Chapter Sixteen—A Rebuke for Waters
The next day was a gloomy one in Philadelphia, which was then largely a British town, not only because of the army of occupation, but because most of the patriot population had gone away, leaving the Tories in possession. The feelings of all were hurt by Wildfoot's extraordinary daring, his easy disappearance with his men, and the utter lack of respect he had shown for the commander-in-chief. Men said: "What if he had really carried off Sir William! What an irregular mode of warfare!" They repeated that they did not fear the American armies, but that they did object to an antagonist who appeared at such unexpected moments and in such an unexpected manner; the irregularity of the thing was what they especially disliked.
A number of us visited Vivian at his quarters as soon as we could obtain leave, and condoled with him over his wound. But he was suffering little pain, and reckoned the bandage upon his arm a badge of distinction. So we gave him our congratulations instead of our condolences.
"I should have been glad to have had the other arm broken, if thereby we could have captured Wildfoot," he said. The words were spoken without affectation, and we knew that he meant them.
Belfort was there too, and he was gloomy, despite the fact that he had been commended by Sir William for gallantry in action. Vivian rallied him on his looks.
"It is because our luck is bad," replied Belfort. "That prisoner who might have told things of importance has disappeared completely, and Wildfoot seems to be able to enter the city, do what he pleases, and then disappear with impunity. I am of the opinion that there are traitors in Philadelphia."
"If you mean rebels, of course there are," said Vivian; "all of us know that, but they are in a great minority."
"I don't mean rebels precisely, at least not self-confessed rebels," replied Belfort.
"Then whom do you mean?" said the sprightly Marcel; "if you mean Sir William, or Vivian there, who has a rebel bullet through his arm, or my chum Melville and myself, who arrived in Philadelphia amidst a leaden shower, or our lamented friend Schwarzfelder, who rode his own horse among the rebels, and a truly gallant sight he was—why speak out in the name of justice and the king."
Belfort flushed with vexation. There was no adequate reply that he could make, whatever his thoughts might be. But after some hesitation he said,—
"I am glad that you mentioned Schwarzfelder. Why should he disappear at such a time, literally kidnapped, as that bandit wished to kidnap Sir William?"
"It seems to me that Schwarzfelder is irrelevant," interrupted Vivian. "At least he has no connection with these rebel disappearances. He was to fight a duel with Melville, and scarcely can you charge that Melville bribed Wildfoot to come here and carry him off, in order to escape the duel, especially when Wildfoot treated Melville with excessive discourtesy, binding him to a table and thrusting an unfeeling gag into his mouth."
"I don't mean to impeach Melville's courage," said Belfort, hastily. "I spoke merely of the singularity of these events."
Our little party was broken up presently by orders from Sir William which gave us all work to do. It seemed that he was seized with another spasm of energy, and he resumed the search of the city for both Wildfoot and Alloway. He was not at all sure that Wildfoot had succeeded in joining the rebels who made the attack the night before, and fancied he might still be hidden in the city. So there was a great hunt for him, and my part of it was of an exceedingly unpleasant nature. I was to go to the Desmond house, search it again, and address various penetrating interrogations to the owner thereof.
I acquitted myself in the best style of which I was capable. I found both John Desmond and his daughter in the house, and, much to my surprise, he answered all my questions quite readily and politely. I thought that his courtesy was due, perhaps, to the presence of his daughter at his elbow, but both search and examination, as before, revealed nothing.
As I was returning to Sir William's quarters to report the fruitless task, I met Waters. I would have passed him without notice, but he said,—
"I take it that it was again a fruitless search at Mr. Desmond's house, was it not, sir?"
This savored most strongly of impertinence in one of his rank, and I felt anger. I disliked his incessant watch of Marcel and me, and in spite of my belief that he either knew or suspected us, caution was swallowed up in wrath.
"Waters," I said, "your question was impertinent and your tone insolent."
He did not apologize as he had done before, but held up his head and his bold eyes looked steadily into mine.
"All the city, sir, is talking of this Wildfoot, and every loyal man wants him captured. The wish is as strong among us of a lower rank as it is among those of a higher."
I thought that I saw a peculiar significance in his words, and I would have given much to keep down the flush that reddened my face.
"What do you mean to intimate, Waters?" I asked.
"Nothing," he replied. "You are pleased, sir, to dislike me, although I do not know why, and to become angry because I ask you about the search of Mr. Desmond's house, a task which I felt sure was most unwelcome to you."
His eyes did not flinch as he said these bold words, and manner and words alike confirmed my long felt fear that he knew me to be an impostor. I hesitated a little, uncertain what course to take, and then, turning scornfully from him, marched on with my men.
Chapter Seventeen—Great News
As neither Marcel nor I was assigned to any duty for the remainder of the day, we thought to while away a portion of the time by strolling about Philadelphia.
"We need not make spies of ourselves," said Marcel; "but I know no military law against the gratification of our own personal curiosity."
Guided by such worthy motives, we spent some time that was to our amusement and perhaps to our profit also. Barring the presence of the soldiery, Philadelphia showed few evidences that war was encamped upon its threshold. I have seldom witnessed a scene of such bustle and animation, and even of gayety too, as the good Quaker City presented. A stranger would have thought there was no war, and that this was merely a great garrison town.
The presence of fifteen or twenty thousand soldiers was good for trade, and gold clinked with much freedom and merriment. Though wagon-trains of provisions were taken sometimes by the Americans, yet many others came safely into Philadelphia, and the profits were so large that the worthy Pennsylvania farmers could not resist the temptation to take the risks, though most of them would have preferred to sell to the patriots, had the latter possessed something better than Continental paper to offer them.
"The British boast much of their bayonets," said Marcel; "but they fight better with their gold."
"And we have neither," said I.
"Which merely means," said Marcel, "not that we shall not win, but that we will be longer in the winning."
Our conversation was diverted from this topic by my observance of a peculiar circumstance. Often I would see four or five men, gathered at a street corner or in front of a doorway, talking with an appearance of great earnestness. Whenever Marcel and I, who were in full uniform, and thus were known to be British officers as far as we could be seen, approached, they would lower their tone or cease to talk. This had not happened on any day before, and was not what we would have expected from citizens who had grown used to the presence of the British army. I asked Marcel to take note of it.
"Something unusual that they do not wish to tell us of has happened," he said. "I propose that we find out what it is."
