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“In other words,” replied his host with a smile, “you are fifteen with ardent hope of soon being sixteen, and I’ll warrant extremely desirous of active and honourable employment. The colt, too, looks as though he wanted to exercise his faculties as well.”
“Sir, I am very anxious for employment. There is not much I can do at home this winter. Indeed, the little place will barely afford existence and I need to earn money.”
“What I have in mind will demand discretion and judgment beyond your years, as well as fidelity to a trust. Of your fidelity I have no question, and am inclined to believe that, with your intelligence and the experience you have had, you will be able to meet the requirements.”
“Won’t you give me a chance, Mr. Jefferson?” There was pleading in the boy’s eyes and in the tone of his voice.
“Rodney, I will, with your mother’s permission. You explain to her, but tell no one else, that the work will consist in carrying messages to different parts of the colony. Supervision of the work being done by the various committees of safety, and quick and reliable communication between the men taking the lead in this business, require such service as you will be expected to perform. Nat looks as though he might be depended on for the quickness, and to you must be left the discretion. You must have eyes as well as ears and use both more than the tongue. The employment will not be without slight danger, for, after a time, our opponents157will inevitably discover what you are doing. Then, in the present unsettled state of things, the long rides, some of the time at night, will demand courage and prudence.”
“I’m sure mother will consent. There certainly won’t be the danger there was living among the Indians.”
The man smiled. “I doubt if your mother would consent to expose you to those conditions again. I will write to her and you may be the bearer of the message and plead your cause.”
With the letter finally in his pocket, and Nat making use of a free rein to gallop like the wind, Rodney Allison felt as though he were entering upon a new world with much more of sunshine and hope than for a long time he had known. The following week he began his duties by setting out for Mount Vernon with a message for Colonel Washington, and another for Richard Henry Lee, who, also, had been a delegate to the first Colonial Congress.
Angus saw that something was afoot and was displeased at Rodney for not taking him into his confidence. “Where now, Rodney?” he said, as he sauntered into the Allison yard, where his friend was bidding his mother good-bye.
“I’ve got to take quite a long ride on one of Mr. Jefferson’s business matters; I don’t quite know how far it will take me.”
“You go prepared for trouble,” replied Angus with a nod at the butts of two horse-pistols which could be seen under the flaps of the holsters.
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“Those are some father had with the saddle,” replied Rodney.
Angus winked and said no more, though it was evident he would like to have done so.
“Well, good-bye, Angus, and good-bye, mother. Don’t expect me back till I get here,” said Rodney, vaulting into the saddle and riding away at a furious gallop, his head up and shoulders thrown back and as full of a sense of his own importance as is permitted to a modest lad, such as Rodney Allison really was.
Before him lay long stretches of miserable roads, clogged with snow or mud, a bleak landscape, not to mention many inconveniences which the travellers through that region were then obliged to endure. But all things come to an end and so, one crisp morning, the lad reined Ned into the road leading to Mount Vernon.
Now, those of us who visit the place feel that we approach the shrine of our country. To Rodney it was a visit to one of the finest plantations in all the Old Dominion, and its owner was one of the most influential citizens as well as one of the wealthiest. The general appearance of the place that morning was much as one now finds it, save for the evidences then seen of the little army of negroes who worked on the plantation. The smoke curled lazily up into the frosty air; the majestic Potomac flowed past between bleak banks on which the first green of spring had not shown itself. A kinky haired coloured boy was promptly on hand to hold the horse, and another met him at the door.
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“Talk as little as possible and see everything,” was his mother’s parting advice, and he thought of it as he looked about him. On all sides were evidences of thrift and he felt the atmosphere of home.
How Washington loomed before the lad’s eyes on entering the room! Not that he was unduly long of limb, for, though a giant in stature, he was perfectly proportioned; but he seemed to fill the room with his presence. Rodney had wondered how he would compare with the man he so ardently admired, but he could find no point of resemblance between the man who greeted him and the host of Monticello, save in the courteous, kindly manner of both. The boy’s first thought was of the masterful manner of the man before him, yet those calm, blue-gray eyes, looking out from under the heavy brows, did not embarrass him.
This is the man who Ahneota believed was guarded by the Great Spirit, was the thought which flashed through his mind as Washington extended his hand in greeting, the man who had dared take Governor Dinwiddie’s message into the enemy’s country, who had saved the remnants of Braddock’s panic-stricken troops amid a hail of bullets. How could such a massive figure have escaped, with men falling all around him?
