On February 28th Roger and Mary landed in New York. For him, having all his life been a bad sailor, the voyage had been one of almost unmitigated misery. Sometimes for days on end the winter storms had churned the ocean into great masses of water, seeming mountain-high, that threatened to engulf the ship as easily as a whale swallows a herring. For hour after hour she slithered up the long green slopes until the crests of huge waves broke over her, then plunged at terrifying speed down into watery valleys. While she ran, often with bare masts and hatches battened down, before such storms, Roger rolled, sick and weak, on his narrow berth in the little cabin.
During the worst storms Mary had also been seasick, but she proved the better sailor and had tended him most of the time like a ministering angel. On days when the weather was less inclement she bullied him into staggering up on deck to exchange the stuffy air of the cabin for freezing wind and sometimes driving rain. On such occasions Silas van Wyck helped her with him and at other times, when Roger could not be persuaded to leave the cabin, gave her his arm on the heaving deck and proved a most pleasant companion.
For most of the time Roger had eaten very little and, when he did feel well enough to join the others at table, he found the fare meagre and unappetising. This was because the ship had not been provisioned for an Atlantic crossing, so during the last weeks of the voyage both passengers and crew had to make do mainly on weevilly biscuits and brackish water.
Added to these discomforts Roger was greatly worried about what would happen to Mary and himself when they reached America. His expenses in getting out of Russia and while in Stockholm had sadly reduced the considerable sum he normally carried on him when abroad. In his money belt he had now only a dozen gold pieces and the little washleather bag containing a few small diamonds that he always kept there against emergencies. But how long would such slender resources last? And, above all, how could he and Mary possibly get home from a country at war with Britain?
During a spell of bitter weather, a few days before they sighted land, Roger had talked over his problems with van Wyck, and the friendly American merchant had proved most helpful. He could offer no suggestion about the Brooks’ securing a passage back to England, but he said that his house in New York was large and comfortable, and insisted that they should be his guests there while exploring the possibilities of recrossing the ocean. In consequence, when they landed at the snow-covered dock in the Hudson river, they went ashore with him.
Van Wyck had not exaggerated about his home. It was a three-storey, brownstone mansion some quarter of a mile from the tip of Manhattan Island, looking across the water to Brooklyn village. His wife and family were naturally surprised and delighted to see him. Mrs. van Wyck was a rosy-cheeked, buxom lady in her early forties, and there were three teenage daughters: Prudence, Guelda and Faith. While the mother made the Brooks welcome, the girls smiled at Mary and dropped curtseys, then two young negress house slaves were sent bustling off to light fires in the upstairs rooms and prepare them for the visitors.
An hour later they all sat down to an excellent dinner to which, after their weeks of privation, the three voyagers did ample justice. Roger had lost nearly two stone in weight, and had come ashore in very poor shape; but after this hearty meal, washed down with an ample supply of red wine followed by port, he began to feel more like his old self.
There was little to tell of the war. After the disaster to the American force under General Van Reusselaer in mid-October, winter had closed in, rendering further major land operations impossible, and it was not expected that they would be resumed until mid-April. At sea the Americans continued to harass British commerce, but the British had considerably increased their squadrons off the United States coast, and it was feared that, as the weather improved, the ports in the north would be as closely blockaded as those in the south already were.
Roger had had no reason to fear that while in America any restriction would be placed on his liberty, because the States were at war with Britain. It was Napoleon who, after the brief Peace of Amiens in 1803, had originated the arrest and internment of all civilians who, later, were termed ‘enemy aliens’. This innovation in warfare had profoundly shocked all other nations and had been generally regarded as a most barbarous infliction on thousands of harmless people. But Roger had anticipated that, although van Wyck had so generously offered Mary and him hospitality, owing to their being English, the majority of Americans would not conceal their bitter resentment at having had to resort to war with Britain in defence of their right to trade freely.
However, this proved far from being the case. During the next few days, having learned of van Wyck’s unexpected return, scores of his acquaintances came to call on him. When introduced to Mary and Roger, they condoled with them on their plight, showed a warm friendliness and expressed the hope that they would be able to help in making the exiles’ stay in New York enjoyable.
