CHAPTER XXVIIITHE ROAD TO PHILADELPHIA
It must have been ten o'clock, and, if I had slept at all, I was scarcely conscious of it. All about me the men lay outstretched upon the ground, still in their shirt-sleeves, as they had fought, their guns beside them. The night was clear and hot, scarcely a breath of air moving. Here and there against the sky-line passed the dark silhouette of a sentinel. There was no sound of firing, only an occasional footfall to break the silence of the night. The wounded had been taken to the field hospitals at the rear; down in our front lay the bodies of the dead, and among these shone the dim lights of lanterns where the last searching parties were yet busy at their grewsome task. I was weary enough to sleep, every muscle of my body aching with fatigue, but the excitement of the day, the possibility of the morrow, left me restless. I had received no wound, other than a slight thrust with a bayonet, yet felt as though pummelled from head to foot. The victory was ours—the army realized this truth clearly enough; we had repulsed the Red-coats,driven them back with terrible losses; we had seen their lines shrivel up under our fire, officers and men falling, and the remnant fleeing in disorder. It meant nothing now that a force outnumbering us yet remained intact, and in strong position. Flushed with victory, knowing now we could meet the best of them, we longed for the morrow to dawn so we might complete the task.
I reviewed the vivid incidents of the day, looking up at the stars, and wondered who among those I knew were yet living, who were dead. I thought of others in those lines of the enemy, whom I had known, speculating on their fate. Then along our rear came a horseman or two, riding slowly. A sentry halted them, and I arose on one elbow to listen.
"Lawrence? Yes, sir, Major Lawrence is lying over there by the scrub oak."
I got to my feet, as the first rider approached.
"This you, Lawrence?" asked a voice I instantly recognized as Hamilton's. "You fellows all look alike to-night. Where is your horse, Major?"
"I have been on foot all day, sir," I answered saluting.
"Ah, indeed; well, you will have need for a horse to-night. Wainwright," turning to the man with him, "is your mount fresh?"
"Appears to be, sir; belonged to a British Dragoon this morning."
"Let Major Lawrence have him. Major, ride with me."
We passed back slowly enough toward the rear of the troops, through the field hospitals, and along the edge of a wood, where a battery of artillery was encamped. We rode boot to boot, and Hamilton spoke earnestly.
"The battle is practically won, Lawrence, in spite of Charles Lee," he said soberly. "Of course there will be fighting to-morrow, but we shall have the Red-coats well penned in before daybreak, and have already captured ammunition enough to make us easy on that score. Poor, and the Carolina men, are over yonder, while Woodford is moving his command to the left. At dawn we'll crush Clinton into fragments. Washington wants to send a despatch through to Arnold in Philadelphia, and I recommended you, as you know the road. He remembered your service before, and was kind enough to say you were the very man. You'll go gladly?"
"I should prefer to lead my own men to-morrow, sir."
"Pshaw! I doubt if we have more than a skirmish. Sir Henry will see his predicament fast enough.Then there will be nothing left to do, but guard prisoners."
"Very well, Colonel; I am ready to serve wherever needed."
"Of course you are, man. There should not be much danger connected with this trip, although there will be stragglers in plenty. I'm told that Clinton lost more than three hundred deserters crossing Camden."
Headquarters were in a single-roomed cabin at the edge of a ravine. A squad of cavalrymen were in front, their horses tied to a rail fence, but within Washington was alone, except for a single aide, writing at a rude table in the light of a half-dozen candles. He glanced up, greeting us with a slight inclination of the head.
"A moment, gentlemen."
He wrote slowly, as though framing his sentences with care, occasionally questioning the aide. Once he paused, and glanced across at Hamilton.
"Colonel, do you know a Dragoon named Mortimer?"
"I have no recollection of ever having met the man, sir. I have written him orders, however; he is a scout attached to General Lee's headquarters."
"Yes; I recall the name. He is the one who brought us our first definite information this morning of Clinton's position. I remember now, you were notwith me when he rode up—young, slender lad, with the face of a girl. I could but notice his eyes; they were as soft and blue as violets! Well, an hour ago he came here for a favor; it seems the boy is a son of Colonel Mortimer, of the Queen's Rangers."
"Indeed; Wayne reported the Colonel killed in front of his lines."
"Not killed, but seriously wounded. The son asked permission to take him home to a place called Elmhurst near Laurel Hill."
"I know the plantation, sir," I said, my interest causing me to interrupt. "It is on the Medford road."
"Ah, you have met the lad, possibly, Major," and he turned his face toward me. "The boy interested me greatly."
"No, sir; I endeavored to find him at Lee's headquarters, but failed. I have met his father and sister."
"A lovely girl, no doubt."
"To my mind, yes, sir."
His grave face lighted with a sudden smile.
"I sometimes imagine, Colonel Hamilton," he said quietly, "that this unhappy war might be very pleasantly concluded if we could only turn our young officers over to the ladies of the enemy. Would such a plan meet with your approval, Major?"