"How?" I said.
"I know no better way than to ask," he replied. "Suppose we seize the very next opportunity, and interrogate our Quaker friends concerning the cause of their strange and mysterious behavior."
Presently we saw four men engaged in one of these discussions. Three appeared to be citizens of Philadelphia, or at least we so judged from the smartness of their dress; the fourth had the heavy, unkempt look of a countryman. We approached; on the instant they became silent, and there was a look of embarrassment upon their faces.
"Friends," said Marcel, in his courtly manner, "we wish not to interrupt your most pleasant discourse, but we would ask what news of importance you have, if there be no harm in the telling of it."
"It rained last night," said the countryman, "and it is good for the spring planting."
"Yet one might have news more interesting, though not perhaps more important, than that," replied Marcel; "for it has rained before, and the crops have been planted and reaped likewise before."
"Even so," said the countryman, "but its importance increases when there are twenty thousand red-coats in Philadelphia to be fed."
"But is that the whole burden of your news?" asked Marcel. "We have seen others talk together as you four talk together, and we do not think it accords with nature for all Philadelphia to be agog because it rained the night before."
"Some heads hold strange opinions," said the countryman, curtly; "but why should I be held to account for them?"
So saying, he walked off with his companions.
"You can't draw blood from a turnip," said Marcel, "nor the truth from a man who has decided not to tell it."
"Not since the torture-chamber was abolished," I said, "and I would even guess that this countryman is no very warm friend to the British, from the insolent tone that he adopted towards us."
"And I would guess also that his news, whatever it may be, is something that will not be to the taste of the British, or he would tell it to us," said Marcel.
But we were not daunted by one repulse, and we decided to try elsewhere. From another little group to which we addressed ourselves we received treatment perhaps not quite so discourteous, but as unproductive of the desired result. All this we took as further proof that there was in reality something of importance afoot. At last we went into a little eating-house where strong liquors also were sold.
"Perhaps if we moisten their throats for them," said Marcel, "they may become less secretive. It is a cure I have rarely known to fail."
There were eight or ten men in this place, some citizens of the town and some countrymen.
"What news?" I asked of one who leaned against the counter. "There seems to be a stir about the town, and we ask its cause."
"You are British officers," he replied. "The British hold this town. You should know more than we."
"But this town has a population of such high intelligence," I said, thinking to flatter him, "that it learns many things before we do."
"If you admit that," he said, "then I can tell you something."
"Ah! what is it?" I asked, showing eagerness.
"Perhaps you may not like to hear it," he said, "but Sir William Howe was nearly carried off last night by Wildfoot."
Then all of them laughed in sneering fashion.
"I was afraid you would not like my news," said the man, pretending of a sudden to be very humble; "but you would not be satisfied until I told it, and so I had to tell it."
"We must even try elsewhere," said Marcel.
Marcel was a jester, but, like most other jesters, he did not like a jest put upon himself. So we left the eating-house, and as we went out we saw the man Waters coming towards us. As I have often said, I did not like this fellow, and moreover I feared we had reason to dread him, but I thought he could tell us what we wished to know, as he had such a prying temper.
He saluted us with much politeness, and stopped when I beckoned to him. The men in the eating-house had all come to the door.
"Good-morning, Waters," I said. "Can you tell us what interests the people of this city so much, the news that we have been seeking in vain to learn? Here are gentlemen who have something that they would cherish and keep to themselves like a lady's favor."
"It would scarce be proper for me, who am but an orderly, to announce weighty matters to your honors," said the man, with a most aggravating look of humility. The loungers who had come to the door laughed.
"We will overlook that," said Marcel, who kept his temper marvellously well. "But tell us, is not the town really in a stir as it seems to be?"
"It is, your honors," said Waters, "and it has cause for it."
The loungers laughed again; but I did not mind it now, as I was eager to hear what Waters had to say.
"Let us have this mighty secret," I said.
"I fear your honors will not like it," replied Waters.
"Never mind about that," I said, impatiently. "I do not believe that it amounts to anything at all."
"It is only that the King of France has joined the Americans and declared war on the English," said Waters.
For a moment I could scarce restrain a shout of joy. There had been talk for some time about a French alliance, but we had been disappointed so often that we had given up hope of it. Now the news had come with the suddenness of a thunder-clap. I believe that Marcel felt as I did, but it was of high importance that we should keep our countenances.
"Whence did you get such a report as that?" I asked, affecting to treat it with contempt and unbelief.
"From the people of the city," replied Waters.
"Where did they get it?" asked Marcel.
"I think it was brought in from the American army," replied the man, "and if your honor will pardon me for saying it, there is no doubt whatever about its truth."
"King George will now have two enemies to fight instead of one, and he has not whipped the first," said one of the loungers.
"Fear not that his armies will not be equal to the emergency," said I, thinking it needful to preserve my character as a British officer.
"Then they will have to do something more than feast and dance in this city," said the bold fellow. The others murmured their approval and applause, and Marcel and I, bidding them to beware how they talked treason, strolled on.
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news," said Waters, humbly.
"King Louis and the Americans are responsible for the news, not you," said Marcel. "Still, we thank you for narrating it to us."
His tone was that of curt dismissal, and Waters, accepting it, left us. Marcel and I looked at each other, and Marcel said:—
"If we were able, half-armed, untrained, and unaided, to take one British army at Saratoga, what ought we not to do now with King Louis's regulars to help us, and King Louis's arsenals to arm us?"
"The alliance suggests many things," I said, "and one in particular to you and me."
"What is that?" asked Marcel.
"That we leave Philadelphia at once, or at least as soon as we can find an opportunity," I replied, "and rejoin our army. This should portend great events, perhaps a decisive campaign, and if that be true we ought to share it with our comrades."
"Without denying the truth of what you say," replied Marcel, "we nevertheless cannot leave the city to-day, so we might as well enjoy the leisure the gods have allotted to us. The counting-house of our rich patriot, old John Desmond, is on this street. Perhaps he has not heard the news, and if we were the first to tell it to him he might forgive our apparent British character, though I fear it would be but small recommendation to his handsome Tory daughter."
We entered the counting-house, where Mr. Desmond still contrived to earn fair profits despite the British occupation. Our British uniforms procured for us a certain amount of respect and deference from the clerks and attendants, but the stern old man, who would not bend to Sir William Howe himself, only glowered at us when we came into his presence.