Rodney delivered his message and received a reply, was introduced to Mrs. Washington and given refreshments and departed rejoicing that his new work was affording him such pleasant experiences. What satisfaction it must be, he thought, to be so rich, have160such a fine home and be respected by all one’s neighbours. If he had such a plantation as this he would hunt and fish to his heart’s content, and Lisbeth Danesford would be proud to introduce him to her cousins from London, and he would not condescend to notice them either, unless they were different from Mogridge, the insolent fellow! What had become of him? Anyhow, though the “Chevalier” finally had gotten the money, there was the satisfaction of winning it from Mogridge. Ah! Rodney, you were not experienced in the tricks of gambling or you would have known that, but for the “Chevalier” watching them, Mogridge and his “pal” would have stripped you of every farthing.
Rodney had read the letter Lisbeth had written from London. He was glad she was finding the nobility, the lords and dukes, not to mention duchesses, such uninteresting people, and that she longed for Virginia. Had she come home? It would be but little out of his way to ride around past “The Hall.” No, he would not call, for he would not wish to meet the squire after the shabby manner in which he had treated them. Possibly he might meet Lisbeth on the road. She was a mighty fine girl, and, if she did get him into that scrape with Roscome’s bull, she had gotten him out. From the girl his thoughts reverted to the man he had just left.
The boy recalled that firm mouth, the grave dignity, and the something about his personality which had said to the lad as to others: “You can trust me.”161Rodney Allison was never afterward to doubt George Washington. The next year, when it was said Washington had declared that if necessary he would raise a thousand men at his own expense and march them to Boston, Rodney exclaimed, “He’ll do it, too!” When Boston was evacuated he said, “I knew it.” When Washington, in the face of all sorts of difficulties, led his scattering forces in masterly retreat before the victorious British, Rodney was to say, “He’s doing all that man can do.” But this is getting ahead of the story, for young Allison is now on his way to the home of Richard Henry Lee, who later was to propose independence in the Continental Congress, when to do so might mean loss of not only his property but his life as well, for King George would have liked to make an example of at least a few prominent “traitors,” could he have got them in his clutches.
The meeting with Mr. Lee was for Rodney another pleasant experience; a fine man, and what an agreeable voice he had! Then the lad turned Nat’s head toward home, well pleased with the success that so far had attended his journey.
Two days of travelling brought him to the neighbourhood of his old home. He was aware of a dull ache in his throat as he rode by the school house. It seemed as if he saw his father bowed over the rude bench within. In the distance he caught a glimpse of “The Hall.” There was a feeling of homesickness with it all, and he would have given all that his scant purse contained to see Lisbeth and have her know that162he had become a person of some importance. Wouldn’t the squire rave if he knew the errands he had in charge. Ah, but those stiff-necked Tories would have to yield!
As he rode past “The Hall” he looked long at the house. The squire galloped up behind and passed him with a stare and a salute, not recognizing him.
“I wonder he didn’t remember Nat,” thought Rodney, and it was surprising because the squire was a great admirer of a good horse and knew the “points” of all the best in the county.
A little farther along lived the Roscomes. There he was sure of finding a place to spend the night. It was then about four in the afternoon. He would have time to get his supper and then ride up on the hill for one more look at the familiar view.
The Roscomes, father and son, owned but a small plantation, but their hospitality was princely and it was with difficulty he got away for the hill.
Hitching Nat in a grove at the foot, he climbed to the top just in season to see the sunset and the extended view, which had been so familiar to him, so that he felt well repaid. On his way back, and as he was unhitching the horse, he heard voices in the road which ran near the grove.
“I say, me ’earty, I’ve about enough o’ this dirty country. I’d like to put me two legs across the back of a fine ’orse, an’ I’d ask no questions of the owner.”
“Right ye are, Bill. At the speed we’re walkin’ we’ll git to Occoquan about midsummer, I’m thinkin’.”
“They’ve ’orses in plenty ’ereabout to go with their163muddy roads. They’d not miss a couple, though they think more of a ’orse than they do of a nigger, I’m told.”
“We’d have two an’ ask no questions, but they’ve both dogs and niggers, an’ one or both always sleeps in the stable.”
“I tell ye wot, d’ye mind the lad and girl go riding by when we was eatin’ a bite beside the road, along back?”
“I did an’ thought ridin’ would do me a sight more good than them.”
“They wouldn’t ’ave no guns an’ would be easy to scare. Suppose if we meet ’em we give ’em the ’int an’ not wait for an answer?”
“We’d have the whole country at our heels.”
“An’ there wouldn’t be a ’orse in the lot could overtake us or me eye knows not a good one.”
Rodney looked to the priming of his pistols, then mounted Nat and followed slowly after the men.
164CHAPTER XIXRODNEY TO THE RESCUE
It would not be true to say that Rodney Allison was not nervous as he gripped the handle of the big pistol he drew from its holster, and cocked it.