"I should prefer it to the present method."
"No doubt, and Mistress Mortimer?—But let that pass, until we hold council of war upon the subject. Just now we shall have to be content with the more ordinary plans of campaign. I gave the boy permission to remove his father, and they are upon the road ere this. I would that all the British wounded had homes close at hand. You have informed the Major of his mission, I presume, Hamilton, and there is nothing I need add."
"He understands clearly, sir."
"Then I will complete the letter. Be seated, gentlemen."
He wrote for several minutes steadily, once pausing to consult a map, signed the paper, and enclosed it in another sheet, across which he scratched a line of address.
"You will deliver this to General Arnold in person, Major; do not spare horse-flesh. You were in the action to-day?"
"With Maxwell's Brigade."
"That was a hard fight along the stone wall; you came out unhurt?"
"A slight bayonet wound, sir; nothing to incapacitate me from duty."
"Very well; take ten dragoons as escort. Hamilton will write you an order. I have told Arnold our victory is practically complete. Clinton may slip away in thenight, for he is a wily old fox, but he has lost his power to injure us in the Jerseys. I hope to bottle him up before morning, so that any retreat will be impossible, but even if he succeeds in getting his army to the transports at Sandy Hook, he has lost prestige, and the victory is ours. Good-bye, Major, and the Lord guard you on your journey."
I felt the firm clasp of his hand, the calm, confident glance of his gray eyes, and bowed low, as I left the room. I could scarcely realize that this quiet, reserved man could be the raging tornado who that same morning had ridden up to Lee, blazing with indignation. His very presence, his evident trust in me, sent me forth upon my long ride renewed in strength of body and purpose, the fatigue of the day forgotten. Ten minutes later, mounted on a rangy sorrel, my dragoon escort trotting behind, I rode south on the Plainsboro road, as swiftly as its terrible condition would warrant.
The evidences of war, the wreckage of battle, were everywhere. Several times we were compelled to leap the stone walls to permit the passage of marching troops being hurried to some new position; several batteries passed us, rumbling grimly through the night, and a squadron of horse galloped by, the troopers greeting us with shouts of inquiry. The road was deeply rutted by heavy wheels, and littered with allmanner ofdébris, broken-down wagons, dead horses, accoutrements thrown away, and occasionally the body of a man, overlooked by the burial squad. Our horses plunged from side to side in fright at the dim objects, snorting wildly, and we were obliged to ride with care, and a tight rein, under the faint guidance of the stars. For two miles the varied, ceaseless noises of a huge camp echoed from either side—the cries of men, the hammering of iron, the neighing of horses. Over there to the east, beyond that gloomy fringe of woods, were the masses of the enemy. Between where he rode, skirting their rear, lay our own battle-line, waiting daybreak, and out yonder, protected by the trees, extended the picket posts. From these would occasionally come a red spit of fire, and the dull bark of a musket.
We passed all this at last, only to discover the narrow road congested by long trains of commissary and ammunition wagons, every sort of vehicle one could imagine pressed hastily into service—huge Conestogas, great farm wagons, creaking horribly, light carts, even family carriages loaded to their tops, drawn by straining horses, mules, or oxen, their drivers swearing fiercely. We again took to the fields, but, as there seemed no end to the procession, I turned my horse's head eastward, confident we were already beyond the British rear-guard, and struck out across country for another north andsouth road. We advanced now at a swift trot, the sound of our horses' hoofs on the soft turf almost the only noise, and, within an hour, came again to parallel fences, and a well travelled road. It was a turnpike, the dust so thick that it rose about us in clouds, and, as we proceeded, we discovered many evidences along the way of a passing army. I reined back my horse to speak with the non-commissioned officer in charge of the escort, not entirely certain as to my whereabouts.
"Do you know this country, sergeant?"
"A little, sir; we scouted through here last summer, but I'm not a Jersey man."
"There have been troops marched along here by all the signs."
"Yes, sir," respectfully. "The Red-coats, probably on their way to Monmouth; this is the Mount Holly pike."
As he spoke the map of the region unrolled before my memory. This was the road running a mile, or so, to the west of Elmhurst. It led as straight as any, toward Philadelphia, but whatever stragglers the British army had left behind would be found along here. However, they would probably be scattered fugitives, unwilling to interfere with as strong an armed party as this of mine. If I was alone it would be safer to turn aside. Then, it was a strong temptation to me to passthus close to Elmhurst. It would be after daylight when we reached there; I might even get a glimpse across the apple orchard of the great white house. Would Claire be there? It seemed to me quite probable, as Eric was taking the wounded Colonel home for nursing. The girl's face rose before me against the black night, and my heart beat fast. When I came back, I would ride to Elmhurst—surely she would be there then.
The sergeant touched my arm.
"Pardon me, sir, but there are horsemen ahead."
"Indeed? I was lost in thought, Conroy. Coming this way?"
