CHAPTER VII.
AN OLD FOX AND A YOUNG ONE.
Carl Anselm rode swiftly up the fertile valley, making the most of the Narragansett pony. He kept well to the west, away from the post at Windsor, fearing that, if he met any of Holmes’ men, they might ask awkward questions. The Nipmuck country proper was further north than Windsor; but one of their villages, not a stationary one, stood not far away. This was the village of Wampset, a sort of Indian bandit, who lived like the gipsys, pitching his wigwams where he chose. He had fully one hundred men in his village, the bravest and most restless spirits of his nation. The Pequods, the Romans of New England, knew and hated Wampset. Many a plan had been laid to surprise his village; but they had always failed. The party which came, if stronger than Wampset, found only warm ashes in the ruined lodges; but the Nipmucks had flown. Wampset claimed no particular hunting-ground, but roamed from the most western border of the Pequod country to the Connecticut, a river he never crossed.
The young German had heard of the whereabouts of Wampset, from a man of the Nipmuck nation who had come into Good Hope a few days before. As he approached the village, he took careful note of every thicket near which he passed. All at once, the woods seemed alive with signals, and stealthy footsteps could be heard. Carl knew he was hemmed in, and was not surprised when an Indian of commanding presence stood in the path and ordered him to pause. Carl had been skilled in Indian dialect.
“What would the white man here? He is far from the strong house of his people.”
Carl took off the belt and held it up before the eyes of the man. He started a little, and then assumed a calm attitude:
“Let the warrior look upon the belt,” said Carl. “Has he ever seen it?”
“He has. Where did the white man get it?”
“From one who sent me to seek the chief, Wampset, that I might speak a word in his ear.”
The warrior turned and uttered a whoop. It was evidently an understood signal, for the sound of retiring footsteps could be heard, and they were alone. The warrior turned again to Carl:
“Wampset is always to be found by his friends, and by his enemies when he chooses to be found. Let the young man speak. Wampset is here.”
“Where?”
The savage laid his hand upon his naked breast, in an impressive and graceful gesture. Carl could not doubt that he spoke the truth.
“There is a young war-chief upon the banks of the great river, to whom the chief gave this belt. Long ago, the Indians gave the land to his people. But the English people of Shawmut have come and built a strong house upon the river. The young war-chief is coming to drive them away, and he sent the belt to Wampset, that he may come to his aid with all his men.”
The chief mused:
“I have seen the strong house of the people whom we call Yengees. They will not go away if they can help it. But, my word is given to my young brother, and I will go.”
“He said that you must meet him at the three hills, near the strong house, at midnight to-night.”
“It is well. Let the young man come into the village.”
Carl followed him into the village, which consisted of huts formed only for summer weather. In winter they had different habitations.
The chief led the way to his lodge, and invited his guest to sit upon a pile of skins in one corner. A squaw brought in two large wooden bowls, with spoons of the same material. One of the bowls contained boiled venison, and the other parched corn. Flat, wooden dishes of the same material as the rest, were placed in their hands, and the two made a hearty meal, for the young man was tired by his long ride. When the meal was over, they sat and conversed for an hour. Then the chief, thinking that the young man looked as though he needed rest, left the lodge, and Carl lay down upon the skins and slept.
He rose in about an hour, and went out into the village. He found the warriors making preparations for a march. The chief joined him.
“Are not these cabins cold in winter?” asked Carl.
“The Indians do not dwell in such wigwams when the north wind blows cold,” said the other. “There are pleasant places high up among the hills, where the Pequods can not find us, and where we can live until the sun is warm again.”
“You do not stay in one place long.”
“The knives of the Pequods are long, and their arrows sharp. They have no love for Wampset. They come upon his lodges in the night; but, Wampset is not a fool. He knows when to hide, and when to be found. The sparks are not out in the lodges when the Pequods come, but the men of Wampset are gone.”
“Do you ever fight them?”
“When they are not too many. The braves of Wampset have often sent them howling back to their lodges. But when we are weak and they are strong, we hide in the bush. Sassacus, sachem of the Pequods, would give much wampum for the scalp of Wampset.”
“Does Wampset love the white chiefs at Windsor?”
“Wampset can not love the men who tread upon the graves of his fathers. The Pequods are my enemies. By day and night they watch for the camp-fires of Wampset; but they are brave, and they are Indians. Is the white man owner of the soil? Did he receive it as an inheritance? No; it is the land of the Indian. Pequod or Narragansett, Mohawk or Nipmuck, it is theirs! No, Wampset does not love white men; but the young chief who saved my life in battle is my friend. I will aid him, if it is in my power.”
“I must not stay,” said Carl. “There is work before me. I will go out toward the fort, and you must follow with your braves. Give me a token by which I may pass your warriors in safety.”
The chief unclasped a wampum bracelet from his brawny arm, and fastened it upon that of his young friend. “The Nipmuck doesn’t live,” said he, “who would lay a finger upon the man who wears this. Go in peace.”
Carl rose, took up his rifle and left the lodge. His horse was tied to a post near the door. He mounted and rode away toward the east. Wampset looked after him with a half-sigh, for he saw in him a type of the men before whom his nation was fading like dew in the sunshine.
Carl pursued his way until he struck the river a few miles from Windsor. There was something peculiar in the temper of this young man. He was relentless to his enemies—eager for their blood; but true as steel to his friends. In his code, nothing was too much to do for the man who had saved his life. To risk his own seemed to him a duty which he must perform. Young as he was, he was a fit tool for such work as Joseph Van Zandt assigned him. He had fled from the old country with the blood of a brother on his hands—shed in a moment of anger. Others had felt his steel, and the story had never been told. He thought it an easy way to pay his debt to Joseph, merely by taking the life of William Barlow.
Approaching the trading-post, he paused and considered. He felt quite certain that he might enter the place without fear, as there had been no open rupture between the commandants of the two posts. But he was naturally of a suspicious disposition, a feeling which is common to such natures as his.
He finally rode into the place and was kindly received. He gave them to understand that he had been out upon a scout at the command of Van Curter, and had been chased by a part of the band of Wampset. They knew that the young German was an active scout, and thought nothing of the story. Willie and Boston Bainbridge had not yet come in. After finding out all he cared to know, Carl rode away toward Good Hope, upon the trail usually pursued by travelers. Once out of sight of the village, he went aside from the path, took down his rifle and looked at the priming, and sat down beside the trail, with a look of grim determination upon his face.