"I fear I can give you but little time to-day, gentlemen," he said, with asperity, "though I acknowledge the honor of your visit."
"We are not in search of a loan," said Marcel, lightly, "but came merely to ask you if you had any further particulars of the great news which must be so pleasing to you, though I admit that it is less welcome to us."
"The news? the great news? I have no news, either great or small," said Mr. Desmond, not departing from his curt and stiff manner.
"Haven't you heard it?" said Marcel, with affected surprise. "All the people in the city are talking about it, and we poor Britons expect to begin hard service again immediately."
"Your meaning is still strange to me," said Mr. Desmond.
"It's the French alliance that I mean," said Marcel. "We have received positive news this morning that King Louis of France and Mr. Washington of America, in virtue of a formal treaty to that effect, propose to chastise our master, poor King George."
I had watched Mr. Desmond's face closely, that I might see how he took the news. But not a feature changed. Perhaps he was sorry that he had yielded to his feelings at the recent banquet, and was now undergoing penance. But, whatever the cause, he asked merely, in a quiet voice,—
"Then you know that the King of France has espoused the American cause and will help General Washington with his armies and fleets?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Marcel.
"Then this will be interesting news for my daughter, though she will not like it," he said. He opened the door of an inner room, called, and Miss Desmond came forth.
She looked inquiringly at us, and then spoke with much courtesy. We returned the compliments of the day in a manner that we thought befitting highborn Britons and conquerors in the presence of sympathetic beauty. I took pride to myself too, because my affair with Belfort had ended as she wished. It seemed to give me a claim upon her. But I observed with some chagrin that neither our manners nor our appearance seemed to make much impression upon Miss Desmond.
"Daughter," said Mr. Desmond, in the same expressionless tone that he had used throughout the interview, "these young gentlemen have been kind enough to bring us the news that France and the colonies have signed a formal treaty of alliance for offensive and defensive purposes. The information reached Philadelphia but this morning. I thought it would interest you."
I watched her face closely, as I had watched that of her father, expecting to see joy on the father's, sorrow on the daughter's. But they could not have been freer from the appearance of emotion if they had planned it all before.
"This will complicate the struggle, I should think," she said, dryly, "and it will increase your chances, Captain Montague and Lieutenant Melville, to win the epaulets of a colonel."
"We had expected," I said, "that Miss Desmond, a sincere friend of our cause, would express sorrow at this coalition which is like to prove so dangerous to us."
"My respect to my father, who does not believe as I do, forbids it," she said. "But I think the king's troops and his officers, all of them, will be equal to every emergency."
We bowed to the compliment, and, there being no further excuse for lingering, departed, patriot father and Tory daughter alike thanking us for our consideration in bringing them the news.
"The lady is very beautiful," said Marcel, when we had left the counting-house, "but she sits in the shadow of the North Pole."
"Self-restraint," I said, "is a good quality in woman as well as in man."
"I see," said Marcel. "It is not very hard to forgive treason when the traitor is a woman and beautiful."
"I do not know what you mean," I said, with frigidity.
"It does not matter," he replied. "I know."
Chapter Eighteen—The Silent Sentinel
I doubted not that the news of the French alliance would incite Sir William Howe to activity, for any fool could see that, with his splendid army, splendidly equipped, he had allowed his chances to go to ruin. There was increasing talk, and of a very definite nature too, about his removal from the chief command. So far as the subalterns knew, his successor might have been appointed already, and this would be an additional inducement to Sir William to attempt some sudden blow which would shed glory over the close of his career in America, and leave about him the odor of success and not of failure.
My surmise was correct in all particulars, for both Marcel and I were ordered to report for immediate duty, and though this cut off all chance of escape for that day, we had no choice but to obey. We found an unusually large detachment gathered under the command of a general officer. Belfort, Barton, Moore, and others whom we knew were there; but, inquire as we would, we could not ascertain the nature of the service for which we were designed. In truth, no one seemed to know except the general himself, and he was in no communicative mood. But there was a great overhauling of arms and a very careful examination of the ammunition supply. So I foresaw that the expedition was to be of much importance.
"Perhaps it will be another such as the attempt to capture our brother-in-arms Mr. Wildfoot," said Marcel.
"If we come out of this as well as we did out of that," I replied, "we will have a right to think that Fortune has us in her especial keeping."
"Dame Fortune is kindest to those who woo her with assiduity," said Marcel, "and she cannot complain of us on that point."
But I knew how fickle the lady is, even towards those who woo her without ceasing, and I was uneasy.
The detachment had gathered in the suburbs, and we were subjected to a long period of waiting there. I also learned that no one was to be allowed to pass from the city during the day, and from this circumstance I inferred that Sir William was building great hopes upon the matter which he had in hand, and which he had placed under the direction of one of his ablest generals. I would have given much to know what it was, but I was as ignorant as the drummer-boy who stood near me. It was not until dusk that we marched, and then we started forth, a fine body, four thousand strong,—a thousand horse and three thousand foot.
"If there is a time for it to-night," I said to Marcel, when the opportunity came for us to speak together in secrecy, "I shall leave these people with whom we have no business, and return to those to whom we belong."
"And I," said Marcel, with one of his provoking grins, "shall watch over you with paternal care, come what may."
The night was half day. A full silver moon turned the earth—forests, fields, and houses—into that peculiar shimmering gray color which makes one feel as if one were dwelling in a ghost-world that may dissolve into mist at any moment. Our long column was colored the same ghostly gray by the moon. There were no sounds, save the steady tramp of the men and the horses, and the occasional clank of the bayonets together.
I did not like this preternatural silence, this evidence of supreme caution. It warned me of danger to my countrymen, and again I wished in my soul that I knew what business we were about. But there was naught to do save to keep my mouth shut and my eyes open.
We followed one of the main roads out of Philadelphia for some distance, and then turned into a narrower path, along which the detachment had much difficulty in preserving its formation. This part of the country was strange to me, and I did not believe that we were proceeding in the direction of the American encampment. Still, it was obvious that a heavy blow against the Americans was intended.
As the hours passed, clouds came before the moon, and the light waned. The long line of men ahead of me sank into the night so gradually that I could not tell where life ended and darkness began, and still there was no sound but the regular tread of man and beast and the clanking of arms. My sense of foreboding increased. How heartily I wished that I had never come into Philadelphia! I silently cursed Marcel for leading me into the adventure. Then I cursed myself for attempting to throw all the blame on Marcel.
