance of success will be all the greater, for the participation of these gentlemen."

"Well?" said Tom, looking inquiringly at his sister.

"You promise your aid, then, both?" she asked.

"Let us hear it first," he replied.

She obtained our assurances of secrecy in any event, and proceeded:

"Everybody knows what this rebellion costs England, in money, men, and commerce; not to speak of the king's peace of mind, and the feelings of the nation. Everybody sees it must last well-nigh for ever, if it doesn't even win in the end! Well, then, think what it would mean for England, for the king, for America, if the war could be cut short by a single blow, with no cost; cut short by one night's courage, daring, and skill, on the part of a handful of men!"

Tom and I smiled as at one who dreams golden impossibilities.

"Laugh if you will," said she; "but tell me this: what is the soul of the rebellion? What is the one vital part its life depends on? The different rebel provinces hate and mistrust one another--what holds 'em together? The rebel Congress quarrels and plots, and issues money that isn't worth the dirty paper it's printed on; disturbs its army, and does no good to any one--what keeps the rebellion afoot in spite of it? The rebel army complains, and goes hungry and half-naked, and is full of mutiny and desertion--what still controls it from melting away entirely? What carries it through such Winters as the rebels had at Valley Forge, when the Congress, the army, and the people were all at sixes and sevens and swords' points? What raises money the Lord knows how, finds supplies the Lord knows where, induces men to stay in the field, by the Lord knows what means, and has got such renown the world over that now France is the rebels' ally? I make you stare, boys; you're not used to seeing me play the orator. I never did before, and I sha'n't again, for heaven forbid I should be a woman of that kind! But I've studied this matter, and I hope I have a few ideas upon it."

"But what has done all these things you mention? May I ask that?" said I, both amused and curious.

"Washington!" was her reply. "Remove him, and this rebellion will burst like a soap-bubble! And that's the last of my speechmaking. Our project is to remove Washington--nay, there's no assassination in it. We'll do better--capture him and send him to England. Once he is in the Tower awaiting trial, how long do you think the rebellion will last? And what rewards do you think there'll be for those that sent him there?"

"Why," said Tom, "is that a new project? Hasn't the British army been trying to wipe out Washington's army and take him prisoner these four years?"

"But not in the way that we have planned it," replied Margaret, "and that Captain Falconer shall execute it. Tell them, captain."

"'Tis very simple, gentlemen," said the English officer. "If the honour of the execution is to be mine, and the men's whom I shall lead, the honour of the design, and of securing the necessary collusion in the rebel camp, is Mrs. Winwood's. My part hitherto has been, with Sir Henry Clinton's approval, to make up a chosen body of men from all branches of the army; and my part finally shall be to lead this select troop on horseback one dark night, by a devious route, to that part of the rebel lines nearest Washington's quarters; then, with the coöperation that this lady has obtained among the rebels, to make a swift dash upon those quarters, seize Washington while our presence is scarce yet known, and carry him back to New York by outriding all pursuit. Boats will be waiting to bring us across the river. I allow such projects have been tried before, but they have been defeated through rebel sentries giving the alarm in time. They lacked one advantage we possess--collusion in the rebel camp--"

"And 'twas you obtained that collusion?" Tom broke in, turning to Margaret. "Hang me if I see how you in New York--oh, but I do, though! Through brother Ned!"

"You're a marvel at a guess," quoth she.

"Ay, ay! But how did you carry on your correspondence with him? 'Twas he, then, originated this scheme?"

"Oh, no; 'twas no such thing! The credit is all mine, if you please. I make no doubt, he _would_ have originated it, if he had thought of it. But a sister's wits are sometimes as good as a brother's--remember that, Tom. For I had the wit not only to devise this project, but to know from the first that Ned's reason for joining the rebels was, that he might profit by betraying them."

"Ay, we might have known as much, Bert," said Tom. "But we give you all credit for beating us there, sister."