The two Englishmen, after their hasty flight from Good Hope, had pressed on as fast as their feet would carry them toward Windsor. Boston’s knowledge of the proposed assault caused him many an inward chuckle. He gloried in the discomfiture of Van Zandt.
“I heard a fall,” said Willie, “while they were pursuing us from the house. How was that, Bainbridge?”
“That,” replied Bainbridge, with an indescribable twist of his features, “was caused by the fall of—something.”
“A wise observation. What was it?”
“I would not be certain upon this point, worthy young man of war,” said Boston. “I can not fight with carnal weapons. I am a man of peace, and live by trade.”
“Don’t keep up that farce here, I beg you. I have laughed in secret at the manner in which you have kept this character, until I am nearly past laughing again. But, what is the use of keeping it up here?”
“It must be done, Willie. Until Good Hope is ours, and the Dutch driven out of the valley, I am nothing but Boston Bainbridge. Do you think any of them suspect, except Katrine?”
“Yes. Once or twice you have given orders in your usual tone. Van Zandt heard you to-night, I am sure. Katrine and Theresa heard you. They are pretty sharp people, and hard to blind.”
“Katrine is a darling,” said Bainbridge. “I hate to deceive her. But it must all come right sometime. When she is my wife we can laugh together over the life of a hawker.”
“I wonder what old Paul Swedlepipe and Ten Eyck are doing about this time. Won’t the fellow tear when he sees that horse after the rain? Oh, I would give fifty pounds to see his face at the time. This rain will wash every grain of color off from his hide, and we should see a skeleton instead of the horse I sold him. Never mind; we have a right to spoil the Egyptians. Ha! The bush moves!”
The sudden exclamation caused Willie, who stood at his side, to start back in some alarm. The movement saved his life, for the rifle of Carl Anselm cracked at that moment, and the ball tore a bloody track through the fleshy part of his arm. In an instant the bushes parted to the rush of the body of Bainbridge. For a man of peace, he certainly behaved in a wonderful manner. The movement was so sudden, that he was close to the side of the would-be assassin before he could turn. Carl was no coward. His courage had been proved in a hundred different ways. Drawing his knife, he made a sudden rush at the hawker, and struck at him viciously with the keen blade. Boston nimbly eluded the stroke and returned it by a slashing blow, which laid open the cheek of the other, marking him for life. As soon as he felt the wound, Carl turned and fled along the river shore, at his best speed, with the hawker following like a sleuth-hound on the trail. He passed round a point of rocks which completely hid him from view. Bainbridge rushed forward, in time to catch a glimpse of the German upon the back of his horse, which he had tied there for security. His jeering laugh came back to them on the wind.
“He has escaped,” cried Boston, as Willie came up. “He got to his horse. The devil fly away with him!”
“Is he hurt?”
“Yes. I laid open his cheek from the ear to the chin. The scoundrel. He will carry my mark to the grave. That he may, is my fervent prayer. Do you know him?”
“I have never seen him before.”
“I have. He is a minion of Van Zandt, or my name is not Bainbridge. It is young Carl Anselm. That bullet was meant for you. How could he miss, when he was not thirty feet away? The miserable scoundrel belongs in Good Hope. They say his character is none of the best, even among his associates. Let me see your arm.”
With some labor and pain, Willie stripped the jacket and shirt from the wound and showed it to Bainbridge. It was a deep flesh-wound, and Boston shook his head. Going down to the river bank, he gathered some leaves from a plant which grew there. These he bruised into a poultice, with which he bound the wounded limb.
“I know the nature of the herb,” he said. “An old Indian woman told me about it, and tried it on a bear-scratch I once got in a fight with that animal. It was wonderful in its effects.”
“It feels comfortable,” said Willie, placing the arm in a sling which the other improvised from a sword-belt. “I will yet have the pleasure of wringing the man’s neck who did me this favor.”
“He is no enemy to despise,” replied Boston. “When you have an open, avowed enemy, you know how to guard against him; but a sneaking fellow like this, who would shoot you from behind a bush, is more to be feared. He is full of energy, and will come upon you in impossible places. In the assault to-night, look out for him!”
“You think they will come, then?”
“They are not the men to be laggards. I can not understand what Carl was doing here. He certainly was not sent out on purpose to shoot you. I could give a reason if I knew where Wampset was.”
“I know just where he is encamped.”
“Where is he?”
“About twenty miles away. An Indian of the Narragansett tribe, who came into Windsor the day after you left, told us where he was. I know that man. He is an outcast from all tribes, and yet he maintains himself against any force they can bring against him. He must have a powerful mind.”
“He has. I have seen him once or twice, and he is a noble Indian. With all his prejudices against the whites, he has none of the cold-blooded animosity of Sassacus, nor the supercilious behavior of Mennawan. But this news troubles me. I doubt not he will come to the aid of the Dutch, for I have heard it said that Van Zandt once did him a great service which the Indian will not hesitate to repay, and now is the Dutchman’s time of want, if ever.”
“Then we have, indeed, much to dread, if Wampset is brought against us.”
“What Indians were at the post when you came away?”
“Only the young son of the Narragansett chief, the Fox.”
“None better. He is truly named. Let us hasten. Do you think he will stay in Windsor?”
“He said he would until the full moon.”
“Good. Make haste.”
They hurried into the post. Catching sight of an idler near the gate, Boston called him, and asked him if the “Fox” was yet in the post. Being answered in the affirmative, he desired that he should be sent to him at once.
Willie turned away, and entered a log-house in one corner of the stockade, bestowing a smile of recognition upon a young Indian, who was coming out. The latter made his way at once to Boston, who greeted him kindly.
“How is the chief, your father?” he asked, touching the young man upon the naked shoulder with his open palm. “How long will it be before he will give the tribe into the hands of his son, who, though he is yet young, has left his mark upon the enemies of his nation?”
“The chief is very well, and sends his greetings to the white chief; his warriors hope it will be many years before he lays down the wampum of a head chief for another to take up. Who is worthy to take the mantle of Miantonomah?”
“None but his son, when Miantonomah is ready. The young chief has often said that he only waits to do the white man a service. Will he do it to-day?”
“When was the Fox unwilling to aid his white brothers?”
“It will take him into the forest.”
“That is well; the forest is his home.”
“He must keep his hatchet keen, for the Pequods may lurk along the track.”
“A Narragansett does not fear a Pequod.”