Whether the men were armed he did not know. If they failed to meet the two riders they sought they might conclude one horse would be better than none and attack him. Indeed, this seemed very probable; besides, if they should attack the other parties, the boy resolved he would take a hand in the affair.
A little farther on, the road on which he was riding crossed the highway leading to Roscome’s. The men probably were waiting at the corner. He decided to ride slowly and await developments.
In event of attack he would spur Nat directly against them and use the pistol!
The frogs were croaking in the nearby meadow. The sound jarred on his tense nerves.
“I say, sir, be this the road to Occoquan?”
They had met some one! Rodney stopped his horse and listened. A horse whinnied, and Nat lifted his165head to reply when a touch from the spur changed his mind.
A clear voice rang out, “Back, you knaves! Take your hands off that bridle!”
A girl’s scream and sounds of a struggle came to the lad’s ears, and he spurred ahead.
Near the corners of the roads, though now dusk had fallen, he discerned two riders on horses that were rearing and plunging. One of the riders, a man, was plying his whip over the head of the fellow who clung to his bridle; on the other horse was a girl struggling with a rascal who was trying to pull her from the animal’s back. Rodney turned his attention to this one.
Not daring to fire, through fear of hitting the girl, he rode straight at the miscreant and, clubbing his pistol, struck him over the head what proved to be but a slight blow, for the man dodged, but his hold was broken and he staggered back, and Nat trampled over him. His accomplice, seeing this, fled. The girl hung by the side of her horse, one foot in the stirrup and both hands clutching his mane. Thoroughly frightened, he plunged ahead and ran wildly down the road.
“She will be dashed to death!” was the thought which flashed through Rodney’s mind and, wheeling his horse, he spurred after the fleeing thoroughbred, the girl’s companion galloping behind.
The spirit of a racing ancestry, and the cruel rowels, drove Nat close on the flanks of the runaway. Could he overtake and pass him?
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The girl was unable to regain her seat, and at every leap of her horse was tossed, now almost touching the ground, and again almost as high as the horse’s back. Could she retain her grip until Rodney might reach the bridle rein?
Every moment the boy expected to see her dashed to the ground and trampled to death under the hoofs of the running horses. He shut his eyes for an instant, and then urged faithful Nat to the utmost, and could feel his muscles respond to the strain.
Inch by inch, Nat gained on the runaway. The boy leaned far out to seize the loose bridle rein. He could not quite reach it; another foot and he would have it within his grasp. Ah! Now he gripped it and pulled both horses to a stop, crying, “Are you hurt?”
“I––I’m not––sure. Not seriously, I think; somewhat like Doctor Atterbury’s prescriptions, ‘well shaken before taken.’”
It was Lisbeth’s voice!
“Steady, Nat. Here, let me help. Isn’t your ankle wrenched? If I’d known who it was I’d been scared worse than I was.”
“Why, Rodney Allison! Where in the world did you come from? I was wishing some knight errant would happen along to stop Firefly; but I never imagined you in that rôle. I––I think you’ll have to help me up, my ankle is beginning to complain at the rough treatment.”
Rodney lifted Lisbeth into her saddle just as her escort and Black Tom rode up.
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“Mr. Enderwood, this is my old playmate, Rodney Allison. He and I always were getting into scrapes. I’m going to ask him to sell Nat to father so my escorts can have as good a horse as Firefly. The one you have, Mr. Enderwood, has seen his best days and was no match for mine. But for you, Nat, I should have had a longer ride than––would have been agreeable.” There was a little catch in her voice.
“So Nat gets all the glory and Enderwood is excused for being behind,” thought Rodney, not altogether pleased, and he scarcely heard the old darky saying by way of apology: “I suttinly hab no ’scuse on ’count o’ hoss. Don’ put no nose front o’ yo’, Moleskin,” he said, patting the sleek neck of the fiery hunter he rode. “I’se ’lowin’ Tom’s room’s better’n his comp’ny, an’ was sojerin’ along. But I’se boun’ ter say, Marse Rodney, I couldn’ done better myse’f.”
“That’s Rodney’s way of doing things, you know, Tom,” said Lisbeth, and the boy’s feelings were somewhat soothed by the balm in her words. “Having rescued the maid,” she said, turning to him, “it’s now your duty to return with her to the castle, and explain to her papa that it was none of her fault, and afford us all opportunity to thank you properly, while Aunt Betty gets out her bandages.”
“I thank you, but, you see, I’ve made arrangements to stay over the night at Roscomes’ and they are expecting me. I supped there and then thought I wanted to see the view from the hill, once more. Now I must return.”