"Thank you! But the rascal never saw the way to his ends, I fancy; for he's still in good repute in the rebel army. And when I began to think of a way to gain--to gain the honour of aiding the king's cause, you know, I saw at once that Ned might help me. Much as we disliked each other, he would work with me in this, for the money 'twould bring him. And I had 'lighted upon something else, too--quite by chance. A certain old person I know of has been serving to carry news from a particular Whig of my acquaintance (and neither of 'em must ever come to harm, Captain Falconer has sworn) to General Washington." (As was afterward made sure, 'twas old Bill Meadows, who carried secret word and money from Mr. Faringfield and other friends of the rebellion.) "This old person is very much my friend, and will keep my secrets as well as those of other people. So each time he has gone to the rebel camp, of late--and how he gets there and back into New York uncaught, heaven only knows--he has carried a message to brother Ned; and brought back a reply. Thus while he knowingly serves the rebel cause, he ignorantly serves ours too, for he has no notion of what my brother and I correspond about. And so 'tis all arranged. Through Ned we have learned that the rebel light horse troop under Harry Lee has gone off upon some long business or other, and, as far as the army knows, may return to the camp at any time. All that our company under Captain Falconer has to do, then, is to ride upon a dark night to a place outside the rebel pickets, where Ned will meet them. How Ned shall come there unsuspected, is his own affair--he swears 'tis easy. He will place himself at the head of our troop, and knowing the rebel passwords for the night, as well as how to speak like one of Major Lee's officers, he can lead our men past the sentries without alarm. Our troop will have on the blue greatcoats and the caps the rebel cavalry wear--General Grey's men took a number of these last year, and now they come into use. And besides our having all these means of passing the rebel lines without hindrance, Ned has won over a number of the rebels themselves, by promising 'em a share of the great reward the parliament is sure to vote for this business. He has secured some of the men about headquarters to our interest."

"What a traitor!" quoth Tom, in a tone of disgust.

"Why, sure, we can make use of his treason, without being proud of him as one of the family," said Margaret. "The matter now is, that Captain Falconer offers you two gentlemen places in the troop he has chosen."

"The offer comes a little late, sir," said Tom, turning to the captain.

"Why, sir," replied Falconer, "I protest I often thought of you two. But the risk, gentlemen, and your youth, and my dislike of imperilling my friends--however, take it as you will, I now see I had done better to enlist you at the first. The point is, to enlist you now. You shall have your commander's permission; General Clinton gives me my choice of men. 'Twill be a very small company, gentlemen; the need of silence and dash requires that. And you two shall come in for honour and pay, next to myself--that I engage. 'Twill make rich men of us three, at least, and of your brother, sir; while this lady will find herself the world's talk, the heroine of the age, the saviour of America, the glory of England. I can see her hailed in London for this, if it succeed; praised by princes, toasted by noblemen, envied by the ladies of fashion and the Court, huzza'd by the people in the streets and parks when she rides out--"

"Nay, captain, you see too far ahead," she interrupted, seeming ill at ease that these things should be said before Tom and me.

"A strange role, sure, for Captain Winwood's wife," said Tom; "that of plotter against his commander."

"Nay," she cried, quickly, "Captain Winwood plays a strange rôle for Margaret Faringfield's husband--that of rebel against her king. For look ye, I had a king before he had a commander. Isn't that what you might call logic, Tom?"

"'Tis an unanswerable answer, at least," said Captain Falconer, smiling gallantly. "But come, gentlemen, shall we have your aid in this fine adventure?"

It was a fine adventure, and that was the truth. The underhand work, the plotting and the treason involved, were none of ours. 'Twas against Philip Winwood's cause, but our cause was as much to us as his was to him. The prospect of pay and honour did not much allure us; but the vision of that silent night ride, that perilous entrance into the enemy's camp, that swift dash for the person of our greatest foe, that gallop homeward with a roused rebel cavalry, desperate with consternation, at our heels, quite supplanted all feelings of slight in not having been invited earlier. Such an enterprise, for young fellows like us, there was no staying out of.

We gave Captain Falconer our hands upon it, whereupon he told us he would be at the pains to secure our relief from regular duty on the night set for the adventure--that of the following Wednesday--and directed us to be ready with our horses at the ferry at six o'clock Wednesday evening. The rebel cavalry caps and overcoats were to be taken to the New Jersey side previously, and there put on, this arrangement serving as precaution against our disguise being seen within our lines by some possible rebel spy who might thereupon suspect our purpose and find means of preceding us to the enemy's camp.

Tom and I saw the English captain and Margaret take the road toward the town, whereupon we resumed our ride Northward. I could note the lad's relief at being able to account for his sister's secret meeting with Falconer by a reason other than he had feared.

"By George, though," he broke out presently, "'tis plaguey strange Margaret should grow so active in loyalty! I never knew her zeal to be very great for any cause of a public nature. 'Tisn't like her; rabbit me if it is!"

"Why," quoth I, "maybe it's for her own purposes, after all--the reward and the glory. You know the pleasure she takes in shining."

"Egad, that's true enough!" And Tom's face cleared again.

Alas, I knew better! Besides the motive I had mentioned, there had been another to stimulate her wits and industry--the one her words, overheard by me alone, had betrayed too surely--the desire of enriching and advancing Captain Falconer. Well, she was not the first woman, nor has been the last, scheming to pour wealth and honour into a man's lap, partly out of the mere joy of pleasing him, partly in hope of binding him by gratitude, partly to make him seem in the world's eyes the worthier her devotion, and so to lessen her demerit if that devotion be unlawful.

"Poor Philip!" thought I. "Poor Philip! And what will be the end of this?"