The night was advancing, when we came to a long, narrow valley, thickly wooded at one end. We halted there, and the general selected about three hundred men and posted them in the woods at the head of the valley. I was among the number, but I observed with regret that Marcel was not. A colonel was placed in command. Then the main army followed a curving road up the hill-side and went out of sight over the heights. I watched them for some time before they disappeared, horse and foot, steadily tramping on, blended into a long, continuous, swaying mass by the gray moonlight; sometimes a moonbeam would tip the end of a bayonet with silver and gleam for a moment like a falling star. At last the column wound over the slope and left the night to us.
About one-third of our little force were cavalrymen; but, under the instructions of our colonel, we dismounted and gave our horses into the care of a few troopers; then all of us moved into the thick woods at the head of the pass, and sat down there, with orders to keep as quiet as possible.
I soon saw that the rising ground and the woods which crowned it merely formed a break between the valley which we had entered at first and another valley beyond it. The latter we were now facing. I had not been a soldier for two years and more for nothing, and I guessed readily that we were to keep this pass clear, while the main force was to perform the more important operation, which I now doubted not was to be the entrapping of some large body of Americans. Perhaps in this number was to be included the general-in-chief himself, the heart and soul of our cause. I shuddered at the thought, and again cursed the reckless spirit that had placed me in such a position.
At first we had the second valley in view; but our colonel, fearing that we might expose ourselves, drew us farther back into the woods, and then we could see nothing but the trees and the dim forms of each other.
I looked up at the moon, and hoped to see the clouds gathering more thickly before her face. I had confirmed my resolution. If the chance came to me, I would steal away from the English and enter the valley beyond. I doubted not that I would find my own people there. I would warn them of the danger, and remain with them in the future, unless fate should decree that I become a prisoner.
But Dame Fortune was in no such willing humor. The clouds did not gather in quantities, and, besides, the English were numerous around me. Belfort himself sat on the grass only a few feet from me, and, with more friendliness than he had shown hitherto, undertook to talk to me in whispers.
"Do you know what we are going to do to-night, Melville?" he asked.
"It seems," I said, "that we are to sit here in the woods until morning, and then to be too hoarse with cold to talk."
Then I added, having the after-thought that I might secure some information from him,—
"I suppose we are after important game to-night. The size of our force and the care and secrecy of our movements indicate it, do they not?"
"There is no doubt of it," he replied, "and I hope we shall secure a royal revenge upon the rebels for that Wildfoot affair."
Our conversation was interrupted here by an order from the colonel for me to move farther towards the front, from which point I was to report to him at once anything unusual that I might see or hear. The men near me were common soldiers. They squatted against the trees with their muskets between their knees, and waited in what seemed to me to be a fair degree of content.
An hour, a very long hour, of such waiting passed, and the colonel approached me, asking if all was quiet. I supplemented my affirmative reply with some apparently innocent questions which I thought would draw from him the nature of his expectations. But he said nothing that satisfied me. As he was about to turn away, I thought I heard a movement in the woods in front of us. It was faint, but it resembled a footfall.
"Colonel," I said, in a hurried whisper, "there is some movement out there."
At the same moment one of the soldiers sprang to his feet and exclaimed,—
"There is somebody coming down on us!"
"Be quiet, men," said the colonel. "Whoever it is, he stops here."
Scarce had he spoken the words when we heard the rush of many feet. The woods leaped into flame; the bullets whistled like hailstones around our ears. By the flash I saw the head of one of the soldiers who was still sitting down fall over against a tree, and a red streak appear upon his forehead. He uttered no cry, and I knew that he was dead.
For a few moments I stood quite still, as cold and stiff as if I had turned to ice. There is nothing, as I have said before, that chills the heart and stops its flow like a sudden surprise. That is why veterans when fired upon in the dark will turn and run sometimes as if pursued by ghosts.
Then my faculties returned, and I shouted,—
"Back on the main body! Fall back for help!"
The colonel and the men, who like me had been seized by surprise, sprang back. Almost in a breath I had formed my resolution, and I ran, neither forward nor back, but to one side. When I had taken a dozen quick steps, I flung myself upon my face. As I did so, the second volley crashed over my head, and was succeeded by yells of wrath and pain.
"At them, boys! At them!" shouted a loud voice that was not the English colonel's. "Drive the bloody scoundrels off the earth!"
I doubted not that the voice belonged to the leader of the attacking party. I arose and continued my flight. Behind me I heard the British replying to the fire of the assailants, and the other noises of the struggle. The shots and the shouts rose high. I knew that I was following no noble course just then, that I was flying alike from the force to which I pretended to belong, and from the force to which I belonged in reality; but I saw nothing else to do, and I ran, while the combat raged behind. I was in constant fear lest some sharpshooter of either party should pick me off, but my luck was better than my hopes, and no bullet pursued me in my flight.
When I thought myself well beyond the vortex of the combat, I dropped among the bushes for breath and to see what was going on behind me. I could not hear the cries so well now, but the rapid flashing of the guns was proof enough that the attack was fierce and the resistance the same.
As I watched, my sense of shame increased. I ought to be there with the Americans who were fighting so bravely. For a moment I was tempted to steal around and endeavor to join them. But how could I fire upon the men with whom I had been so friendly and who had looked upon me as one of their own but ten minutes ago? I was no crawling spy. Then, again, I was in full British uniform, and of course the patriots would shoot me the moment they caught sight of me. Richly, too, would I deserve the bullet. Again there was naught for me to do but to resort to that patient waiting which I sometimes think is more effective in this world than the hardest kind of work. And well it may be, too, for it is a more trying task.
I could not tell how the battle was going. So far as the firing was concerned, neither side seemed to advance or retreat. The flashes and the shots increased in rapidity, and then both seemed to converge rapidly towards a common centre. Of a sudden, at the very core of the combat there was a tremendous burst of sound, a great stream of light leaped up and then sank. The firing died away in a feeble crackle, and then I knew that the battle was over. But which side had won was a question made all the more perplexing to me by my inability to decide upon a course of conduct until I could learn just what had happened.