This attitude was due largely to the fact that, although some forty years earlier they had had to fight Britain to gain their independence and were now fighting her again, their sympathies were still with her in the desperate war she had for so long been waging on the Continent against the French.
Generals Lafayette and Rochambeau and numerous other French officers having come to the aid of the Americans during their revolution, had not materially altered the fact that, from the earliest times of settlement along the Eastern coast, in both the north and south, the French had been the hereditary enemy. Louis XIV had succeeded in establishing a thriving colony in New France, as Canada was first called, and another in Louisiana on the Gulf of Mexico. The former had not been conquered until fifty years earlier, when General Wolfe had scaled the heights of Abraham and defeated the Marquis de Montcalm; and the latter acquired by purchase from Napoleon as recently as 1803.
Roger soon learned that the New Yorkers differed greatly from the population of all other States in the Union. In the earlier part of the seventeenth century the two major British settlements in America had for many years been separated. That in the north was inhabited by the Puritan New England farmers, that in the south by the sugar and cotton growers descended from Catholic Elizabethans and Stuart cavaliers. Between them had lain Dutch and Swedish colonies, known as the New Netherlands, which consisted of Manhattan Island and the lands adjacent to the Hudson river, and New Sweden, north of Delaware Bay.
In 1655 the Dutch had attacked and absorbed the Swedish colony. Then, in the Anglo-Dutch war of 1673, while England had suffered the indignity of having a Dutch fleet sail up the Thames, on the other side of the ocean they had conquered the New Netherlands, and its capital, New Amsterdam, had been renamed by Charles II after his brother and High Admiral, James Duke of York.
These changes in sovereignty, together with the immigration of Italians, Germans, Spaniards, Portuguese, Swiss and others, after their countries had been conquered by Napoleon, had resulted in New York becoming the most cosmopolitan city in America; and, when Roger arrived there, it was said that the native tongues of its citizens ran to more than sixteen languages. Very few of the population had any longer a special loyalty to any European country, as for a hundred years the Dutch had placidly accepted British rule and, after the States had achieved independence, the English who remained loyal to the Crown had emigrated to Canada. All this resulted in the New Yorkers having become almost a race apart. The same applied to the New Englanders and the Southerners for, although they had all accepted the Constitution and, as the United States, were technically one nation, as yet they were far from having coalesced into one people.
Most of the houses in the city were built of wood, and down by the Battery, on the point, there were still some narrow streets of Jacobean buildings; but further inland the streets were wider, with houses of brick or stone. To the north there was open country, with many farms and, along the bank of the Hudson, a number of mansions with extensive grounds. They could not compare in size with the stately homes of England, but they could in design, as most of them were fine examples of the best Georgian architecture.
The van Wycks took Roger and Mary to visit two of these lovely homes, which belonged to friends of theirs, and this resulted in a piece of great good fortune for Roger. The owner of one of them was Gouverneur Morris.
This distinguished American had been born in what was known as Morrisania Manor and, many years later, had purchased it from his brother. After holding several important posts in the newly-formed independent Government of the United States, in 1789 he had gone to live in France, and in ’92 been appointed American Ambassador there. A born aristocrat, he favoured strong government by well-educated men of good birth. His open hostility to the revolutionaries after they had imprisoned the Royal family had led to the Convention demanding his recall. But before returning to America he had spent four years travelling in Europe, and for a considerable part of that time he had lived in London. While there he had been made a member of White’s, and Roger had met him at the club on several occasions.
Mr. Morris was now a man of sixty; cynical, intelligent, witty and having enormous charm. Like most New Yorkers, he had been strongly opposed to this new war with England, and when he learned of the plight of the exiles he showed his sympathy in the most practical manner by asking Roger how he was placed for funds.
Roger promptly disclosed the slender state of his resources, and added that as he was unable to produce evidence that at home he was a man of substance, he could not approach anyone in New York for a substantial loan on his note of hand, even if they were prepared to wait for repayment until after the war. To this Morris replied;
‘Mr. Brook, the fact that your father was a British Admiral and that you are a member of White’s is security enough for me, and I should be happy to finance you to any reasonable amount.’