"No, sir, they seem to be travelling south slowly. I noticed them first as we turned the corner back there; I could see outlines against the sky."
"How large a party? They form merely a lumping shadow to my eyes."
"Not more than three or four, sir, with a covered rig of some kind. They're halted, now; heard us coming, I reckon."
I could perceive the little group, but merely as a black smudge. Then a mounted figure seemed to detach itself from the darkness, and advance toward us.
"Halt your men, sergeant," I said quietly. "I'll ride forward and learn what the fellow wants."
CHAPTER XXIXTHE ESCORT
The figure of the man approaching was hardly distinguishable, as he appeared to be leaning well forward over the saddle pommel, yet my eyes caught the glimmer of a star along a pistol barrel, and I drew up cautiously, loosening my own weapon.
"Who comes?" he questioned shortly, the low voice vibrant. "Speak quick!"
"An officer with despatches," I answered promptly, "riding to Philadelphia—and you?"
"We are taking a wounded man home," was the reply, the speaker riding forward. "Are you Continental?"
"Yes. Major Lawrence, of Maxwell's Brigade."
"Oh!" the exclamation was half smothered, the rider drawing up his horse quickly. I could distinguish the outline of his form now, the straight, slender figure of a boy, wearing the tight jacket of a Dragoon, the face shadowed by a broad hat brim.
"Unless I mistake," I ventured cordially, "you must be Eric Mortimer."
"Why do you suppose that?"
"Because while at General Washington's headquarters he mentioned that you had asked permission to take your father—Colonel Mortimer, of the Queen's Rangers—to his home at Elmhurst. You left, as I understood, an hour or two ahead of us. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir; this is Colonel Mortimer's party."
"Then we will pass on without detaining you longer, as we ride in haste. I met your father once; may I ask if his wound is serious?"
"Serious, yes, but not mortal; he was shot in the right side when Monkton fell. His horse was hit at the same time, and the animal's death struggle nearly killed his rider. The surgeon says he may be lame for life."
I reached out my hand, and, with just an instant's hesitation, he returned the clasp warmly.
"My father is suffering too much for me to ask that you speak to him, Major Lawrence," he said a little stiffly. "Perhaps later, at Elmhurst—"
"I understand perfectly," I interrupted. "I am very glad to have met you. We shall ride within a short distance of Elmhurst. Shall I leave word there that you are coming?"
"Oh, no," quickly, his horse taking a step backward,as though to a sudden tug of the rein. "That would be useless, as there is no one there."
"Indeed! I thought possibly your sister."
The lad shook his head, glancing toward the carriage. The slight motion made me think again of the wounded man we were detaining, and reminded me as well of my own duty.
"Then, good-night, sir. Sergeant, we will trot on."
The lad touched my sleeve, even as I pricked my horse with the spur, and I drew the rein taut in surprise.
"What is it?"
"Could you not send your men forward, and ride with me a moment? You could catch up with them easily within a mile or two. I—I have a word I wish to say to you—alone."
The voice was low, tremulous; the request one I saw no reason to refuse.
"Why, certainly. Sergeant, take your men down the road at an easy trot. I will join you presently."
They went by us like shadows, leaving a cloud of dust behind. The boy spoke a brief word to those in charge of the carriage, and it also began to move slowly forward.
"We will go ahead," he said, suiting the action to the word. "What I wish to say will not take long."
Within a minute, riding side by side, our horses walking rapidly, we were out of sight of the lumping shadow of the ambulance. I glanced aside curiously at my companion, noting the outlines of his slender, erect figure, wondering vaguely what his message could be. Had Claire spoken to him of me? Was he going to tell me about his sister? We must have ridden a quarter of a mile before he broke the silence.
"Major Lawrence," he began, and I noticed the face was not turned toward me. "I am sure you are not deceived, although you act the part well."
"I hardly understand."
"Oh, but I am sure you do. I—I could not permit you to go away despising me."
"But, my boy, this is all mystery—"
"Do you mean to insist you do not know—have not recognized me?"
"I—what can you mean?"
"Merely that I am Claire Mortimer," and lifting the hat, the young officer was revealed in the dim light as my lady. "Surely you knew?"
"But I did not," I insisted earnestly, recovering from my surprise, and leaning forward to look into her face. "Why should I? General Washington told me it was Eric who came for his father. Why should I suspect in this darkness?"
"I—I represented myself as Eric," she stammered.
"And was it you also who rode into our lines yesterday, telling of Clinton's whereabouts?"
"Yes," hesitatingly, her eyes lifting to my face.
"But you must listen to me, Major Lawrence; you must learn why I did so unwomanly an act."
"First answer one question."
"Gladly."
"Is there an Eric Mortimer?"
"There is," she answered frankly; "my brother. It was for his sake I did all this."
A moment I sat my saddle silently, our horses walking side by side through the night, while I endeavored to grasp the meaning of her confession. I knew that she was riding bareheaded, her face turned away.