As I listened, I heard a single shot off in the direction from which the Americans had come. Then they had been beaten, after all. But at the very moment my mind formed the conclusion, I heard another shot in the neck of the valley up which the British had marched. Then the British had been beaten. But my mind again corrected itself. The two shots offset each other, and I returned to my original state of ignorance and uncertainty.
My covert seemed secure, and, resorting again to patience, I determined to lie there for a while and await the course of events. Perhaps I would hear more shots, which would serve as a guide to me. But another half-hour passed away, and I heard nothing. All the clouds had fled from the face of the moon, and the night grew brighter. The world turned from gray to silver, and the light slanted through the leaves. A lizard rattled over a fallen trunk near me, and, saving his light motion, the big earth seemed to be asleep. Readily could I have imagined that I was some lone hunter in the peaceful woods, and that no sound of anger or strife had ever been heard there. The silence and the silver light of the moon falling over the forest, and even throwing streaks across my own hands overpowered me. Though knowing full well that it was the truth, I had to make an effort of the will to convince myself that the attack, my flight, and the battle were facts. Then the rustling of the lizard, though I could not see him, was company to me, and I hoped he would not go away and leave me alone in that vast and heavy silence.
At last I fell to reasoning with myself. I called myself a coward, a child, to be frightened thus of the dark, when I had faced guns; and by and by this logic brought courage back. I knew I must take action of some kind, and not die there until the day found me cowering like a fox in the shelter of the woods. I had my sword at my side, and a loaded pistol was thrust in my belt. In the hands of a brave man they should be potent for defence.
Without further ado, I began my cautious journey. It was my purpose to proceed through the pass into the second valley and find the Americans, if still they were there. Then, if not too late, I would warn them of the plan against them, that this was not merely the raid of a few skirmishers, but a final attempt. Success looked doubtful. It depended upon the fulfilment of two conditions: first, that the Americans had not been entrapped already, and, second, that I should find them. Still, I would try. I stopped and listened intently for the booming of guns and other noises of conflict in the valley below, but no sound assailed my ears. I renewed my advance, and practised a precaution which was of the utmost necessity. For the present I scarce knew whether to consider myself English or American, and in the event of falling in with either I felt that I would like to make explanations before any action was taken concerning me. I stood up under the shadow of the big trees and looked around me. But there was naught that I could see. Englishmen and Americans alike seemed to have vanished like a wisp of smoke before the wind. Then with my hand on my pistol, I passed on from tree to tree, stopping ofttimes to listen and to search the wood with my eyes for sight of a skulking sharpshooter. Thus I proceeded towards the highest point of the gorge. The crest once reached, I expected that I would obtain a good view of the valley beyond, and thus be able to gather knowledge for my journey.
As I advanced, my opinion that the wood was now wholly deserted was confirmed. Victor and vanquished alike had vanished, I felt sure, carrying with them the wounded and the dead too. After a bit, and when almost at the crest, I came to an open space. I walked boldly across it, although the moon's light fell in a flood upon it, and as I entered the belt of trees on the farther side I saw the peak of a fur cap peeping over a log not forty feet before me. It was a most unpleasant surprise, this glimpse of the hidden sharpshooter; and, with the fear of his bullet hot upon me, I sprang for the nearest tree and threw myself behind it.
I was too quick for him, for the report of no rifle lent speed to my flying heels, and I sank, empty of breath, but full of thanks, behind the sheltering tree. Brief as had been my glimpse of that fur cap, I knew it, or rather its kind. It was the distinguishing mark of Morgan's Virginia Rangers, the deadliest sharpshooters in the world. I had seen their fell work at Saratoga when we beleaguered the doomed British army, where not a red-coat dared put his foot over the lines, for he knew it would be the signal for the Virginia rifle to speak from tree or bush. I do not like such work myself, but I acknowledge its great use.
Again I gave thanks for my presence of mind and agility of foot, for I had no wish to be killed, and least of all by one of our own men.
I lay quite still until my pulses went down and my breath became longer. I was fearful that the sentinel would attempt some movement, but a cautious look reassured me. He could not leave his covert behind the log for other shelter without my seeing him. It was true that I could not leave the tree, but I did not feel much trouble because of that. I had no desire to shoot him, while he, without doubt, would fire at me, if the chance came to him, thinking me to be a British officer.
The tree grew on ground that was lower than the spot from which I had seen the sentinel. In my present crouching position he was invisible to me, and I raised myself carefully to my full height in order that I might see him again. But even by standing on my toes I could see only the fur tip of his cap. I could assure myself that he was still there, but what he was preparing I knew not, nor could I ascertain. Yet I doubted not that his muscles were ready strung to throw his rifle to the shoulder and send a bullet into me the moment I stepped from behind the tree. The unhappy part of my situation lay in the fact that he would fire before I could make explanations, which would be a most uncomfortable thing for me, and in all likelihood would make explanations unnecessary, considering the deadly precision of these Virginia sharpshooters. Confound them! why should they be so vigilant concerning me, when there was a British army near by that stood in much greater need of their watching? But it was not worth while to work myself into a stew because I had got into a fix. The thing to do was to get out of it.
After some deliberation, I concluded that I would hail my friend who was yet an enemy, or at least in the position of one. I was afraid to shout to him, for most likely, with his forest cunning, he would think it a mere device to entrap him into an unwary action that would cost his life. These wilderness men are not to be deluded in that manner. However, there might be others lurking near, perhaps British and Americans both, and either one or the other would take me for an enemy and shoot me.
But at last I called in a loud whisper to the sentinel. I said that I was a friend, though I came in the guise of an enemy. The whisper was shrill and penetrating, and I was confident that it reached him, for the distance was not great. But he made no sign. If he heard me he trusted me not. I think there are times when we can become too cunning, too suspicious. This I felt with a great conviction to be one of such times.
As a second experiment, I decided that I would expose my hat or a portion of my uniform, in the hope that it would draw his fire. Then I could rush upon him and shout my explanations at him before he could reload his gun and shoot a second bullet at me. But this attempt was as dire a failure as the whispering. He was too wary to be caught by such a trick, with which he had doubtless been familiar for years.