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“So you were going through Pryndale without calling on your old friends.”
“I shall be most happy to call on the morrow if I may be permitted,” was Rodney’s response, and he was really surprised at his ready reply.
“We ought to ride as far as Roscomes’ with him,” said Lisbeth, and, because of the dusk, they could not see how pale and drawn was her face.
“Those villains will have no stomach for further trouble, I reckon, and I’m sure you need Aunt Betty and the bandages more than I do the escort. I hope to see you in the morning, none the worse for to-night’s experience. Good night,” saying which, he rode on to Roscome’s. His mind was in a whirl and, now the danger and excitement were past, he felt very weak, and trembled when he thought of Lisbeth’s peril; yet he was conscious that he had borne himself well. Then he fell to wondering who young Enderwood might be. Rodney had only seen in the dim light that he was young, not much older than himself, and apparently a gentleman. Enderwood? Why, he must be Squire Enderwood’s son, from Norfolk. If so, he had both family and fortune, and somehow the idea didn’t please Rodney, though why should he begrudge young Enderwood such an inheritance?
The following morning Rodney set out for “The Hall.” He felt he could ill spare the time but nevertheless was glad of the opportunity, though he dreaded the meeting with the squire. His father might be alive at that moment but for the injustice of Lisbeth’s father.
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The sun shone brightly but the air was clear and cold. From a light rain of the previous night icicles had formed on the trees and gleamed like so many jewels. It seemed to the boy as though he had dreamed a long dream of wild forests, peopled with Indians, and was now awake and at home.
When Rodney arrived at “The Hall” he was met by the squire, who came to him with outstretched hands, saying, “My boy, you are a brave lad, and have placed me under greater obligations than I can ever hope to repay. I will write your father and tell him how grateful I am, and how proud he should be of you.”
“My father is dead, sir; he was killed in the battle at Point Pleasant.”
“You––you––er––I’m astounded! I hadn’t heard a word. Why, only the other day I was thinking of him.”
The unmistakable signs of grief in the squire’s face somewhat softened Rodney’s feelings. “You know Charlottesville did not afford father the opportunity to provide for his family as he wished and so he went over the mountains to take up land. When I was on my way to him I was captured by the Indians and held for a year. Meanwhile father, thinking I was dead, joined the army under General Lewis.”
“I never should have let him go away. I’ve wished him back every day since he went away,” and then the squire turned and walked to the window, where Mogridge had watched the effect of his plot and seen170David Allison turn his back and walk away never to return.
At this moment Enderwood came into the room. He was a fine looking fellow of nearly twenty, straight and rather tall, with dark hair and eyes, and had an air of breeding. Greeting Rodney cordially, as he looked at him keenly, he said, “Aunt Betty requested me to tell you that Lisbeth cannot leave her room. I fear her ankle is badly sprained and she was much shaken. She will regret not seeing you this morning.”
“Yes,” said the squire, turning from the window, “my little girl suffered more than was thought at the time, but I hope she will be up in a few days. Meanwhile you are to make ‘The Hall’ your home. I’m sure that you and Lawrence will find plenty with which to amuse yourselves.”
“Thank you, Squire Danesford; but I must go on. I came out of my way for the sake of riding through Pryndale and have already lost a day. I feared your daughter was hurt more than she would admit. She had an awful experience. I thought she would be dashed to pieces before her horse could be stopped.”
“Don’t speak of it, please. I haven’t slept for the night. But, surely, your business isn’t so urgent that you must away at once. I want to hear about your mother. You know she and I lived on adjoining plantations when we were children and were playmates. Now, my boy, I want you to bring your mother back to Pryndale. You should never have left it.”
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“It was leave or starve,” were the words on Rodney’s tongue; but he did not speak them, and ever after was glad that he hadn’t. Instead he said, “I will tell her of your kind invitation. She was very fond of her home here. You are very kind. Please give my regards to Lisbeth and say that I regret not seeing her and hope for her speedy recovery.”
And so, despite the squire’s urging that he remain, Rodney set out on his journey home, less satisfied with himself and the promises for his future than he had been the night before.
The lad was, however, to have little time in the succeeding months for reflections, pleasant or otherwise. No sooner had he delivered the dispatches he was carrying to Mr. Jefferson than he was off again on similar missions.
In that early spring of 1775 Virginia was in a ferment. Most of the leading men believed that war was coming, and bent their energies to planning and so shaping affairs that the colony might be ready for it. Of this Rodney learned enough in his travels to appreciate the gravity of the situation, and the importance of vigilance and faithfulness on his part. He received many compliments from his employer and deserved them.