"Go on," I said at last, "tell me the whole story."
"I will," firmly, her head uplifted. "I was tempted to do so at Elmhurst, but something seemed to seal my lips. There is now no longer any excuse for silence. I—I wish you to know, and then, perhaps, you may feel more kindly disposed toward me."
"Your father is aware—"
"No, not even my father. He is scarcely conscious of what is going on about him. Peter knows, and Tonepah," with a wave of her hand into the dark shadows.
"They are with you, then—keeping guard over him?"
"Yes; they have known from the beginning; not everything, of course, for that was not necessary. Peter is an old servant, silent and trustworthy. He would never question any act of mine, while the Indian has reason to be grateful and loyal to me. Whatever indiscretion, Major Lawrence, I may have been guilty of, I have gone nowhere unaccompanied by these two. You will believe that?"
"Yes, and whatever else you tell me."
"That now must necessarily be the entire story. As I proceed you will be convinced, I think, that only a true confidence in you would enable me to speak with such frankness. I—I know of no one else in whom I could confide, and—and the time has come when I must have help—the help of a friend. I should have explained to my father—indeed intended to do so—but now he is helpless to aid me. There is no one else I feel able to trust. I—I—you were in my thought to-night; I—I am not sure I did not even pray for your coming, and—and then God sent you."
My hand sought hers, and held it against my horse's mane.
"Tell it in your own way, dear," I whispered.
She flashed one glance into my face, leaving her hand in mine, while our horses took a dozen strides.
"It will not take long," she began, in so low a voice that I leaned forward to listen, "and you already know many of the characters, and can judge their motives. I have been strangely situated since the commencement of this war, only, surely ours is not the only family divided in its loyalty. My father was a King's officer, and felt it his duty to serve the crown. While he has said little, yet I know that down in his heart his sympathies have been with the Colonies. Those of my brother were openly from the start, and my father has never attempted to interfere with his actions. They talked it all over together, and Eric chose his own course. Only Alfred Grant made trouble, presuming on what he termed our engagement, and endeavored to force my brother to join the King's troops. The two quarrelled bitterly, and Eric, a hot-headed boy, struck him. Grant has never forgiven that blow, nor Eric's influence over me. To the latter he attributes my dislike—yet this was not true; it was because as I grew older I realized the ill character of the man."
She paused a moment, gathering the threads of thought more closely. I did not speak, preferring she should tell the story in her own way.
"The two did not meet after that for many months. The Queen's Rangers, in which regiment my father secured Grant a commission, were in New York, while Eric was stationed up the river with Morgan's riflemen. When New Jersey was invaded, both commands came south, and, because of Eric's knowledge of this country, he was detailed as scout. This reckless life was greatly to his liking; I saw him occasionally by appointment, usually at Elmhurst, and became aware that his old quarrel with Captain Grant was seemingly forgotten. There appeared to be some understanding, some special connection between them. They met once, at least, and I delivered one note between them."
"Perhaps I can explain that later," I interrupted, "from something mentioned at Lee's headquarters."
"You! Oh, I wish you could, for their relationship has mystified me; has made me afraid something might be wrong with—with Eric."
"I think not, dear; say rather with Grant."
"If that be so, then it may prove the key to all the mystery. What made their intimacy so difficult to understand was that I knew the captain's dislike of Eric had in no way diminished. He spoke of him as savagely as ever."
"Perhaps he played a part—his ultimate purpose revenge."
"It might be that—yes, it might be that, and—and the consummation of that revenge may account for all which has occurred. But I must go on with what I had to tell."
I had forgotten the passage of time, the men riding steadily in advance, constantly increasing their distance, even the possible importance of the despatch within my jacket pocket. The evident distress of the girl riding beside me, whose tale, I felt sure, would fully justify her strange masquerade in male garments, her risk of life and exposure to disgrace in midst of fighting armies, held me neglectful of all else. I realized that, whatever the cause, I had unconsciously become a part of its development, and that I was destined now to be even more deeply involved. Whatever the mystery I must solve it for her sake. My hand again sought hers, holding it in firm clasp. There was a sound of hoofs on the dusty road behind us.
"It is Peter," she whispered. "What can have happened!"
The rider barely paused, turning his horse's head even as he spoke hastily.
"Captain Grant is with the ambulance, Mistress Claire," he reported. "He came up alone about five minutes ago."
CHAPTER XXXBEFORE GENERAL ARNOLD
I felt her hand withdrawn quickly, and the swift intake of her breath, yet there was no sharpness in the voice.
"Captain Grant, Peter? What can the man want here?"
"He claimed to be hunting deserters," returned Swanson, as calmly deliberate of speech as ever. "But that was false. He knew we were on the road, and asked for you."
"For me? And you told him—"
"Merely that you rode ahead to see that the road was clear. Then I left at once, fearing he might join you."
She sat a moment in silence, her head bowed; then looked across into my face.