I almost swore in my vexation at being stopped in such a manner. But vexation soon gave way to deepening alarm. I could not retreat from the tree without exposing myself to his fire, and there I was, a prisoner. As I lay against the tree-trunk, sheltering myself from the sharpshooter, a bullet fired by some one else might cut my life short at any moment. I waited some minutes, and again I raised myself up and took a peep. There he was, crouched behind his log, and still waiting for me. He seemed scarce to have moved. I knew the illimitable patience of these forest-bred men, the hours that they could spend waiting for their prey, immovable like wooden images. I repeat that I had seen them at work at Saratoga, and I knew their capabilities. I liked not the prospect, and I had good reason for it.
The old chill, the old depression, which was born part of the night and part of my situation, came upon me. I could do naught while my grim sentinel lay in the path. I knew of no device that would tempt him to action, to movement. I wearied my brain in the endeavor to think of some way to form a treaty with him or to tell him who and what I was. At last another plan suggested itself, I tore off a piece of the white facing of my uniform, and, putting it on the end of my gun-barrel, thrust it out as a sign of amity. I waved it about for full five minutes, but the watcher heeded not; perchance he thought this too was a trick to draw him from cover, and he would have none of it. Again I cursed excessive caution and suspicion, but that did me no good, save to serve as some slight relief to my feelings.
A strong wind sprang up, and the woods moved with it. The clouds came again before the moon, and the color of trees and earth faded to an ashen gray. The light became dimmer, and I felt cold, to the bones. Fear resumed sway over me, and dry-lipped, I cursed my folly with bitter curses.
But the shadows before the moon suggested one last plan to me, a plan full of danger in the presence of the watchful sentinel, but like to bring matters to a head. I unbuckled my sword and laid it upon the ground behind the tree. I also removed everything else of my equipment or uniform that might make a noise as I moved, and then crept from behind the tree. I had heard how Indians could steal through the grass with less noise than a lizard would make, and I had a belief that I could imitate them, at least to some extent.
I felt in front of me with my hands, lest I should place the weight of my body upon some stick that would snap with a sharp report. But there was only the soft grass, and the faint rustle it made could not reach the ears of the sentinel, no matter how keen of hearing or attentive he might be. All the time I kept my eyes upon the log behind which he lay. Each moment I trembled lest I should see a gun-barrel thrust over the log and pointed at me. Then it was my purpose to spring quickly aside, rush upon him, and cry out who I was.
But the threatening muzzle did not appear. I grew proud of my skill in being able thus to steal upon one of these rangers, who know the forest and all its tricks as the merchant knows his wares. Perchance I could learn to equal them or to surpass them at their own chosen pursuits. I even stopped to laugh inwardly at the surprise and chagrin this man would show when I sprang over the log and dropped down beside him, and he never suspecting, until then, that I was near. Of a truth, I thought, and this time with a better grace, there could be an excess of caution and suspicion.
When I had traversed about half the intervening space, I lay flat upon my face and listened, but without taking my eyes off the particular portion of the log over which I feared the gun-muzzle would appear. But the watcher made no movement, nor could I hear a sound, save that of the rising wind playing its dirge through the woods. Clearly I was doing my work well. Bringing my muscles and nerves back to the acutest tension, I crept on.
I must have been aided by luck as much as by skill, perhaps more, and I made acknowledgment of it to myself, for never once did I make a false movement with hand or foot. No twigs, no dry sticks, the breaking of which would serve as an alarm, came in my way. All was as smooth and easy as a silk-covered couch. Fortune seemed to look kindly upon me.
In two more minutes I had reached the log, and only its foot or two of diameter lay between me and the sentinel. Complete success had attended my efforts so far. It only remained for me to do one thing now, but that was the most dangerous of all. I lay quite still for a moment or two, drawing easy breaths. Then I drew in a long one, inhaling all the air my lungs would hold. Stretching every muscle to its utmost tension, and crying out, "I'm a friend! I'm a friend!" I sprang in one quick bound over the log.
I alighted almost upon the ranger as he crouched against the fallen trunk, the green of his hunting-shirt blending with the grass, and the gray of his fur cap showing but faintly against the bark of the tree. As I alighted by his side he moved not. His rifle, which was clutched in both his hands, remained unraised. His head still rested against the tree-trunk, though his eyes were wide open.
I put my hand upon him, and sprang back with a cry of affright that I could not check.
The sentinel was dead and cold.
Chapter Nineteen—A Ride for the Cause
When I discovered that I had stalked a dead man as the hunter stalks the living deer, I was seized with a cold chill, and an icy sweat formed upon my brow. My muscles, after so much tension, relaxed as if I had received some sudden and mortal blow, and I fell into a great tremble.
But this did not last long. I trust that I am not a coward, and I quickly regained possession of my limbs and my faculties. Then I turned to the examination of the dead man. He had been shot through the head, and I judged that he had been dead a good two hours. A stray ball must have found him as he lay there watching for the enemy and with his rifle ready. I thought I could still trace the look of the watcher, the eager attention upon his features.
I left him as he was, on duty in death as well as in life, and hurried through the grass, still hoping to reach the Americans in the valley beyond, in time.
A second thought caused me to stop. I knew that in the rush and hurry of the fight our horses must have broken from the men, and perchance might yet be wandering about the woods. If I could secure one, it would save much strength and time. I began to look through the woods, for I had little fear of interruptions now, as I believed that everybody except the dead and myself had left the pass. My forethought and perseverance were not without reward, for presently I found one of the horses, saddled and bridled, and grazing peacefully among the trees. He must have been lonely, for he whinnied when he saw me, and made no effort to escape.
I sprang into the saddle, and was soon riding rapidly into the farther valley. The slope was not so steep as that up which I had come with the British, and the woods and the underbrush grew more scantily. There was sufficient light for me to see that I would soon be on cleared ground, where I could make good speed and perchance find the object of my search quickly.
There was increase to my joy when my horse's foot rang loud and clear, and, looking down, I saw that I had blundered into a good road. It led straight away down the valley, and, with a quickening gait, we followed it, my good horse and I.
The night brightened somewhat, as if to keep pace with the improvement of my fortune. I could see fields around me, and sometimes caught glimpses of houses surrounded by their shade-trees. From one of these houses a dog came forth and howled at me in most melancholy tune, but I heeded him not. I rode gayly on, and was even in high enough mood to break forth into a jovial song, had I thought it wise. Such was my glee at the thought that I had left the British, had cast off my false character, and was now about to reassume my old self, the only self that was natural to me, and take my place among the men with whom I belonged.