“It is well; now let the Fox listen.”
In a few decided words, the Yankee informed the young man what he wished him to do. Having thoroughly mastered it and acquiesced in the service, he took his weapons, tightened his belt, and left the post, taking the trail which led to the camp of Wampset.
CHAPTER VIII.
“THERE’S MANY A SLIP ’TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP.”
Van Curter and his men made good time in their march to Windsor, and at four o’clock in the afternoon they were encamped behind the three hills. Hardly had they settled themselves to wait for night, when Carl Anselm came in. His face was disfigured by the knife-cut; the blood lay in thick clots about it, and his small eyes sparkled with vicious fire under his heavy brows. He made his way at once to the place where Van Zandt sat, under a large maple tree.
“Welcome, Carl,” said the captain. “In the name of the saints, what is the matter with your face?”
“I have taken the mark in your service,” replied the other, angrily. “Come away from the rest and I will tell you how.”
The captain followed him to a retired spot, then called upon him to speak.
“I waited in the path for the coming of your enemy until I became weary and fell asleep; their voices woke me as they came, and I started up so quickly that the bush stirred. He was not alone.”
“Ah-ha!”
“No; that cursed spy—for he is nothing better—Bainbridge, was with him. Sturm and wetter! I will have his heart’s blood upon my own account.”
“On with your tale, quick. You fired, did you not?”
“Yes. As the bush stirred, Bainbridge called out to his companion, and he jumped; if he had not done it, a ball would have been in his heart. My curse upon the meddler.”
“Then he escaped?” demanded the other, hoarsely.
“Escaped. Not fully, for my ball struck him on the arm, and there was blood starting through his clothing. Before I could look, that devil, whom we call the peddler, was upon me with an open knife. I had mine in my hand, and made a blow at him. He is quick as a cat; he dodged the knife, and struck at me. You see the result. I lay that wound up against him. I shall do him mischief yet.”
“What did you do then?”
“I saw that he was not what he seemed, and more than a match for me, I dropped the knife and ran for my horse, I had tied him in a ravine by the river-side. Curse the Yankee, he was like a greyhound; if there had been twenty rods more to run I should be a dead man; but I got to my horse and was off.”
“It is a total failure, then?”
“Not so. Before, I worked only for you; now I work for both. I have an account with the man who calls himself Boston Bainbridge.”
“You might have had before, if you had any eyes. You love Katrine, the cousin of Theresa.”
The young man turned upon him with a quick look. “Who told you that?” he said.
“It matters not.”
“Why do you bring her into the conversation?”
“Have you no eyes? Why, man, the other night, while Barlow stood at the window of my willful maid, whispering in her ear, whom think you stood at that of Katrine?”
“Who?”
“Boston Bainbridge.”
“You know this to be true? It is not a trick to make me more surely your friend?”
“I saw it myself.”
“Ah.” Carl stopped, and with his knife-blade stabbed the earth at his feet. “Would that I had him here,” he cried, “would that I knelt upon his breast as I kneel upon the earth. He is my enemy until death.”
“You never knew this?”
“I knew that she was proud, and would not listen to me. I hoped for better things; I thought that a lover’s persistency would bring about the desired end, and this is the re—result.”
His countenance became as that of a fiend; in the heat of his passion the blood gushed anew from his wounded face. He caught some of it in his hand, and cast it from him, crying passionately:
“Let this blood witness against him.” After that he was calmer.
“We will work together, my master; much may be done where there is a good heart in the cause. I am with you, body and soul.”
“The compact is made. By knife, cord and bullet, I will be true to you in this business.”
“So let it be,” responded Carl.
“Have you seen Wampset?”
“Yes. Before nightfall he will be here with a hundred men.”
“Well done. The English power shall be swept from this river; our enemies shall be—where?”
“It matters little so that they cumber the earth no more. It is time Wampset were here.”
“You are sure he will keep his appointment?”
“The promise of an Indian is sure. He will keep his word.”
“Did you look over the block-house and note the entrances?”
“Yes. There are eighteen men in all, now that this spy and Barlow are here; the whole is under the command of William Holmes; his second in command is his brother, who is away in Boston.”
“His brother?”
“Yes.”
“I never heard of such a man until I came here.”
“Few have; he is seldom seen; people who live in this region know that there is such a man as Robert Holmes. He tramps the forest, makes treaties with the Indians, and prepares the country for the next inroad of Yankees. No man can put his finger on him and say, ‘This is Robert Holmes,’ and yet, he is a fixed fact. The people in Windsor have great faith in him, but are non-committal about him.”
“He is a mystery, then?”
“One which we can not unravel. Some of our people swear that Robert Holmes is only a name for a devil, who has taken up his abode at Windsor. I begin to think it is half right, for who but a devil could exert such an influence over Yankees?”
“Phew, such talk as that will do for other men than us; as for this imaginary potentate, if there is such a man, we probably shall meet him to-night, and try the virtue of cold steel upon him. I wonder Wampset is not here; he is not a man to shirk his appointment. Who comes there? Is this the way they keep guard?”
An Indian, gliding forward like a stealthy ghost, at that moment appeared before him. At the first look, Van Zandt knew him; it was one of the men who belonged to the band of Wampset—his messenger, a light, active fellow, with a cunning face.
The first salutation of the captain was sharp and to the point, “Where is Wampset? It is long since the chief was known to linger on the war-trail.”
“Wampset has not lingered. But, he can not come to the aid of his young friend. The Hawk hovers with outspread wings above his tree-top. Shall not the Eagle guard his own nest first?”
“What mean you?”
“Sassacus has sent Mennewan upon the war-trail. A dog who had eaten bread in our lodges told the Pequods that the Eagle rested his tired wings upon the banks of the great river. The Pequods are very mad for the scalp of Wampset, and his band are known in every lodge in the nation. They are very brave.”
“How do you know this?”
“The band had painted their faces for war and set forth. Near the river-side they met the Fox. He is the son of Miantonomah, sachem of the Narragansetts. The Fox is very cunning, and he loves Wampset. He has sworn to have the scalp of Sassacus. He told us that he had been in the Pequod lodges, and they were on the way. They did not know that he was with them. None are so cunning as the Fox.”
“What did he do then?”
“What could he do? Should he leave his little ones a prey to the tomahawks of the Pequods?”