The position of those who favoured the king became daily more unpleasant. Not only had they lost influence, but were made to feel that they were marked men, looked on by even their old neighbours with suspicion. Soon they were to be called traitors to their172faces and to know that their lives were in peril, for always those may be found in times of excitement to seek excuse for wreaking vengeance on enemies, doing it in the name of the cause that is popular.
When the choleric royal governor, Lord Dunmore, dissolved the House of Burgesses he accomplished nothing save to increase the bitterness already existing. The Virginia representatives met and chose delegates to the General Congress to meet in Philadelphia, and now Virginia was to have a convention of its own, and hold it at Richmond, then a village of not more than nine hundred white inhabitants, and there, in the fire of his eloquence, Patrick Henry was to fuse the differing views into one grand purpose and arouse the people to the fact that war was indeed approaching.
Rodney Allison, whose duties, much to his delight, had taken him to the convention, was one of the spectators of that memorable scene when Patrick Henry spoke. Ten years before, in the House of Burgesses, Henry had told the awestruck delegates what he thought of the infamous Stamp Act, and that, if what he said were treason, they could make the most of it. Now, he favoured raising volunteer soldiers in each county, such as the Minute Men who had done such valiant work in Massachusetts.
The opposition to these resolutions aroused him, and he rose to reply, and his words seared his views upon the minds of the delegates, who sat motionless like men in a trance. It seemed to Rodney, when the last word was spoken, as though he had not breathed from173the moment the orator began. The speaker’s face seemed to become luminous and his eyes blazed and the boy shivered as though with a chill. Certain of the immortal sentences he never forgot and as they were spoken he saw them in his excited imagination as though written in letters of fire: “Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss,” referring to the king’s promises. “In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of reconciliation.” “There is no longer any room for hope.” “The war is inevitable! and let it come!” “The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms!” At the close came those words as from a prophet with a face of flame: “Give me liberty or give me death!” and when he sat down his listeners were ready to rise and declare war on the instant.
Not all, for among those who heard were some who, while they sat as though under a spell, nevertheless were resolved past conversion to stand by their king. Among them Rodney saw Squire Danesford elbowing his way through the door, his face purple with rage, and, once outside, he mounted his horse and rode away at a mad gallop, followed by Black Tom.
The convention over, the delegates went to their homes to make ready for the impending conflict. The war spirit was abroad throughout the Old Dominion, and young Allison found Nat unequal to the riding he was required to do and was furnished with another horse. Volunteers, with such arms as they could procure,174drilled daily and some among them were eager for the fray to begin; but, when once it was begun, not a few lost much of their ardour.
As Patrick Henry had predicted, the next gale sweeping from the North was to bring to the waiting ears of the Virginians the clash of resounding arms, of the shots fired by the farmers in homespun from behind stone walls and fences, all the way from Lexington to Boston, into the ranks of panic-stricken British soldiers. The day after that event, April 20th, though before the news of Lexington reached Virginia, the minute men of the Old Dominion were to shoulder their guns in defiance of British authority.
175CHAPTER XXRALLYING VIRGINIA’S MINUTE MEN
The evening after Rodney returned to Charlottesville, Angus rode over on a raw-boned steed that evidently had outlived his day for leaping fences and following the hounds.
“What d’ye think of him, Rod?”
“Why, he’s some horse, looks like a blooded one,” replied Rodney, speaking as favourably as he could, for he liked Angus and knew the boy had been a little envious of late. “Where did you get him?”
“He’s one Squire Herndon got down on the Pamunkey. Reckon I made a good trade, fer I found he was blind in one eye an’ the squire took him fer a bad debt an’ already had more hosses than he could feed.”
“You ought to trade him off and make a good thing.”
“Don’t reckon I want to trade right away. I ’low after plantin’ I’m goin’ to ride round a bit. Thar’s a heap o’ things a feller can learn by travellin’ around. You know that.”
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“I suppose so. Tell you what, Angus; I’ve got to go to Williamsburg next week. Let’s go together. I’ve never been there. It’s the capital of the Old Dominion and, when the Burgesses are in session, one can see more of the aristocracy in Williamsburg than in any other place. Besides, the famous William and Mary College is there. You know many of our greatest men went there, the Byrds, the Lees and Randolphs, and Thomas Jefferson, he was a student there. I’ve heard that he would like to have a college right here in Charlottesville run according to a plan of his own. I’ll wager if he wants it he’ll get it if he lives. Yes, we’ll ride down there and have a fine time.”
“That we will fer sure, if we go. Reckon I can fix it. Think we can see Patrick Henry? I want to see him. They do say he can talk the birds right out o’ the trees.”