"This arrival must end our conference, Major," she said soberly. "Captain Grant must not know that you are with me—that would mean fighting."
"Surely you do not wish me to run away."
"Yes, this time, for my sake as well as your own.If I could have completed my confession you would realize the necessity. However, the fact that you are the bearer of despatches should be sufficient; your duty to the Colonies is more important than any private quarrel. You will go?"
"Yes—but you? Are you safe with him?"
"Perfectly. I wish I might be clothed in my own proper dress, but with Peter and Tonepah on guard, Captain Grant alone is not dangerous. Besides I wish to learn his purpose in seeking to join us." She hesitated. "You must not fear for me, but—but I wish to tell you all, and—and I am sure I shall need your help."
"You mean I am to join you again—at Elmhurst?"
"Is that asking too much?"
"Claire," I whispered, bending toward her, so Peter could not overhear, "nothing shall keep me from coming, dear. I will ride back the moment my despatches are in Arnold's hands. But tell me first, if you are not afraid of Grant yourself, what is it you need me for?"
"Eric," she answered swiftly. "He has disappeared, dead or deserted. Oh, I cannot believe the last is true. It was to save his reputation that I dressed in this uniform, performed the work assignedhim. I feel sure Grant knows where he is, what has become of him. I went to him in Philadelphia, but he only sneered, and said the boy had doubtless run away. I know better; that is not like a Mortimer. But I cannot search for him; I must stay with my father. But if I can only be assured you will come."
"You can be assured."
"Mistress Claire," broke in Peter, "some one is riding up the road."
"Yes, Peter, yes. Major, wait here! Don't move. We will go back and meet him."
I held my horse steady, although he made an effort to follow. Voices came back to me through the darkness,—Grant's loud enough to be clearly heard.
"What, is this you, Claire?" he laughed gruffly. "By all the gods, I thought it must be Eric. I never expected to find you togged out in this style. By Jove, I could wish it was daylight."
Whatever she replied must have sobered the fellow.
"Everything I say you take wrongly. Of course it's all right, for the country is full of stragglers out of both armies. Lord, I don't care what you wear, as long as it suits you. My business? Oh, I explained all that to your putty-faced servant—Saint Anne! that fellow! But I'll review the matter again. I'm drumming up Clinton's deserters, but now I've metyou, I'm tempted to go along with you as far as Elmhurst."
"Become a deserter yourself?"
"Oh, no, or at least only temporarily. There will be plenty of fighting yet in the Jerseys. Clinton's whipped all right, and is going to have a time getting away to the ships. In my judgment there will be richer picking for a Jerseyman right here at home, than with the army in New York."
There was a moment's silence; then the girl asked, a shade of horror in her voice:
"Surely you cannot mean to ally yourself with guerillas, Captain Grant? With—with Fagin?"
The man laughed, but mirthlessly.
"That would be horrible, wouldn't it? Well, personally I fail to see why Fagin is any more of a scoundrel than some of these other fellows in gilt epaulets. However, I've not come to that point yet. The fact is I have a private affair to attend to before I leave this neighborhood. Can you guess what it is?"
"I? Certainly not."
"Well, you will know shortly—the ambulance is coming."
I rode my horse slowly forward, keeping at the edge of the road, until assured a sufficient distance separated us. Then I gave the restive animal a sharptouch of the spur, sending him swiftly forward. My escort would have a mile or two the start, yet that was nothing. My thoughts were not with them, or with my military duty, but reverted to the little company around the wounded man. The bearing of the despatch to Arnold was mere routine, involving only steady riding, but the relations existing between Claire, Grant, and Eric Mortimer were full of mystery. There were connecting links I could not understand; no doubt had the girl been permitted to conclude her story I might fit it together, but as it was I was left groping in the darkness. Yet my mind tenaciously held to its original theory as to Eric's strange disappearance—he had been betrayed by Grant, and was being held prisoner. But where? By whom? And for what purpose?
I pondered on this problem as my horse ploughed forward through the dust, my eyes unconsciously scanning the dark road. Grant could not have known that Colonel Mortimer was being taken home. His meeting with the ambulance party was altogether an accident. Yet I had no faith the man was out seeking British stragglers, for had he been despatched on such a mission he would have had at least a squad of soldiers with him. Then what? The probability was that he was either riding to Elmhurst, or to some rendezvouswith Fagin. Some plan had been interrupted by Clinton's sudden march, by the British defeat at Monmouth, and Grant was risking his commission, braving the charge of desertion, for some private purpose. This might be love of Claire, revenge upon Eric, or possibly both combined. The latter would seem most probable. He would use Eric in some way to threaten the sister, to compel her to sacrifice herself. She was of a nature to do this, as was already abundantly proved by her assumption of male attire to save Eric's reputation. My own responsibility loomed large as I reached this conclusion, and remembered her appeal for help. She, also, must suspect the truth, and had turned to me as the only one capable of unravelling the mystery. She trusted me, loved me, I now believed—and, under God, I would prove worthy her faith. With teeth clinched in sudden determination I caught up with my little squad of plodding horsemen, and, with word of command, hurried them into a sharp trot.