This was unanswerable, and Van Zandt could only mutter curses on the unlucky fate which had worked against him. If he had only known the truth, fate would not have had the curses on that day. But, curses would do no good. Wampset was by this time half way back to his camp, and the Fox, who had done his work well, was back in Windsor, reporting to his employer the success of the stratagem. As the reader has no doubt surmised by this time, the coming of the Pequods was a coinage of the brain of Boston, who hoped by this to send the Indians back to their camp. The ruse succeeded to a charm, and deprived the Dutch of their allies.
There was nothing for it but to take the place without help, and Carl, in company with Captain Van Zandt, set out to reconnoiter the position. It was now growing dark, and they advanced with caution. All about the stockade was still. The silence, in fact, was so profound as to be suspicious. Van Zandt, a practiced Indian-fighter, had his suspicions of such quiescence. He advanced carefully. There was only one light in the stockade. That was a fire in the center, around which sat four or five of the garrison. They were all stalwart men, for Captain Holmes brought no others into the wilderness. The spy could see through the chinks that their arms lay beside them, and ready to take up at a moment’s notice.
In the mean time, Carl had stolen round to the other side of the building, and looked through the chinks in the logs. The cabin in which the officers lived stood close at hand, and through another orifice in the logs, the young German could see the interior. There were three men in the cabin—Barlow, Captain Holmes and Boston. They sat upon stools, by the side of a wooden table, talking eagerly in low tones. From the place where he stood, it was impossible for Carl to hear a word. But, to his astonishment, he saw that Boston not only took an active part in the conversation, but his opinion was listened to with great deference. Carl’s blood boiled in his veins. Since the last night, an intense hatred of the peddler had grown up in his heart. This was the man who had stolen the heart of Katrine. He should die.
He drew a pistol from his pocket, and leveled it through the chinks. The light of a candle upon the table glimmered along the barrel. He pulled the trigger. The hammer came down upon the flint without a report. The priming had been shaken out of the pan in coming from the camp. With a muttered invective Carl slipped behind the logs of the stockade and felt for his powder-flask. He had left it in the camp! The passion of the man was fearful to see. He ran back to find his captain, and lead him to the spot. The moment his eye rested upon the group he put a pistol into the hand of Carl. “Hold,” he said, as that person was about to fire. “Don’t do it. We must get nearer, and hear what they say.” The stockade was about twelve feet high, but the corners were rough, and stood out about six inches from the rest of the work, forming a sort of ladder. Van Zandt took the lead, climbed over, and dropped down into the work, between the wall and the cabin.
The conversation continued; but, to the rage of the two spies, it was now carried on in whispers. It was impossible to hear a word. Twice Carl raised his pistol, and as often he was restrained by the hand of his leader, who had no notion of betraying their presence by a shot, while they were inside the fort. He feared the men who sat by the fire.
“In God’s name,” whispered Carl, “are you going to let him escape? I must fire.”
“Who do you speak of?”
“He. That devil, Bainbridge.”
“I have not so much quarrel with him as with Barlow. Let us get out of this. I tell you you must not, shall not fire. Come.”
Carl obeyed, sullenly enough. They climbed the wall without molestation, and reached the other side. All at once the captain was startled by the report of a pistol, and saw Carl looking through the crack, with the pistol still smoking in his hand. A terrible uproar was heard in the cabin.
“Run for it, captain,” shouted Carl. “Missed him,” he hissed, in his desperation.
They ran in silence until they reached the edge of the woods, when Van Zandt turned, and took his companion by the throat. The epithets he exhausted upon him were of the most fearful nature. Carl shook him off with an angry gesture.
“Take your hand from my throat, Captain Joseph. You ought to know, by this time, that the blood of the Anselms is hot, and can not brook an insult. Hands off, I said!”
“You infernal hound! Did I not order you not to fire?”
“I know it. If I had expected to die the next moment, I would have fired that pistol. I will have him yet. He is doomed. Either he or I.”
“Little cares he for such as you are. Fool, do you not see the immense advantage this man has over you in every point. He is cool; your blood is like fire. He calculates every chance; you act upon the first thought which enters your crazy head. You have, doubtless, by this rash act, spoiled our chance of taking the stockade. If you have, I am not the man to shield you from the rage of Van Curter.”
“Take your own course,” replied Carl, angrily. “I care not. You had better look to it, or you will cancel the bond between us.”
This was what Van Zandt did not care to do, and he begun to conciliate the man. This led him back to the subject of Bainbridge.
“The unquiet beast stooped for a paper he had dropped just as I fired. What has happened to me? Is my aim gone? When was I ever known to miss such shots as these?”
They hurried back to camp, and put the men in order for the attack. When they approached a change had taken place in the aspect of affairs. The works were now brilliantly lighted. Pitch-pine torches blazed in every crevice; the bright barrels of guns glistened along the wall. Van Curter halted his men and came forward, demanding a parley.
“It shall be granted,” cried a voice from within. “Wait.”
In a few moments the door of the stockade swung open, and two men came out. They were Captain Holmes and Barlow. Calling Van Zandt to his side, Van Curter advanced to meet them.
“You have seen me once before,” said Holmes, “and know I have authority. What has the commandant to say to me.”
“I am in the service of the Dutch republic. When you passed up the river, on your way to this place, I warned you to strike and stay. You refused, and kept on your course! I was not in a position then to enforce my commands. I had even made up my mind to tolerate you, as well as I might. But, since you have been here, the riot and disturbance caused by your men are beyond the power of my nature to endure longer.”
“Of what do you complain?”
“You are a cheating set.”
“Ah!”
“You sell my men horses which are good for nothing.”
“They ought to know better than to buy.”
“But they don’t. Your men make a very bad horse look beautiful. There is one vagabond among you whom I will give forty stripes save one, if he ever comes to Good Hope. I have sworn it.”
“What is his name?”
“Boston Bainbridge.”
“Ah, indeed! What has Boston been doing?”
“Every thing that is bad; nothing that is good. I will make him wish that he had never been born. He sold a horse to one of my council for a very high price, bought it back for five guilders, and sold it to another man for a hundred and fifty.”
“And you intend to flog him?”
“Surely.”
“I can’t do better than to warn him to keep out of your way when I see him again. Boston is a cheat in one way. But to business. You have run out of your course to talk of him. What are the men of Good Hope doing here?”
“You are on our land. We claim it as the right of our country, in the name of Hendrick Hudson, the man whom your country would not honor, and who came to us for his due. You must break up this trading-house, and take yourself again to your sloop, get out of the country, and keep out of it.”