It was shortly after this that my horse neighed and halted, and, had not my hand been firm on the reins, he would have turned and looked behind him. I urged him forward again, but in a few moments he repeated the same suspicious movement. This caused me to reflect, and I came to the conclusion that some one was behind us, or my horse would not have acted in such fashion. I pulled him to a stand-still, and, bending back, heard with much distinctness the sound of hoof-beats. Nor was it that only; the hoof-beats were rapid, and could be made only by a horse approaching with great speed. Even in the brief space that I listened, the hoof-beats of the galloping horse became much more distinct, and it was evident to me that if I did not put my horse to his own best speed, or turn aside into the fields, I would be overtaken. But I had no mind either to follow the difficult route through the fields or to flee from a single horseman. My loaded pistol and my sword were in my belt; and, while I did not wish to slay or wound any one, it did not seem becoming in me to take to flight.
I eased my grasp on the bridle-rein and took my pistol in my hand. Then, twisting myself round in my saddle, and watching for the appearance of my pursuer, if pursuer it were, I allowed my horse to fall into a walk.
I knew I would not have long to wait, for in the still night the hoof-beats were now ringing on the road. Whoever it was, he rode fast and upon a matter of moment. Presently the figure of the flying horse and rider appeared dimly. Then they grew more distinct. The rider was leaning upon his horse's neck, and as they rushed down upon us I saw that it was a woman. Great was my surprise at the sight.
My first impulse was to rein aside, but when the woman came within twenty feet of me she raised her face a little, and then I saw that it was Mary Desmond, the Tory. Even in that faint light I could see that her face was strained and anxious, and I was struck with a great wonderment.
I turned my horse into the middle of the road, and she was compelled to rein her own back so suddenly that he nearly fell upon his haunches.
"Out of my way!" she cried. "Why do you stop me?"
"I think you will admit, Miss Desmond," I said, "that the meeting is rather unusual, and that surprise, if nothing else, might justify my stopping you."
"Why is it strange that I am here?" she demanded, in a high tone. "Why is it more strange than your presence here at this time?"
"I am riding forward to join a detachment of the American army which I believe is encamped not much farther on," I said.
In reassuming my proper American character I had forgotten that I still wore the British garb.
"Why are you doing that?" she asked, quickly and keenly.
"I wish to take them a message," I replied.
"Who are you, and what are you?" she asked, abruptly, turning upon me a look before which my eyes fell,—"you whose garb is English and speech American."
"Whatever I am at other times," I replied, "to-night I am your servant only."
"Then," she replied, in a voice that thrilled me, "come with me. I ride to warn the Americans that they are threatened with destruction."
"You!" I exclaimed, my surprise growing. "You warn them! You, the most bitter of Tories, as bitter as only a woman can be!"
She laughed a laugh that was half of triumph, half of scorn.
"I have deceived you too, as I have deceived all the others," she said. "But I should not boast. The part was not difficult, and I despised it. Come! we will waste no more time. Ride with me to the American army, if you are what you have just boasted yourself to be."
Her voice was that of command, and I had no mind to disobey it.
"Come," I cried, "I will prove my words."
"I know the way," she replied. "I will be the guide."
We galloped away side by side. Many thoughts were flying through my head. I understood the whole story at once, or thought I did, which yielded not less of satisfaction to me. She was not the Tory she had seemed to be, any more than I was the Briton whose uniform I had taken. Why she had assumed such a rôle it was not hard to guess. Well, I was glad of it. My spirits mounted to a wonderful degree, past my ability to account for such a flight. But I bothered myself little about it. Another time would serve better for such matters.
The hoof-beats rang on the flinty road, and our horses stretched out their necks as our pace grew swifter and we fled on through the night.
"How far do we ride?" I asked.
"The American encampment is four miles beyond," she said. "The British force is coming down on the right. Pray God we may get there in time!"
"Amen!" said I. "But, if we do not, it will not be for lack of haste."
We passed a cottage close by the roadside. The clatter of our horses' hoofs aroused its owner, for in those troublous times men slept lightly. A night-capped head was thrust out of a window, and I even noted the look of wonderment on the man's face; but we swept by, and the man and his cottage were soon lost in the darkness behind us.
"It will take something more than that to stop us to-night," I cried, in the exuberance of my spirits.
Miss Desmond's face was bent low over her horses neck, and she answered me not; but she raised her head and gave me a look that showed the courage a true woman sometimes has.
We were upon level ground now, and I thought it wise to check our speed, for Miss Desmond had ridden far and fast, and her horse was panting.
"We will not spare the horse," she said. "The lives of the patriots are more precious."
"But by sparing the former we have more chance of saving the latter," I said; and to that argument only would she yield. The advantage of it was soon seen, for when we increased our speed again the horses lengthened their stride and their breath came easier.
"Have you heard the sound of arms?" she asked. "Surely if any attack had been made we could hear it, even as far as this, in the night."
"I have heard nothing," I replied, "save the noise made by the galloping of our own horses. We are not yet too late."
"No, and we will not be too late at any time," she said, with sudden energy. "We cannot—we must not be too late!"
"How strong is the American force?" I asked.
"Strong enough to save itself, if only warned in time," she replied.
We came to a shallow brook which trickled peacefully across the road. Our horses dashed into it, and their flying hoofs sent the water up in showers. But almost before the drops could fall back into their native element we were gone, and our horses' hoofs were again ringing over the stony road.
Before us stretched a strip of forest, through the centre of which the road ran. In a few moments we were among the trees. The boughs overhung the way and shut out half of the moon's light. Beyond, we could see the open country again, but before we reached it a horseman spurred from the wood and cried to us to halt, flourishing his naked sword before him.
We were almost upon him, but on the instant I knew Belfort, and he knew me.
"Out of the way!" I cried. "On your life, out of the way!"
"You traitor! You damned traitor!" he shouted, and rode directly at me.
He made a furious sweep at my head with his sabre, but I bent low, and the blade circled over me, whistling as it passed. The next moment, with full weight and at full speed, my horse struck his, and Belfort's went down, the shriek from the man and the terrified neigh from the horse, mingling as they fell.
With a snort of triumph, my horse leaped clear of the fallen and struggling mass, and then we were out of the forest, Mary Desmond still riding by my side, her head bent over her horse's neck as if she were straining her eyes for a sight of the patriots who were still two miles and more away.