Riding ahead, boot to boot with Conroy, I thought out a plan for action, and finally, in the gray of the morning, told him enough of the story to arouse his interest. Just before sunrise we passed Elmhurst, the great white mansion appearing silent and deserted. There was no halting, although we turned in the saddleto look, and my eyes swept over the troopers trotting behind us. They were a sturdy lot, their faces bronzed from exposure, their uniforms stained and dust-covered.
"Regulars?" I asked, nodding back across my shoulder.
"Not a man but has seen two-years' service," he replied proudly. "Hamilton knows the troop, and he picked us out."
"I may need them for a bit of desperate work."
"They'll do it, sir, never fear."
"Good, sergeant; we'll ride hard, and trust to getting fresh horses in Philadelphia. I'll tell Arnold the story. When we arrive there have your men get all the sleep they can. I'll attend to rations and ammunition. You are simply to have the men rested and ready. Cannot we make better time? The horses seem in good condition."
We passed swiftly over the level country, meeting a few stragglers, but paying them small attention. Farrell's shop was closed and locked, and we halted there merely long enough to water our animals. The road was now clear to the river, although we passed numerous footmen wearily trudging westward. These were army riffraff, however, few being in uniform. By two o'clock we were on the banks of theDelaware, and a half-hour later, I swung down stiffly from the saddle in front of Arnold's headquarters on High Street.
He was an officer I never greatly liked, with his snapping eyes and arrogant manner, but he was courteous enough on this occasion, questioning me after reading the despatch, and offering me a glass of wine.
"You look tired, Major, and must rest before you start back. I shall have my report ready by sundown."
"General Arnold," I said, standing respectfully hat in hand, "I have a favor to ask,—that you will send your report by some other messenger, and give me a detail for special service."
He looked up in surprise.
"Special service, sir! But you are not assigned to my command."
"That is true, General," I insisted, "but the conditions warrant the unusual application."
"What service is contemplated?"
"An attempt to kill or capture Red Fagin, and release a scout whom I believe he holds prisoner."
"You hope to accomplish all this alone?"
"With the assistance of the sergeant and ten dragoons who came here with me. They are in camp now on the Jersey shore."
He walked across the room, stared out of the window, and then again faced me.
"By Gad, sir, this is a most extraordinary request. Damme, I'd like to get hold of Fagin all right, but I need to know more of your plan, and the reason you have for asking such a detail. It looks foolhardy to my mind."
I went over the situation carefully, watching the effect of my words in the man's face. He sat at the table now, leaning forward eagerly. Arnold had the reputation of a gallant, and my first reference to a young lady aroused him.
"The name, please—you mentioned no name."
"Claire Mortimer, sir."
"Ah! Ah! I remember her well. Danced with her myself. Now go on, sir; I can appreciate the tale better from my recollection of the fair heroine."
I was not long at it, although he interrupted me occasionally by shrewd questioning. As I concluded he kept silent a moment, looking at me from under his heavy brows.
"It looks like rather a blind trail to me, Major," he said kindly, "but I'm no spoil-sport in such an affair. You might have the luck to stumble onto your party, and I'd take the chance myself if I were in your shoes. You wish to start at sunset?"
"Yes, sir."
"You need horses, rations, and pistol ammunition for twelve men?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, Major, the quartermaster will attend these details. Go and lie down. Washington may not approve, but I'll take the responsibility."
He extended his hand across the table, and I felt the firm clasp of his fingers.
CHAPTER XXXII RUN ACROSS ERIC
I slept three hours, the dead sleep of sheer exhaustion, but felt refreshed and strong when roughly aroused. Before sunset I was across the river, where I found my little squad of Dragoons prepared for their night's adventure. Arnold had kept his word, the fresh horses being fine animals, the ammunition in excess of our needs. Conroy was enthusiastic, and somewhat loquacious, but I cut his conversation off rather sharply, and ordered the men into their saddles. With brain clarified by sleep I realized the importance of the work before us, and how imperfect my plans were. I could merely ride forth to Elmhurst, hoping to pick up some clew to aid me. As we rode rapidly along the deserted road leading to Farrel's I reviewed over and over again every remembered detail, only to conclude that I must get hands on Grant, and by threats, or any other available means, compel him to confess his part in the villainy. Dusk settled about us, succeeded by night, as we pressed steadilyforward, the men riding silently, the only sound the thud of hoofs, and the slight jingle of accoutrements. As we passed the black walls of Farrell's shop, I recalled the papers found in Grant's coat, and the reference in Fagin's note to a rendezvous at Lone Tree. Probably that was the spot where the two had been accustomed to meeting. If true in the past, why not now as well? Suddenly it occurred to me that it was at a place called Lone Tree that the minute men had gathered for their attack on Delavan's wagon train. Could this, by any possibility, be the same spot? I drew my horse back beside Conroy.