“You are modest in your demands, sir. I will say that for you. What if I refuse?”
“You see these men?”
“Yes.”
“They have arms in their hands.”
“I see the arms. They are very rusty. You don’t use them much, I guess.”
“If you refuse we shall take the place.”
“Perhaps you mean you will try to take it.”
“We will take it,” said Van Zandt, speaking for the first time.
“If you can,” replied Barlow, returning the Dutchman’s look of hate and defiance.
“Be quiet, Willie,” said the captain. “It can do no good. Now, sir, to your demand. I hold this post in the name and by the authority of my monarch, king of England. I care nothing for other powers. My force is not large; but, while I or any of my officers or men can lift an arm in its defense, no Dutchman shall enter the block-house, except as a friend. If he comes as an enemy we will give him English steel.”
“You speak plainly.”
“I speak as I feel. Twice to-day murder has been attempted by one of your men. We know him. His name is Carl Anselm, and he is a servant of Captain Van Zandt.”
“Murder!”
“Nothing else. This morning he fired from a bush and missed my lieutenant here, or rather wounded him in the arm, though his intent was to kill.”
“The other?”
“That occurred to-night. The captain and his servant came down together to reconnoiter. While the captain was on one side of the building, his servant snapped a pistol at one of my officers through a chink in the logs. Then they climbed over the wall at the corner.”
“The devil!” cried Joseph.
“You see we were not altogether uninformed in regard to your movements, sir. You climbed over the wall and listened at the chink in the cabin. We whispered, and you could not hear what we said.”
“Are there devils upon earth?” muttered Joseph, in utter astonishment.
“Your man still wanted to fire, and you restrained him. You climbed the wall first, and as your back was turned, Carl fired the pistol, and missed. Is the account correct?”
“Perfectly. And now tell me, if you will do so, how you know all this?”
“Certainly. You were watched all the time. And since Mynheer Van Curter has thought proper to speak of one of my men, and of the punishment he intends to give him, let me say that I have my eye on this Carl Anselm. If he falls into my hands he shall not taste a whipping-post, but he shall have a ride on a higher horse than any he has ever saddled. And he will find it a tough colt to ride. I shall hang him as sure as my name is Holmes.”
“You refuse to surrender?”
“Utterly—and I advise you to clear out at once.”
“The consequences must light upon your own head then.”
“I am ready to abide them. My stockade is strong, and I have men enough to man it. If you try to take it you will have to fight. It is useless to prolong this conference. Let me bid you good-night.”
As they turned to leave, Barlow saw some men creeping up in the rear, led by Carl. He whispered to the captain. He turned quickly, when Van Curter laid hands upon him, and attempted to detain him. Willie found himself in the grasp of Joseph. With one effort of his prodigious strength, Holmes dashed Van Curter breathless to the ground, and turned to the aid of Willie. But, the young men, clinching, had fallen, and Joseph’s head struck the earth with such force as to deprive him of his senses. Rising quickly, the two turned toward the stockade. There were seven men between them and the gate—unarmed, however, as they had intended to overpower the officers—not to harm them. Holmes measured the distance to the gate with his eye, threw forward his chest, bringing his fists up to his sides. The Dutchmen gathered in a body to seize them as they started to run for the gate. As the two men came near they increased their speed, and came down upon the little group with the might of giants; using their hands in a manner which astounded their would-be captors. Carl, who threw himself directly in Willie’s path, got a “facer” from the one uninjured arm which sent him down as if struck by a bullet, with a broken nose. Right and left went the Dutchmen, the dull thud of the blows sounding ominously of defeat to them. At last the two men broke through the crowd and reached the stockade, breathing hard, but not in the least hurt.
“The scoundrels,” said one of the garrison. “Say the word, captain, and we will go out and whip the entire lot.”
“That word I won’t say. I think too much of my men. What are they doing, Bailey?”
“Picking up the broken bones and taking them away. Oh, sir, if you could only have seen the blow the lieutenant gave the Dutchman who was here this morning!”
“I am glad he got a stroke at him. I will hang that fellow yet.”
“Here comes Van Curter again, sir,” said one of the men. “What shall I say to him?”
“Give him a shot. Be careful not to hit him; only give him a hint to keep out of way or he will get hurt.”
The man obeyed. Van Curter, seeing the uselessness of further parley, formed his men in the woods and made ready for the attack. Holmes threw more wood on the fire, ordered his men to cheer, which they did with a will, and waited.
“Do you think they will try it,” asked the captain of Barlow.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “We are ready for them in any case.”
CHAPTER IX.
CUDGELS TO THE FRONT.
Van Curter did not intend to give up without a struggle. The attempt to take the officers prisoners was made at the instigation of Captain Van Zandt, who argued that they were to the garrison at Windsor what the head is to the body, and that the head once off the body is useless. How poorly they succeeded has been seen. Still at their posts within the fort, Holmes knew that they were gathering to attack him. He passed the word to the men to fight steadily.
Van Curter’s men advanced from four sides, bearing ladders hastily constructed, with which to scale the walls. Even now Holmes did not like to use his rifles on them, and called on them to stay. They only answered by yells of defiance, and quickened their pace. Holmes reluctantly gave the order to fire.
The balls whistled about the ears of the Dutch. Several of them were wounded, but none killed. The injured were hurried to the rear, and the rest planted their ladders and begun the ascent. Holmes, who did not like to kill any of them, ordered his men to throw down the ladders as fast as they were placed. As there were generally two or three men on each ladder when they fell, bruises and broken ribs resulted.
“Cudgels to the front!” cried out a laughing voice at this juncture.
The men turned. Boston Bainbridge was just coming out of the cabin, carrying an armful of stout oak cudgels, which he had been smoothing so as to fit the hand. These he distributed to the men, who received them with lusty cheers.
“Throw open the gate,” cried Boston. “We shall show these knaves that we do not fear them. What do they mean by coming against us with empty hands. They will bring guns next time.”
The gates were flung open with a will, and the eighteen men of the garrison found themselves opposed by about twenty-five Dutchmen, the rest having been placed hors de combat in various ways. But, they were not the men to yield tamely, and catching up clubs and stones, they met the sortié bravely. Foremost among the party from the stockade, Boston Bainbridge came—not the Boston who sold his wares in Good Hope, but an active forester, eager for a fray. Carl Anselm, with his bruised and distorted face, looking fiendlike under the glare of the fires, rushed at him with a knife in his hand. But he went down at once like an ox under the ax of the butcher. The Dutch tried in vain to stand up before the men of Windsor. They were driven from the field, and made their way back to camp, dragging their wounded with them.