It was then arranged that Roger should write a letter to Hoare’s Bank, informing them that Mr. Morris had lent him five hundred pounds and that this sum was to be repaid on presentation of the letter, together with the current rate of interest for loans from that date up to the date of presentation. Mr. Morris said that he would have the money next day, and invited the Brooks and the van Wycks to dine with him so that he could hand it over.
When Roger and Mary were in bed on the night they had received this generous assistance, he said to her:
‘Mary, my love, although I have done my best to hide it from you, I know that you must have guessed how desperately worried I have been about our situation here. If we could have got a ship to land me in any European port, either in Britain or, as the Comte de Breuc, anywhere on the Continent, I could with ease have procured the money to pay our passage. But Silas van Wyck’s enquiries among his shipping friends have made it certain that no American merchant will any longer send one of his ships to sea, owing to the certain chance of her being captured by the British blockading squadron.
‘That meant I would have to seek some clerical post to provide us with the means of subsistence during our virtually enforced captivity here; for we could not remain as the good van Wyck’s guests indefinitely. But now, with the five hundred pounds that Gouverneur Morris has so generously lent me, an alternative is open to us. With ample money to pay our way, we could proceed north to the Canadian border and, given good luck, succeed in crossing the war zone. Then from Quebec we’d have no difficulty in securing a passage home. What say you to this project?’
‘That we must embark upon it,’ she replied at once. ‘The war may last for years, and working as a clerk in some merchant’s office would be misery for you. The loan has proved a god-send, and the sooner we set out for Canada the better.’
After a moment he said, ‘Were I alone I would not hesitate to do so. But nothing could induce me to leave you behind, and such a journey would prove no light undertaking for a woman. Once past Albany you would have to face great discomfort. Further north winter conditions still prevail: ice on the lakes, snow, possibly blizzards, and uncertainty about securing even barely edible food. Added to that, when endeavouring to cross the frontier, we would be in grave danger, not only from the Americans catching us and believing us to be spies, but also from falling into the hands of a band of Indians, who might treat us with the utmost savagery.’
‘No matter,’ Mary declared. ‘No conditions could be worse than those we faced together in Russia. Mr. Morris’s loan will not last indefinitely, and it would be misery for you to earn a pittance here in some subordinate position. And still worse for me, to witness your unhappiness daily for months, perhaps for years. If you refrain from asking Silas tomorrow to do what he can to facilitate our journey to the north, then I shall do so myself. Now, either make love to me, or let us go to sleep.’
Turning over, Roger took her in his arms and murmured, ‘My sweet, brave Mary. Since you are determined to face this venture, I’ll no further labour the risks we must take, for if we do not take them we condemn ourselves to an indefinite period of dreary frustration which would be near intolerable to support.’
The following morning they told their host and hostess of their decision to try to get home by way of Canada. Silas van Wyck endeavoured to dissuade them from the attempt, stressing the difficulties and dangers they would encounter. His wife added her plea, describing the discomforts she had once endured during a journey of only a week in a covered wagon. But Mary replied that she had suffered far worse, and Roger added that they could travel the greater part of the way by water.
This was true, as the supply route to the American forces on the St. Lawrence river front was due north from New York, first by way of the Hudson then across Lake Champlain, and there was a regular service of river boats up the Hudson as far as Albany.
Having failed to persuade his guests to stay on, van Wyck procured passages for them on the next boat going north, sailing on March 14th. That morning the van Wyck family accompanied them to the landing stage and, having said good-bye to these excellent friends Roger and Mary started on their long journey.
There had been settlements on both sides of the Hudson river for well over a hundred and fifty years, and there was a regular service between New York and the considerable town of Albany, so the boats were moderately comfortable. The passengers were mostly farmers or store keepers, some of whom were accompanied by their wives and negro slaves. There was also a group of Redskins, who had been down to New York to exchange furs for tobacco, powder for their muskets, fiery spirits and various domestic articles such as iron cooking pots.