"Ever heard of a place called Lone Tree?" I asked quietly.
He rubbed his head thoughtfully.
"Not just about here, sir. We camped over east of there once, maybe a year ago, down in a hollow where there was one big tree standin' all alone, kind of an odd lookin' tree, sir, and seems to me, the guide said the place was called something like that. Say, Tom," to the nearest Dragoon, "do you remember that Lone Tree where we camped when we were out huntin' Tarleton?"
"Sure; in east of Medford. There was a farmhouse across on the side of a hill. I got some buttermilk there."
"Wasn't that what the guide called the place—Lone Tree?"
"Derned if I know, Sergeant. Don't recollect hearin' the guide say anythin' 'bout that, but the woman at the house told me her place was called Lone Tree Cottage—so I reckon he might."
This was a chance worth trying, and would require a detour of but a few miles. My decision was made quickly.
"We will take the first turn to the left, and have a look at the place," I said. "Conroy, you and Tom ride ahead, and keep your eyes open."
We reached the hollow where the big tree stood, about midnight, but found little reward. The house on the hill had been burned to the ground. Near the tree, however, we discovered evidence of recent camp-fires, one not yet cold, and apparently there had been quite a body of men camped there lately. Conroy manufactured a torch, and scouted about, finally reporting:
"I don't know how many were here, sir, altogether, but there was a lot o' horses picketed over near the creek. I reckon the last of them didn't leave until dark to-night, an' they rode north toward the main road. There was maybe a dozen in that party."
We followed the general direction the fellowsseemed to have taken, Conroy and I on foot, scanning the trail by aid of a pine knot. The dust lay thick on the clay road through the cut, where we had charged the foragers, and it was easy to see the band had turned east. There was but one conclusion possible; if this was Fagin's gang of cutthroats, as I suspected, then they were either returning to their sand caves in Monmouth County after a raid, or else were starting forth on some new project near at hand. Whichever was true, Elmhurst lay in the direction taken. Determined to learn the truth, and wishing now I had more men at my back, we pressed forward, riding rapidly, yet exercising the precaution of keeping two scouts well in advance. It must have been nearly three o'clock when we reached the summit of the low hill within a few hundred yards of the house, and found the two scouts awaiting us.
My first glance across the ravine revealed the outlines of the house above the low trees of the orchard. All appeared peaceable enough, and I felt a sudden relief. There were lights burning on the lower floor, streaming through several windows, while up stairs one window was ablaze. Late as it was, this illumination was not surprising, however, as the care of the wounded man would necessitate night watchers, while, no doubt, Claire would anticipate my reaching therebefore morning. All this flashed over me, as my eyes hastily surveyed the familiar surroundings. Then I became aware that the older scout was reporting.
"There's quite a bunch of horses picketed down there in the ravine, sir," he said, pointing toward the right.
"How many?"
"Oh, maybe twenty-five or thirty; Joe an' I couldn't get very close as there's a couple of men on guard on top of the bank. A hundred feet down you can see 'em plain against the sky."
"Wasn't what you saw a cattle herd?"
"No, sir," positively. "They're horses, picketed in line like a cavalry troop, and they've got their saddles on."
What this all meant could not be guessed at, but there must be some scheme of deviltry under way. There were no regular troops hereabout belonging to either army, yet the very condition of the country left an open field for the operation of outlaws. Arnold had barely men enough to garrison Philadelphia; Washington was facing Clinton; the militia had been withdrawn, and all this section left entirely unguarded. It was the very moment for Fagin and his kind to carry on their work of murder and pillage.
"Have either of you crossed the ravine?" I asked, endeavoring to reach some conclusion.
"Yes, sir, Joe did. He was up in the edge of the orchard."
"See any men?"
"Not a man, sir, outside," answered the other. "But I saw shadows against the curtains on that lower floor. I couldn't tell how many; they just come an' go, only they wasn't dressed alike."
One thing was sufficiently certain—we could gain little information remaining where we were.
"Sergeant," I said, determining swiftly on a course of action, "take your men, dismounted, across the ravine, and into the orchard. Keep under cover, but get as close to the house as you can safely. Picket your horses back there beside the road."
"And you, sir?"
"I'll take Tom with me, and we'll circle that horse herd, and come up to the house from the rear. I want to discover where those fellows are, and what they are up to. See this whistle, sergeant?"
"Yes, sir."
"It gives a sharp, shrill blast. If I blow it twice, get your men inside the house instantly. I'll not sound it unless I need you at once. We'll wait here until you get across."