Next day they went back to Good Hope. They wanted to be as far as possible from the long-armed men of Windsor. With curses both loud and deep, Van Curter led his men home, closed his gates, and sat down to think.
“Who is Boston Bainbridge?” he asked of Captain Van Zandt.
“The devil himself,” replied that worthy.
“At least, he is something more than a peddler. Did you see him fight? Our men went down like grass before the mower. He has powerful arms.”
“Poor Carl is disfigured for life. First, that blow he took from Barlow spread his nose all over his face, and now his head is broken. He will go mad if he does not get revenge.”
“Where is he?”
“The surgeon has him.”
“That was a bad failure.”
“Bad! I should think so. But who, I ask you, would have thought it possible for two men to escape from such a net? I would have periled my soul on my power to hold Barlow; but my head struck a stone. That will be settled sometime. When we meet again with swords in our hands, one or the other must die. Where is Theresa?”
Van Curter pointed to the door of the next room. The young man rose, pushed open the door, and entered. Theresa sat at a table, engaged in some household duty. She looked up with an odd sort of smile as he entered.
“Have you no welcome for me, Theresa?” he asked, in a tone of passionate entreaty.
“Would it not be better, Joseph, for us to cease at once at playing friendship, when I, at least, have not a spark of respect for you in my heart?”
“When did I become so hateful to you?” he asked, in a low tone.
“I was afraid of you always; but the time from which I ceased to hold even respect toward you was when you struck your hand upon this table, and swore to kill Willie Barlow.”
“You do not remember, Theresa, that those words were spoken in the heat of passion, aroused by your refusal of me. Would a man with any heart have said less? Listen to me, Theresa Van Curter, and mark my words well. You have it in your power to make for yourself and for me a glorious destiny. I have influence in the old world. There is nothing I can not claim in the way of honor and wealth. My love for you is so entire that you can shape me as you will. My nature only needs a guiding hand—a loving, tender, womanly hand like yours. Be my wife. We will turn our backs forever upon this new country and all its bad associations, and make a new life in our own fatherland.”
Theresa mused. His appeal had been so impassioned, so full of heart, that it was not in her nature to hurt his feelings. He noted her indecision:
“You hesitate, my darling! I have not given you time enough. You want more. Take it. Weeks, months, a year! I can wait, only give me some hope, and promise that you will no longer listen to this plotting Englishman.”
“Do not deceive yourself, Joseph,” she said. “It is not in my power to do as you ask. Spare me any longer speech upon the subject. It is only just to me that you should cease.”
“You are hasty; you should take time.”
“This was decided some time since,” she returned, quietly gathering up some things from the table, and placing them in a box at her side.
“It then remains for me to tell you what may result, if you push me too far. Remember, I can bear, and have borne much for your sake. There is only one way by which you can save yourself and him.”
“You have no power over him,” she answered, with a curl of her proud lip. “What may be the way in which we may be saved?”
“By being my wife.”
“Death before such a redemption! Do you use threats to me?”
“Not at all. I never threaten. I act, as you and your minion shall find. I bid you good-night, Theresa Van Curter—as a lover, forever. In after times we may meet again, and you shall say that I am not a man to be despised. Give you good-night.”
The door closed behind him, and Theresa was alone. Once rid of his presence, and the firmness which had sustained her through the interview gave way; she dropped her head upon the table, and gave way to a flood of tears.
The night came, dark and gloomy, and Theresa retired early. The men of Good Hope, tired by their fruitless expedition, sunk into repose. There was no rain, though the clouds covered the whole face of the sky. Theresa could not sleep; she rose, threw on a light wrapper, and sat at the latticed casement, the place where Willie had so often come.
A dark figure rose outside the window, and a scream rose to her lips, which was hushed by a low “hist” from the stranger. She threw open the casement with care. It was Willie.
“I have not time to exchange a word,” he said, kissing her. “Whatever happens to-night, keep to your room. Warn Katrine, also; but be cautious.”
With these words he was gone, and she sat in breathless expectation. An hour dragged by, when, all at once, there rose upon the still night air the shouts of men in combat. The Windsor men had turned the tables and attacked Good Hope!
Cheers and execrations mingled upon the sultry air. Dark forms flitted to and fro in the gloom. The Windsor men had followed close upon the trail of the men of Good Hope, and attacked them at the hour when the senses of all but the guards were locked in slumber. Indeed, some of the men yet lingered in the works before the assault came.
In a very short space the outer work was won, and the Dutch driven into the houses within the works. These they barricaded, and prepared to make a vigorous resistance.
At the first alarm, Van Zandt and Van Curter were upon their feet and seized their weapons. In the melée outside, they were separated in some way, and were driven into different houses. The one in which the captain took refuge was that of the commandant. Carl was with him.
There were three of these houses in the works, built of logs, notched and squared at the end. They were solid structures, capable of resisting a very strong force. About twenty in the garrison were fit for duty, of whom ten were in one house, under Van Curter, seven under Van Zandt, while, by a series of unlucky accidents, Paul Swedlepipe, Ten Eyck and Hans Drinker were by themselves. As neither of these worthies would be dictated to by the other, the house was divided against itself. All the rest of the men were either wounded or prisoners.
“You look a little out,” said Hans, “unt see if dem Yankees out dar’, Paul Swedlepipe.” The Dutchmen, as if the occasion called for it, now talked in English.
“Vat you dink, Hans Drinker? You dells me vas I must do? No. You go look mit your own eyes, schoost like pung in a peer barrel.”
“I pe de oldest; I commands dis house,” said Ten Eyck.
“Don’t you vant to puy a horse?” demanded Paul, in a threatening tone, by way of reminding his adversary of the battle they had fought in the horse-corral. Ten Eyck subsided instanter.
“I commands dish house,” asserted Drinker, “by orders mit te commandant.”
“You’s a liar,” said Ten Eyck.
“So he is,” said Paul, “and you’s a pigger liar.”
At this moment a sound was heard like the ripping up of a bark roof. All three cast their eyes upward.
“Vat’s dat?” asked Ten Eyck.
“You go and see,” replied Paul.
“I’ll see you in—Amsterdam first,” answered the other, stoutly. “You go, Hans Drinker.”