Roger was told that the Indians were Mohawks, one of the tribes of the Five Nations that, united, were termed Iroquois. Hiawatha had been one of the founders of the Confederation, and it had the highest form of government of any Indian people north of Mexico. The group on the boat wore, beneath their furs, fringed tunics of fine deerskin, and their moccasins were decorated with coloured beads. Their heads were closely shaved, except for the traditional scalp lock, from which a single eagle plume dangled over the left shoulder. Mary and Roger had seen a few Indians, mostly half-breeds, in New York, but they had been shoddily-dressed by-products of semi-civilisation, whereas these Mohawk braves were obviously the real thing. All day they sat cross-legged, seldom speaking but passing their pipe and taking unhurried draws in turn from it. Thin-faced, with high cheekbones, hooked noses and impassive features, they presented a picture of proud independence. At night they remained on deck and slept wrapped in their bearskins.
It was very cold, but the weather was fine and the wind favourable. Every twenty miles or so the boat went alongside the wharf of a small township to disembark or take on passengers and stores; then, when she reached Albany, she berthed for the night before preparing for her return trip.
In Albany Roger and Mary stayed the night at an hotel the name of which had been given them by van Wyck. Fortunately, as it now turned out, they had bought fur coats, hats, gloves, muffs and fur-lined boots while in Stockholm, as further north it was still winter. Knowing that for part of their journey they would have to sleep rough, they went out the following morning and bought a number of things they might need, including beaver sleeping bags.
Next day they went aboard a smaller boat which would take them another forty-five miles up the river to Hudson Falls, which was the most northern point to which it was navigable. There they landed at Fort Edward, about which there had grown up a small settlement. In an open space some troops were being drilled, but otherwise there was little military activity, as the campaign was not expected to open for another three weeks. Nevertheless, owing to the place being on the supply route for the operations of the previous summer, it had grown considerably and now had several large rest houses, at one of which Roger was able to secure accommodation.
The next stage of their journey entailed twenty miles overland, past Glen Falls to Fort George, which lay at the southern extremity of the lake of that name. Again the past summer’s campaign made their journey easier, for what had earlier been a rough track through the wilderness had been greatly improved to facilitate the passage of convoys. The scenery, with its rapids, waterfalls and wooded slopes, was magnificent, but the gradients were often steep, so it took them twelve hours to do this part of their journey in a covered wagon.
A settlement had also grown up round Fort George and, at a rest house that night, Roger made enquiries of the owner about transport up the lake. Next morning the man produced two Longhunters who were going north in their canoe and willing to take two passengers for a reasonable price.
The name of one was Ben Log, the other was known as ‘Shorty’. Both of them were bearded and had mops of ill-trimmed hair under caps of skin which had been shorn of the fur. They were dressed in green hunting shirts, with girdles of wampum and breeches and leggings of buckskin, the latter laced at the sides and gartered above the knee with deer sinews. Each had a knife and a small hatchet thrust through his girdle and, hanging from it, powder horns and pouches. The rifles they carried were very long and the barrels polished to mirror brightness.
They naturally wanted to know why the Brooks wished to go north, and Roger produced a story he had thought up in New York. Knowing that they had no means of checking up his account of himself, he said he was a cartographer employed by the Government to make more accurate maps of the country south of the St. Lawrence. To support his story he had bought a theodolite, a number of maps and a big roll of paper suitable for making others. He added, before he could be asked why he was taking his wife into the wilds with him, that he, although an expert surveyor, was a poor hand at drawing, whereas Mary had a gift for it; so she was indispensable as his assistant.
By midday, the Brooks’ baggage and gear—including a bivouac that Roger bought at the local store, as they would have to camp at nights on shore—had been carried down to the canoe and, with the two Longhunters paddling in prow and stern, they set off up Lake George.
The scenery on either side was more beautiful than ever for, on the east, the Green Mountains, and on the west the Adirondacks, ran down to the shores of the long, narrow lake. For most people who normally lived in comfort the prospect of having to camp out in such bitter weather would have been highly disagreeable. But after the terrible weeks that Roger and Mary had spent in the icy wastes of Russia, they could face it without apprehension. There, for a great part of the time they had had to fend for themselves; here they had with them two strong men who would do all the chores. There, too, towards the end of their journey, they had been near starvation; now they had ample supplies of food with them.