They disappeared into the black depths of the ravine, moving cautiously and with little noise, Conroy leading, the others stringing along behind in single file. Tom led back the horses while I watched, until convinced they had attained the opposite bank, and the shelter of the orchard. There was no sound of movement anywhere, yet it was not long until daybreak, and any further delay was dangerous. As soon as the Dragoon returned, I gave him a few words of instruction, and the two of us plunged down the steep slope, feeling our way through the darkness, but moving to the right, toward where the scouts had indicated the horses were being herded. We skirted these, creeping along the opposite bank behind a fringe of bushes, certain that the darkness concealed our movements from the two men on guard. Fearful of frightening the animals we dare not approach close enough to count them, but they stood head to head to a picket rope nearly across the narrow ravine. We crossed fifty feet above, gained the top of the bank, and crawled down, sheltered from observation, until we were directly above the two guards. Peering cautiously over we could easily distinguish the black outlines on the hillside below.
One man was standing up, leaning against the trunk of a small tree, while the other was sitting on theground, his head bent forward, and his hat drawn low over his eyes. Neither uttered a sound, but as my eyes strained through the darkness I began to perceive details which awakened a new suspicion. The fellow standing up wore a cap and no coat, and his hands were clasped about a short, sawed-off gun. He had none of the appearance of a soldier, but the other man apparently was in uniform, although I could not distinguish its character. What instantly attracted my attention was the fact that his hands were evidently tied behind his back. If this was true then he was a prisoner, and the other had been stationed there to guard him, and not the horses. Tom perceived this as soon as I, for I felt his fingers grip my arm, and, when I glanced around at him, he pictured his suspicions in pantomime. I nodded agreement, sinking down behind the ridge, until my lips were at his ear.
"Creep around the edge of the rock there," I said, pointing. "That will bring you at his back, and not more than five feet away. Can you do it?"
He nodded grimly.
"Leave your weapons here," I added, "and when you spring, get hold of his gun so he cannot fire. I'll cover him the instant you strike. Go on."
He unbuckled his belt, and crept along to the right, so noiselessly that even I, watching his snake-like movement,could hear no sound. The guard did not move his head, and the other remained motionless, his face bent almost to his knees. Down below the horses stomped restlessly, and switched their tails. Watching each motion like a hawk, I saw Tom dip over the crest, and worm his way down behind the rock. Then he disappeared, until, as he cautiously arose to his feet, his head and shoulders emerged shadowy just beyond. Realizing he was ready, I got to my knees, gripping a pistol butt. Without a warning sound the Dragoon leaped, his arms gripping the astounded sentinel with the hug of a bear. He gave utterance to one grunt, and then the barrel of my pistol was at his head.
"Not a word!" I said sternly. "Unclasp his belt, Tom. Yes, take his gun. If he moves, or utters a sound, shoot him down."
I wheeled to face the other, who had lifted his head, and was staring at us through the darkness. He was no longer a mere shapeless shadow, but a slender, straight figure, and my heart gave a sudden throb.
"Who are you?" I asked sharply. "Eric Mortimer?"
"Yes," he answered, in evident surprise. "Do I know you?"
"No," and I cut the rope binding his ankles. "ButI was searching for you. I am an officer of Maxwell's brigade; my name is Lawrence. Tell me first what has happened,—why you are being held prisoner."
He stretched his cramped arms and legs, lifting his hat so that I saw his face dimly. In the gloom his resemblance to Claire was so remarkable that I involuntarily exclaimed:
"Heavens! but you look like your sister!"
"Like Claire! they all say so; you know her?"
"It is at her request I am here; you need not fear to tell me your story."
"Oh, I do not. I can see your uniform. But damn it, I don't know any too much about what is up myself. This is Red Fagin's outfit."
"I thought so. Where did he get you? How long have you been a prisoner?"
The boy laughed recklessly, his eyes upon the others.
"Well, my story is a short one, Lawrence. I had a fellow in the British service who occasionally gave me information. Word came to me to meet him at a certain spot—"
"You mean Captain Grant?"
"Hell! How did you know that?"
"Never mind; I do know—so you can go on."
He hesitated, as though suspicious of me, yet finally resumed.
"I had no intention of speaking names."
"Oh, let that pass. You may think Grant all right, but the rest of us know he is at the bottom of the whole matter."
"You mean he betrayed me?"
"There is no doubt of it. He is in with Fagin."
The lad drew a long breath.
"I half suspected it," he said slowly, "only it didn't seem possible. Now listen, and perhaps together we can make something out of all this. I went to the place where we were to meet, and had a talk with Grant—yes, it was Grant all right. He told me some things, but needed a day or two to get other information. While waiting I came over here to Elmhurst, and found Claire. She's the kind of a girl you can tell things to, and I wrote out what I had learned, and left some of my papers. Then I went back to Lone Tree. It was dark when I got there, and I rode right into Fagin and three of his men. They had me before I could lift a hand."
"Just wait a minute, Mortimer," I broke in, becoming suddenly aware there was a grayness in the eastern sky. "I want to creep in toward the house while itremains dark. You can tell the rest as we go along. Tom, take these ropes and tie your man up. Make him safe, and then come along after us."
"All right, sir. I'll fix the lad so he'll be safe enough for a while."