“I won’t,” said Hans. He lighted his pipe, and sat down to smoke. Paul and Ten Eyck followed his example.
The ripping of boards continued, and something could be heard dropping upon the floor above.
“Something cooms into dis ’ous’,” quoth Hans, taking his pipe from his mouth to say it.
“Dink so myself,” rejoined Paul.
“Yaw, den vas shall happen?”
“You go see.”
“Nix—nay—no! You go, Ten Eyck.”
“Nein!” thundered Ten Eyck, puffing away with great vigor at the long pipe. As he spoke, the doorway was darkened, and four of the detested Windsor men sprung into the room. They had mounted the roof, torn off the bark roofing, and dropped into the garret.
“Surrender!” cried the foremost, as he drew near. “No use of fighting. Who commands here?”
“Me!” burst simultaneously from three pair of lips.
“All of you, eh? A corporate body, this. Come, boys, let’s bind these fellows fast and leave them.”
With this benevolent intention he approached Hans Drinker. When he came near enough, it suddenly occurred to the Dutchman that it would be no more than his duty to fight a little. Accordingly, he unexpectedly let go his right fist, taking the Yankee under the ear. This prowess excited the others to feats of valor. Paul seized a stool upon which he had been seated, and hurled it at the head of his adversary. Ten Eyck grabbed the poker from the wide fireplace, and attacked his adversary with great zeal.
But fire soon burns out when the fuel is scant. Hans, conceiving that he had done his duty to the State of Holland, submitted to be bound, after knocking down his man. This left four men to two. Paul was overpowered in a moment; but Ten Eyck retreated to a corner, from which he menaced all who dared approach with the poker. This at first excited laughter on the part of the men, but soon turned to anger at his pertinacity. He stood near the fire and thrust the poker into the hot coals when it was likely to become cool.
“This Dutchman is too hot,” said one of the men. “Let us cool him.”
A large tub of dirty water stood in one corner of the room. Two of the men brought this and placed it in front of the obdurate Hollander.
“Will you give up?” cried the leader.
“Nein!” replied Ten Eyck. “Never so long as I pe shoost as I am.”
“Lift her, boys!” was the order. The two men raised the tub from the floor. “One—two—three—and away!”
The contents of the tub were discharged upon the person of Ten Eyck, cooling his ardor and poker at the same time. As he stood there, with the water running in streams from every angle upon his figure, the men threw themselves upon him, and tied him neck and heels.
“That job is done,” said the leader. “Now, boys, follow me, but you, Seth Mather, had better stay with the prisoners.”
One of the men sat down to keep guard, and the rest passed out into the open space within the works. The rest of the men stood there, waiting for the issue of the work upon the first house. The leader reported.
“You have done well,” said Holmes. “Very well, indeed. Let us hail this house.”
He approached the building in which Van Curter was, with the strongest party in the works. In answer to his hail, Van Curter himself came to the window.
“Who is there?” he cried.
“King George and Captain Holmes, of Windsor.”
“To what am I to attribute the honor of this visit?”
“To my ardent desire to return your late courteous visit to my quarters. It’s a reciprocation of favors. We Yankees never like to be in debt long for such things.”
“Bah! you talk too much, like all Englishmen. Do you design to take this post?”
“I do. I have now more men than you. Counting the wounded, those taken prisoners at the first rush, and those in yonder house, half your force is out of the battle. You have just seventeen men.”
“You are well informed.”
“I always aim to be so. Do you surrender?”
“Give me an hour to consider?”
“I will give you five minutes.”
“Your demands are hard. What are your terms?”
“You will find them easy. You shall have permission to march out under your own colors, with your arms and personal property. We want nothing but the House of Good Hope.”
“We shall keep our colors?”
“Yes, even to the red color of your noses.”
“And our side-arms?”
“Every thing that is Dutch.”
“In short, all you demand is the surrender of the work itself?”
“Precisely; clear out—that is all.”
“Then I will open the door; your terms are generous, and I believe are made in good faith.”
“You must submit to be imprisoned in one of the houses until all your men are in my hands.”
“I will attend to that,” said Van Curter. “Place a guard upon my men here and come with me.”
The doors were thrown open. The ten men were placed in a room by themselves and a guard placed over them. Holmes, Willie and Van Curter now proceeded toward the other house, and Van Curter called the name of Captain Van Zandt. He knew the voice and came to the window immediately.
“Is that you, Van Curter?” he asked.
“It is I; open.”
“Are the English gone?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I have surrendered.”
“Coward!”
“Be careful, sir! I repeat, I have surrendered the place. It was useless to resist. The terms are noble. We are to be allowed to march out with drums and colors, and make our way to the islands. Our private property is ours. In short, better terms were never given. Therefore open your doors and give yourselves up.”
“I never drew a cowardly breath in my life, Van Curter. This house is my castle; I will keep it against all who come against it.”
“I tell you I have surrendered,” shouted Van Curter.
“And I tell you that I have not! And, what is more, I don’t intend to. I have a strong house, and the best of your men, and the morning is at hand. I will give a good account of myself, and drive the ragamuffins of Captain Holmes back to their filthy quarters.”
“You use modest terms,” said Holmes.
“Ah-ha. You are there, Yankee? I give you good-night.”
“You refuse to surrender?”
“Yes; refuse to the bitter end.”
“Then we must make you do it.”
“Do it if you can.”
CHAPTER X.
A NIGHT IN BONDS.
Holmes stepped back and took a survey of the building. His practiced eye at once took in its strong points. The doors were of hewn oak, crossed by heavy iron clamps. On the inside, so Van Curter told them, were heavy bars of seasoned wood, tough and elastic as so much steel, set into iron rings upon either side of the door. These bars were four in number, at equal distances from each other. No common power could force one of these doors from its fastening. These entrances were two in number, one at the front and one at the back. The windows were seven in number; two in front, two on each side, and one at the back of the house, fastened, like the doors, by solid wooden bars. These particulars they gained from Van Curter, who was angry at the young captain for refusing to yield. He determined to try him once more, but found him very obstinate. He then demanded that his daughter should be permitted to leave the house. This was refused at once.
“Let me understand you, Joseph. Do you mean to tell me, seriously, that you intend to keep my daughter in the house during the attack which will be made upon it?”
“I do.”
“Then by that act you at once cancel any trust between us.”
“Let it be as you say. I will make a new bond between us.”
“Will you let my daughter and her cousin go?”