For many months each year the Longhunters lived far from civilisation, so making camp was for them a long-perfected drill. With a practised eye they selected sites where canvas could be stretched between neighbouring trees at an angle that would screen the campers from the wind. The canoe had no sooner grounded than they threw out fishing lines. Jumping ashore, they swiftly collected rotten branches and, starting it with a small log soaked in resin, within a few minutes made a good fire. While Shorty set up the bivouac and brought furs, stores and cooking utensils from the canoe, Ben Log went off into the woods with his long rifle to see if he could sight a bird or game for the pot. So they ate heartily every evening while the Longhunters remained with them off a fresh-caught fish or savoury stews of venison, hare, or turkey.
At the northern end of Lake George lay the settlement of Ticonderoga. There they had to land and cross a narrow isthmus to reach the far larger Lake Champlain. A party of Indians from among those who lived in the settlement was hired to do the porterage. Four of them carried the big canoe, the others the tentage, baggage and equipment.
Roger noticed that none of them wore feathers in his hair, and Ben Log told him they were known as ‘naked foreheads’—men who had failed to pass the agonising ordeals by which an Indian became a ‘brave’. They were, he added, squirting out the juice of a tobacco plug he was chewing, men of the Oneides tribe, who with the Mohawks, Onondagas, Cayuga and Senecas made up the Five Nations.
As they advanced up the long lake, whenever they passed a small bay a part of which faced nearly northward, they noticed the ice there had not yet melted and fringed the shore. Further up it made a white line all along the coast, and the trees were still coated in snow. Several times they had to turn their fur collars up round their faces while passing through snow storms and, when they went ashore, flail their arms to warm themselves up until a fire could be got going. The Longhunters had brought a good supply of spruce—a fiery spirit—with them, and every night before settling down to sleep in their beaver robes, they all drank a good ration of it.
Occasionally they passed other canoes, manned either by befeathered Indians or bearded whites, and twice they were passed by small sailing barques carrying troops up to the front. But usually there were no other humans in sight, and nothing moved except, now and then, a fish-hawk diving on its unseen prey. For long spells the silence was broken only by the rhythmic splashing of the Longhunters’ paddles as they drove the canoe steadily forward.
Dusk still fell early; then, while they sat round the camp fire, the denizens of the forest awoke to go on their nightly prowl for food: coyotes barked, badgers screamed, owls hooted and wolves howled. One night a small pack of wolves, attracted by the fire, approached near enough for their yellow eyes to reflect the light. Mary gave a little cry of fright, and Roger quickly put his arm about her while, with his free hand, he pulled out one of his pistols. But the Longhunters did not even bother to pick up their rifles. Shorty plucked a burning brand from the fire, hurled it at the nearest wolf and chuckled when it hit its mark. The singed beast gave a high-pitched whine and bounded away, followed by the others.
At that date the head of Lake Champlain, and the Richelieu river, which connects it with the St. Lawrence, were in Canadian territory. Roger had been greatly tempted to offer the Longhunters a good sum to take Mary and himself as far as the border, but decided not to risk it. They were naturally posing as Americans, and as many New Yorkers had English accents, neither of the men had shown the least suspicion that they were not. But if they were given cause to think that their passengers meant to cross into Canada, they might very well guess the truth and cut up rough, which would be very awkward and dangerous.
In consequence the party landed at Plattsburg, which was about twenty miles below the frontier, and where Roger had originally hired them to take him. There was a considerable number of troops in the town, as it was the base for the northern front. In an open space a company of American troops was being drilled and, after watching for a few minutes, Roger took a very poor view of them. They were nearly all good specimens of manhood, strong-limbed and with healthy, bronzed faces; but their dress was slipshod, their movements had no snap and obviously they were recruits unused to discipline. Having spent much of his time for many years with both the French and British armies, he knew that one quarter of their number of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard, the British Grenadiers or a regiment of the Line, would make mincemeat of the poor fellows.
Every foot of the original accommodation in the place was occupied, and many new huts had been built, but only as quarters for the military, so Roger and his party had to pitch camp on the edge of the town and sleep in their bivouacs. Normally the Longhunters would have gone off into the forest to shoot and trap game until they had collected as many pelts as they could carry back to the lake and take down to Fort George for sale, but Roger now made them a handsome offer to accompany him and Mary westward as far as the St. Lawrence.