“You never heard anything like it. He isn’t much to look at, but when he speaks he can make the hair in the back of your neck stand out straight like the ruff of a cockerel in a fight.”
“I hear the fellers talkin’. They’d march right to Joppa if he’d lead ’em.”
“Don’t believe he’s much of a soldier, but he surely is an orator.”
Angus rode home whistling.
That evening Mrs. Allison received the following letter in which the reader may be interested, as was Rodney:
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“Pryndale, Va., March 28th, 1775.
“Dear Aunt Harriet:––I threw away my crutches this morning, and tried to celebrate by dancing a jig. I’m sure I should have succeeded to my later sorrow but for Aunt Betty’s horrified look, whereupon I sat down to write you instead.
“Lawrence Enderwood thought Pryndale prosy and I had begun to believe him when lo, two highwaymen set upon us; a knight errant mounted on a splendid steed rides to the rescue; Firefly takes fright and runs away with a helpless maiden hanging by one foot to the stirrup, and both hands in the mane, expecting every moment to be dashed in pieces and actually thinking of every wicked thing she ever did; my, but it was an awful panorama! A snorting steed is heard in pursuit, the knight errant spurs him on and seizes the bridle of the running horse, rescues the hapless maiden, who has discovered that she is so wicked she wants to live, and then,mirabile dictu!the knight errant is discovered to be no less a personage than one Rodney Allison. Excuse me, Auntie, if I express the opinion that you’ve not brought him up right; he’s too shy and actually had to be urged to call on his old playmate. Seriously, I would have seen him before he fled, had I known he was there. Aunt Betty didn’t tell me. You don’t know what a shock it was to papa and me, the news Rodney brought of the death of Uncle David. I turned my face to the wall and cried, which as you may know I’m not in the habit of doing. Not till after he had left Pryndale did I realize what178I owed to him. He was much superior to any teacher I had in London and he was so patient and kindly with us, imps that we were.
“Since you left Pryndale things seem much changed and for the worse. Papa is all out of sorts with what he terms the disloyalty of the people. He insists we are being driven into a wicked war by a few hot-headed men together with those who are so ambitious they would sacrifice their country. I wish I knew the right of it. People who used to be friendly now look the other way. Only the other day Gobber’s urchins were playing by the road when I rode past their cabin and the dirty imps made faces and cried out, ‘Tory, I hate Tories.’
“Next month papa and I are going to Philadelphia and he may later sail for London. Somehow, it seems to me as if I weren’t coming back. I suppose being shut up in the house with my sprained ankle makes me spleeny. Write me in the Quaker city, won’t you, and address care of my uncle, Jacob Derwent. Now don’t forget.
“But I know I have tired you already, so here’s good-bye and my regards to Rodney, not forgetting Nat, splendid fellow.
“Your affectionate niece,“Elizabeth Danesford.”
Rodney and Angus arrived at Williamsburg April 19th, the very day the Massachusetts minute men were hanging on the flanks of the running British like179so many angry hornets. The following day, the minute men of that part of Virginia were to be aroused by a similar cause, the attempt of the representatives of England to get possession of the colony’s powder.
It will be remembered that it was in the night that the British troops sneaked out of Boston to go after the powder stored at Concord. It was also in the night that the royal governor, Lord Dunmore, secretly removed the powder from the old arsenal in Williamsburg and put it aboard the British vesselMagdalenin the York River. The British in Boston didn’t get the powder, but Dunmore’s men did, only there were but fifteen half-barrels of it.
The population of Williamsburg at the time was only about two thousand, and it must be remembered that the country round about was not so thickly settled as Massachusetts, consequently the minute men couldn’t assemble so quickly; but there was buzzing enough in the morning when it was discovered what Lord Dunmore had done. The minute men of the town were for marching to Dunmore’s house and seizing him, but cooler heads prevailed.
The two boys had spent the previous day looking over the capital and visiting the college at the other end of the one long street, three quarters of a mile distant. They lodged at the famous Raleigh Tavern, which had sheltered the most prominent men of the day, and so were right in the midst of the hubbub when the excitement began. Out in the street they watched the people assemble and listened to the talk.180When some one proposed marching on the “palace,” a tipsy fellow cried out, “You jes’ th’ feller t’ go.”
Then when another bystander interfered and tried to take him away, he began to struggle, and was being roughly handled when a fat, pompous man bristled up, saying, “Treat him kindly.”
At that moment the drunken man, swinging his arms about wildly, struck the pompous man on the head, knocking his old three-cornered hat into the dust.
The change in the fat philanthropist was marvellous, for he jumped up and down crying, “Kill him, kill him.”
The crowd laughed. A man came running toward them saying, “They’ve sent for Patrick Henry.”