“No, I will not.”
“Why?”
“I keep them as a safeguard. They are the tools by which we will drive these Yankees away from Good Hope. You will understand it better when you know that there is to be no childs’-play here—no fighting with cudgels, as we fought at Windsor. But, with bullet, knife and sword we will make the house good. Every ball from a rifle which enters this house will put the life of your daughter in jeopardy. Katrine also will be in danger, which is a pity, since she is beloved by worshipful Boston Bainbridge. Where is that godly youth? He should be here to defend her.”
At these words there was a slight commotion in the rear of the group, and a man strode forward and addressed the captain. It was Boston Bainbridge. But, what a change had taken place in him! His hair, before rugged and unkempt, was now allowed to fall loose upon his shoulders after the manner of the cavaliers. He was carefully and richly dressed; the belt which encircled his waist bore a long sword and a pair of pistols. His air was defiant, as seen in the gory light of the coming morning.
“You have called for Boston Bainbridge,” said he, “and he who hath borne that name for years now stands before you in his own person, Lieutenant Robert Holmes. What is this I hear? Does yonder knave dare to make women a target for his protection? How now, sir; do you claim to be a man, and yet need a woman for a safeguard?”
“So Boston Bainbridge is dead, and one has arisen who is of my degree, and we may cross swords with honor. What care I for what man can say of me? I know my power. The fair Theresa is in my hands; Katrine is in those of Carl Anselm. Believe me when I say that they might better be in the hands of the devil. Draw off your men and leave the place, or we will do that which will make you and them wish they had never been born. Away, I say.”
The fearful threat implied in the words of Van Zandt startled his listeners; there was a quick glance from man to man, to see if every face looked as ghastly as each felt his own to be. The girls were in the power of this villain indeed. How could they be succored?
“Joseph,” said the commandant, in a pleading tone. “Remember that we have been friends for many years, and that I have ever listened kindly to your suit. You are jesting now. You would not harm my child. Throw open your doors and let us enter.”
“I will not. We will fight while a hope remains, and when that hope is gone, you shall have your daughter, as she will be then, not as she is now!”
“God’s curse upon you, villain. Do you not heed a father’s agony?”
“Not a whit. You have given up the work like a coward, and I no longer respect you.”
“This shall be answered at the sword’s point,” cried Van Curter, striking his hand upon his sword-hilt until it rung loudly in the scabbard.
“As you will. I fight no old man without teeth unless he forces it upon me. Your young friends there might take it off your hands.”
“And they shall!” cried Robert Holmes, Boston Bainbridge no more. “Or my right hand has forgot its cunning. Hark you, sir; dare you come out and fight me?”
“I hope I am not such a fool. What surety have I that I should ever see the inside of this house again?”
“My word.”
“Bah! The word of Boston Bainbridge!”
“Boston Bainbridge is dead. I stand here in his place, a man of honor and of family, and dare you to the fight.”
“It will not do,” replied the other. “I have the advantage now, and relinquish it I will not. Go your ways, Lieutenant Boston Bainbridge Holmes, spy and cheat that you are, and let us go ours. It will be better.”
The friends drew off and consulted for some time. There seemed no feasible way of getting into the house, with the fearful menace of Van Zandt before their eyes. It was fully concluded to appear to draw off from the house, and by underhand means to gain an entrance. This was communicated to the defenders of the house, and every one appeared to leave the spot. Leaving the window to the care of one of his men, the Dutch captain turned aside into the little room in which the girls were confined. They sat upon the bed, with their arms entwined about each other, weeping, for every word of the conversation without had come to their ears.
“Go into the next room, Katrine,” said Joseph, “and do me the favor to keep your ear from the crack. I wish to talk with Theresa.”
“I shall stay here,” replied Katrine.
“Fool!” was the uncomplimentary rejoinder. “Must I send for Carl Anselm to drag you out by force?”
“No, no!” pleaded the girl. “Any one but Carl.”
“I should please you if I sent for Bainbridge, only that worthy is dead.”
“Was it true,” said Katrine, turning her tearful eyes upon him. “Is he indeed dead? Tell me when and by whose hand. I heard you say that he was dead. Until then, I thought it was his voice.”
“He died by his own hand,” was the pitiless reply. “Boston Bainbridge is no more. The man whose voice you heard was Lieutenant Robert Holmes. Leave the room.”
Katrine obeyed, passing into the next apartment and closing the door. She took the precaution to bolt the door upon the inside, so that Carl, who had uttered fearful threats since she had been a prisoner, could not enter. He came soon and rattled at the door, but she would not let him in.
In the next room Joseph and Theresa stood face to face. There was a settled gloom upon the face of the man. His fate was following him so close that it appalled him. He begun to doubt if, after all, he should succeed in his undertaking. Ho grew desperate, as he looked at the girl, who was wonderfully calm in his presence.
“Why do you come?” she asked.
“I come to speak for your good, Theresa. I have told you many times that love for you had taken a deep root in my heart. Do what you can, be cold or disdainful, the feeling is the same. You have made me a desperate man. I have you utterly in my power, you and Katrine. One thing only will open yonder doors, and set you free.”
“And that thing—”
“Is to take a solemn oath upon this holy sign” (making the cross on his breast) “that you will never marry another while I live, and that you will be my wife when I ask it.”
“If you had studied all your life to devise a cruel sentence, your study could not have brought to life a more wicked one than this. No, Joseph Van Zandt, you have had my answer. I have nerved myself to meet death, if it must be, sooner than be your wife.”
“You must swear it upon the cross,” he rejoined, “lest a worse fate come to you. Reflect, and tell me if there is not at least one thing worse than death. Reflect, too, that this fate shall be yours, and that of the sniveling fool in the next room, if you refuse. The threat of what I would do has driven your brave friend away from the house. I have sworn to do it, and I will keep my word.”
“God will protect me.”
“I am an unbeliever. Your faith can not shake me. Perhaps He will protect you. Perhaps He will batter down these strong gates, and let your friend in. It is very probable! Foolish girl! yield while the way is clear.”
“No, I will not. My friends will attack the house and set me free. You shall feel what it is to arouse the vengeance of a true man. Go; you are a coward. The heart of a dog beats in your breast. You threaten a woman, and make her love for her friends work against her for your own foul ends. You never had one true feeling in your heart. What you call love for me is only a passion, which would burn itself out in a twelve-month. Leave me, and do your worst.”