Next morning Ben Log succeeded in hiring a covered wagon with a half-breed driver. That afternoon, having loaded their tentage and freshly-bought stores, they set off on their ninety-mile trek along a trail that had developed into a rough road after convoys and troops had so frequently used it.
The forest trees were still bare of leaves, but Shorty who, although uneducated, was by instinct a naturalist, told Mary that in the autumn the turning leaves made a sea of gold and pointed out to her the different barks on giant hickories, beeches, maples, black walnuts, pines and silver birches. Many of the tree trunks were overgrown with moss and others half-smothered in tangles of ivy. He warned her against the latter, as much of it was poison ivy, and a very nasty rash would have resulted from touching it. Shorty could also tell the species of a bird from its cry, and quite frequently they saw jays, ravens, hawks, crows and catbirds sailing overhead.
On the fourth evening they came to St. Regis, where the Sulpician Fathers had a mission which was part hospital and part school to which Indian Chiefs sent their sons to acquire a smattering of the white man’s education. Two days later, Thursday, April 1st, they reached French Mills, now a fully-garrisoned American strongpoint within a short distance of the river. It had taken them nineteen days to get there from New York.
The Fort itself consisted of two square, two-storeyed block houses, with overhanging upper floors roofed with bark. These were connected by palisades made of high pointed and pitched stakes lashed securely together. The palisade enclosed a large area into which, in times of trouble, settlers with their families and livestock could take refuge. It was entered by a single sally port. Now that French Mills had become a frontier post during active warfare, the palisaded enclosure was nowhere near large enough to accommodate the garrison. In consequence, a cantonment had grown up round it, consisting of long hutments for barracks, storehouses and stables. Some of the troops were being drilled and others carrying out fatigues. Among the latter were a number of Indians and, at a cookhouse, Mary noticed with interest a number of fur-clad women collecting rations.
As Roger and his party approached the sally port his heart and Mary’s began to beat a little faster, for they both knew that this might prove the end of the road for them. By suffering considerable hardships and discomfort they had succeeded in getting to within a mile of the Canadian frontier. If they could now manage to get across it, they were as good as home.
But there can be many a slip ’twixt cup and lip. Roger had long since learned that Mary had a natural gift for calligraphy, and could even write in Elizabethan script: so a few days before they left New York he had bought a sheet of parchment and asked her to write on it in copperplate what appeared to be a letter of authority from the Department of Rivers and Forests stating that he was a surveyor.
When she had done so and he was about to sign it with a fictitious name, she stopped him and said:
‘Would it not be better if we could secure the Minister’s signature and I forged it?’
‘Forged it?’ he had repeated with a frown. ‘Are you really capable of doing that?’
‘Oh yes,’ she laughed. ‘When I was at my academy, on quite a number of occasions I earned a little money by writing essays for lazy rich girls in hands that were near enough to pass as theirs.’
‘It would certainly make the document appear valid, and so save us from dire trouble if anyone to whom we showed it chanced to know the Minister’s signature. But how could we get hold of it?’ He asked and she had replied.
‘You must recall that I bought an autograph book while we were in Stockholm, and that several members of the Royal family were gracious enough to sign it. I could add the signature of Mr. van Wyck, and copy from the draft he gave you last night that of Gouverneur Morris. I’d take my book to the Minister, get him to sign it, then copy his signature onto this document.’
Roger had agreed to Mary’s plan and the following day she had succeeded in carrying it out.
But the document’s acceptance by the Commanding Officer at French Mills still entailed one very nasty risk. If at his Headquarters there were trained mapmakers, it would soon be realised that Roger was entirely ignorant about such work. Suspicion of his bona-fides would be aroused, a careful watch kept on them, which would prevent their crossing into Canada, and a letter of enquiry about them dispatched to New York. It would emerge that the document was a forgery and further enquiries elicit the fact that they were English. They would then be arrested and charged with having come up to the war zone as spies.
Striving to hide their apprehensions under a calm, unconcerned manner, they walked towards the Fort, eager yet fearful to learn what Fate had in store for them.