“I’ll see him, after all,” exclaimed Angus.
“I’ve got a message for him, so we had better ride to his home in New Castle. We may meet him,” Rodney replied.
“I want to see him and I want to see the fun.”
“Want to keep your cake and eat it too,” replied Rodney.
Just then a report spread through the crowd that Dunmore had seized the powder for the purpose of sending it to another county where he feared there would be an uprising of the blacks.
“We’re likely to have one of our own,” exclaimed a bystander.
An old woman, somewhat deaf, cried, “The blacks are risin’! I knowed it. I didn’t dream of snakes fer nothin’.”
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“If I had your imagination, Granny Snodgrass, I’d make molasses taffy out o’ moonshine,” remarked a pert miss.
“Looks to me, Angus, as though these people were going to do their fighting with their tongues,” said Rodney. “So let’s get away to New Castle.”
When they reached New Castle, late the next day, they found Mr. Henry busy assembling the volunteers for a march on Williamsburg to demand return of the powder, also to see to it that Dunmore did not take the money in the colonial treasury. These men were called “gentlemen independents of Hanover,” and they were manly looking, resolute men, and well armed. By the time they had reached Doncaster’s, within sixteen miles of Williamsburg, their number was increased to one hundred and fifty.
“Dunmore will wish he hadn’t when he’s seen ’em,” remarked Angus.
Dunmore was frightened before he saw them and sent Corbin, the receiver general, to meet them and make terms with them, which he did, paying three hundred and thirty pounds for the powder, surely all it was worth.
“I’ve concluded, Angus,” said Rodney, “from what I can see and hear, that Mr. Henry hasn’t cared so much about the powder as he does for an excuse to rouse the country, get the men together and encourage them by backing Lord Dunmore down,” all of which indicated that the lad had become a shrewd observer.
After the powder was paid for, Patrick Henry, who182was a delegate to the Colonial Congress, set out for Philadelphia. Lord Dunmore, however, had been badly frightened, and he issued a proclamation against him, and declared that if the people didn’t behave he would offer freedom to the negroes and burn the town; he also had cannon placed around his house, proceedings which, it is easy to understand, made the citizens very angry.
The boys returned to Charlottesville and Angus immediately joined a company of volunteers, declaring if there was to be a war he was going.
By this time they had heard the news of the battle of Lexington, brought all the way from Boston by mounted messengers riding by relays.
“That means war,” Rodney remarked to his mother. How he wanted to go, to do as Angus had done and join the volunteers! But he hadn’t the heart to propose it after seeing the look which came into his mother’s face. It sometimes happens, however, that war comes to those who do not go to war, and so it happened to Rodney Allison.
183CHAPTER XXIVIRGINIANS LEARNING TO SHOOT BRITISH TROOPS
Rodney’s duties took him to Philadelphia during the Continental Congress. There he saw Washington, a delegate from Virginia and clad in his uniform, for he knew war must come, and that warlike dress proclaimed his belief more loudly than his voice. There also were the Adamses, from Massachusetts, Samuel and John, the latter a wise, shrewd organizer determined to have all the colonies, especially the southern, committed to the revolution he saw approaching. In this effort he used his influence, not for John Hancock of Massachusetts, who coveted the place of commander-in-chief, but for George Washington, who the day after the battle of Bunker Hill was chosen and modestly accepted with the proviso that he should receive no pay for his services. There, also, came Benjamin Franklin, just returned from England and convinced nothing remained but war; and there, too, was Jefferson, likewise certain the time had come for the colonies to declare their independence of England.
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Rodney’s boyish prejudices were in favour of everything Jefferson did, and he was impatient with those, and they were the greater number, who wished to delay decisive action in the hope of conciliation. This prejudice extended to the Quakers in their broad-brimmed hats, nearly all of whom were opposed to war.
Boys are usually impatient, unable to work and wait and keep working, as the wise men of that Congress were doing.
The boy had but part of two days in the city, which was the first he had seen and consequently full of interest; so he did not call on Lisbeth, indeed, had there been plenty of time he would have hesitated in his rough dress of homespun to have presented himself before her aristocratic friends.
The day he turned Nat’s nose in the direction of Virginia a young man rode alongside and said, “Why, this is an unexpected pleasure, if as I suspect, you are on your way home.”
He was Lawrence Enderwood. Rodney’s reply was almost surly, as several reasons for Enderwood’s presence in Philadelphia flashed through his mind.
“I’m not going directly home but by way of Williamsburg. I live in Albemarle County.”
“I, too, am riding by way of Williamsburg, and if you have no objections to my company should be delighted to join you. It is a long ride.”