"You do not ask me who it was," I said.
"I know," she replied; "and I heard also what he called you."
"'Tis true, he called me that," I replied. "But he is in the dust now, and I still ride!"
We heard musket-shots behind us, and a bullet whizzed uncomfortably near. So Belfort had not been alone. In the shock of our rapid collision I had not had the time to see; but these shots admitted of no doubt.
"We will be pursued," I said.
"Then the greater the need of haste," she replied. "We cannot spare our horses now. There is a straight road before us."
No more shots were fired at us just then. Our pursuers must have emptied their muskets; but the clatter of the horses' hoofs told us that they were hot on the chase. Our own horses were not fresh, but they were of high mettle, and responded nobly to our renewed calls upon them. Once I took an anxious look behind me, and saw that our pursuers numbered a dozen or so. They were riding hard, belaboring their mounts, with hands and feet, and I rejoiced at the sight, for I knew the great rush at the start would tell quickly upon them.
"Will they overtake us?" asked Mary Desmond.
"It is a matter of luck and speed," I replied, "and I will answer your question in a quarter of an hour. But remember that, come what may, I keep my word to you. I am your servant to-night."
"Even if your self-sought slavery takes you into the American lines?" she asked.
"Even so," I replied. "I told you my mission, though you seemed to believe it not."
With this the time for conversation passed, and I put my whole attention upon our flight. My loaded pistol was still in my belt, and if our pursuers came too near, a bullet whistling among them might retard their speed. But I held that for the last resort.
So far as I could see, the men were making no attempt to reload their muskets, evidently expecting to overtake us without the aid of bullets. I inferred from this circumstance that Belfort, whom I had disabled, had been the only officer among them. Otherwise they would have taken better measures to stop us. Nevertheless they pursued with patience and seemingly without fear. By and by they fell to shouting. They called upon us to stop and yield ourselves prisoners. Then I heard one of them say very distinctly that he did not want to shoot a woman. Mary Desmond heard it too, for she said,—
"I ask no favor because I am a woman. If they should shoot me, ride on with my message."
I did not think it wise to reply to this, but spoke encouragingly to her horse. He was panting again, and his stride was shortening, but his courage was still high. He was a good horse and true, and deserved to bear so noble a burden.
Presently the girl's head fell lower upon the horse's neck, and I called hastily to her, for I feared that she was fainting.
"'Twas only a passing weakness," she said, raising her head again. "I have ridden far to-night; but I can ride farther."
The road again led through woods, and for a moment I thought of turning aside into the forest; but reflection showed me that in all likelihood we would become entangled among the trees, and then our capture would be easy. So we galloped straight ahead, and soon passed the strip of wood, which was but narrow. Then I looked back again, and saw that our pursuers had gained. They were within easy musket-range now, and one of the men, who had shown more forethought than the others and reloaded his piece, fired at us. But the bullet touched neither horse nor rider, and I laughed at the wildness of his aim. A little farther on a second shot was fired at us, but, like the other, it failed of its mission.
Now I noted that the road was beginning to ascend slightly and that farther on rose greater heights. This was matter of discouragement; but Miss Desmond said briefly that beyond the hill-top the American encampment lay. If we could keep our distance but a little while now, her message would be delivered. Even in the hurry of our flight I rejoiced that the sound of no fire-arms save those of our pursuers had yet been heard, which was proof that the attack upon the Americans had not yet been made.
The road curved a little now and became much steeper. Our pursuers set up a cry of triumph. They were near enough now for us to hear them encouraging each other, I could measure the distance very well, and I saw that they were gaining faster than before. The crest of the hill was still far ahead. These men must be reminded not to come too near, and I drew my pistol from my belt.
As the men came into better view around the curve, I fired at the leader. It chanced that my bullet missed him, but, what was a better thing for us, struck his horse full in the head and killed him. The stricken animal plunged forward, throwing his rider over his head. Two or three other horsemen stumbled against him, and the entire troop was thrown into confusion. I struck Miss Desmond's horse across the flank with my empty pistol, and then treated my own in like fashion. If we were wise, we would profit by the momentary check of our enemies, and I wished to neglect no opportunity. Our good steeds answered to the call as well as their failing strength would permit. The crest of the hill lay not far before us now, and I felt sure that if we could but reach it, the British would pursue us no farther.
But when I thought that triumph was almost achieved, Miss Desmond's horse began to reel from side to side. He seemed about to fall from weakness, for, of a truth, he had galloped far that night, and had done his duty as well as the best horse that ever lived, be it Alexander's Bucephalus or any other. Even now he strove painfully, and looked up the hill with distended eyes, as if he knew where the goal lay. His rider seemed smitten with an equal weakness, but she summoned up a little remaining strength against it, and raised herself up for the final struggle.
"Remember," she said again to me, "if I fail, as most like I will, you are to ride on with my message."
"I have been called a traitor to-night," I said, "but I will not be called the name I would deserve if I were to do that."
"It is for the cause," she said. "Ride and leave me."
"I will not leave you," I cried, thrilling with enthusiasm. "We will yet deliver the message together."
She said no more, but sought to encourage her horse. The troopers had recovered from their confusion, and, with their fresher mounts, were gaining upon us in the most alarming manner. I turned and threatened them with my empty pistol, and they drew back a little; but second thought must have assured them that the weapon was not loaded, for they laughed derisively and again pressed their horses to the utmost.
"Do as I say," cried Miss Desmond, her eyes flashing upon me. "Leave me and ride on. There is naught else to do."
But my thought was to turn my horse in the path and lay about me with the sword. I could hold the troopers while she made her escape with the message that she had borne so far already. I drew the blade from the scabbard and put a restraining hand upon my horse's rein.
"What would you do?" cried Miss Desmond.
"The only thing that is left for me to do," I replied.
"Not that!" she cried; "not that!" and made as if she would stop me. But, even while her voice was yet ringing in my ears, a dozen rifles flashed from the hill-top, a loud voice was heard encouraging men to speedy action, and a troop came galloping forward to meet us. In an instant the Englishmen who were not down had turned and were fleeing in a panic of terror down the hill and over the plain.
"You are just in time, captain," cried Miss Desmond, as the leader of the rescuing band, a large, dark man, came up. Then she reeled, and would have fallen from her horse to the ground had not I sprung down and caught her.