Rodney could offer no objections, indeed, as they went on, he found his companion a very agreeable one, notwithstanding that in course of the conversation185it appeared that Lawrence had seen Lisbeth.
“She is very gay, seems to be absorbed in the gaieties and social life so that she has little time for anything else.” Somehow this remark of Enderwood, spoken rather impatiently, afforded Rodney a little comfort, though he hardly could have explained it.
On arriving at Williamsburg, they found the little town well filled, for Governor Dunmore had convened the House of Burgesses to listen to Lord North’s plans for conciliation.
“‘Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss,’” quoted Rodney, and Lawrence laughingly replied, “Patrick Henry has a way of saying things so the people remember them.”
“I’ll wager they remember that and turn Lord North down with a slam.”
“It’s evident to me you are for war, Rodney.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes, er––I suppose I am, but it isn’t pleasant to think of losing one’s estate if not his neck, all of which is possible. The business men of Philadelphia are pretty long-headed, and most of them believe England will win in the end and that the war will be most destructive of property.”
“Surely Washington and Jefferson have estates to lose.”
“Oh, I reckon we’re in for it, and my father says when there’s something to do, do it.”
As was expected, the House of Burgesses would186have nothing to do with the kind of conciliation proposed. The people were restless and Dunmore, fearing them, left his “palace” and went aboard a British vessel and ordered that the bills be sent to him for signature. He was politely informed that if he signed them he would have to return, which he did not do. Then the Burgesses adjourned to October, appointing a permanent committee to have charge of colonial affairs, and that committee appointed Patrick Henry to command of the colonial troops.
Rodney’s visits to Charlottesville were brief and it seemed that his absence worried his mother. The latter part of October he was sent to Norfolk, where Dunmore proposed to establish his headquarters. As it happened, he fell in with the troops which Colonel Woodford had been ordered to lead to the relief of the village of Hampton, and was present at the attack on the place and took part in the defence.
In this encounter the marksmanship of the Virginians decided the matter, for, when the ships approached the town and commenced to bombard it, the riflemen picked off the gunners and drove them from their cannon and then, when they tried to work their sails so as to escape, the Virginians shot them out of the rigging. Although the town was damaged by the bombardment, the defenders escaped serious injury, though the sensations of being under fire afforded many of the defenders their first taste of war.
On leaving Lawrence Enderwood, the previous summer, Rodney had promised to pay him a visit at the187first opportunity. Indeed, mutual liking had resulted from their journey from Philadelphia. Here was the opportunity, and young Allison accepted it.
He found Lawrence at home, managing the plantation in the absence of his father in England. It was a delightful old place, having been in the Enderwood family for four generations. The house reminded him of “The Hall” and, being a privileged guest, he enjoyed all the luxuries which the old Virginia plantation could afford. He rode after the hounds, Nat acquitting himself so well that Lawrence offered a round sum for him.
“I’d sell my shirt from my back before I would that horse,” Rodney replied.
There was good shooting, and Allison excelled his host. His training with the Indians stood him in good stead. He made a bow and arrows for Lawrence’s younger brother, such as Ahneota, himself, would have approved, and when it came time for him to depart he was sorry to leave.
“There’ll be ructions over Norfolk way and I’m going to ride over with you,” said Lawrence, the morning Rodney was making preparations for leaving.
“That’s good news and makes it less hard for me to go away.”
They set out about eight in the morning. The sunshine was brilliant and the air cool and invigorating. Here and there in the landscape were faint bits of green untouched by the frost. As they rode along they learned that the people were almost in a panic, fearing188Dunmore’s marauders, who had been pillaging and burning in the county below.
“That man is only arousing the people and accomplishing no good,” said Lawrence. “He declares he will rule the colony and at the same time induces the negroes to revolt. That very act drives every Virginian, not under British protection, into the ranks of the so-called rebels. They realize that, while the negroes won’t do any effective fighting, they may, in a fury of resentment, cause great damage and imperil the lives of hundreds of families.”
“I think the poor governors England has sent over here have had much to do with the colonies’ rebelling. Hark! I hear horses at the gallop.”
As he spoke, nearly a dozen mounted men, several of them in British uniforms, came around the corner about sixty rods behind them.
“Dunmore’s marauders!” exclaimed Lawrence. “Let’s get out of here.”
Their horses had both speed and “bottom” and besides were fresh, so that the chances were in favour of the young Virginians. The troopers behind spurred after them, however, and evidently were determined on their capture.
As Lawrence and Rodney approached a plantation near the road, they saw flames leap up from the hay ricks, and the next instant two mounted men rode out on the main highway.
“Those are Britishers, sent ahead,” exclaimed Lawrence.