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A shot from above warned them that the Indians had discovered their approach. Rodney heard the bullet singing. The next instant Morgan seized him by the shoulder, saying, “Go back! You are ordered to the rear;” then, with a yell, the leader charged up the hill, his men close at his back. The charge dislodged the Indians and they fled.
The troops advanced toward the town more cautiously, but found the Indians had deserted it, carrying away everything movable.
“Why ain’t we chasin’ ’em, I’d like to know?” asked an ensign with an important air.
“We first better find out whether they’re running or hiding,” replied Rodney, nettled at the fellow’s importance.
“Sensible remark,” said Captain Morgan, who had come up and heard the conversation. “You know something about this country, also about Indians. Suppose you slip along behind the trees an’ cross the creek half a mile up stream and see what ye can find. Don’t shoot unless obliged to and don’t hurry. Don’t leave shelter until you are sure there ain’t a redskin behind the trees in front.”
It was a perilous task, and some might blame Morgan for assigning the boy to it. As it has already appeared, he would ask no one to attempt that which he wouldn’t do himself, and the conclusion must be that he thought the boy the best one he could send on the duty which some one must do.
The boy had listened to Ahneota’s descriptions of125Indian methods in battle and knew they would have scouts out. He believed the main body would simply cross the stream and lie in wait for the troops and attack them crossing so as to throw them into confusion. They would, however, send men to reconnoitre the main body of the troops, and these scouts, assigned to a task similar to his, were the ones he must avoid, a difficult thing to do, as will be readily understood.
Rodney made his way with extreme caution until he caught a glimpse of an Indian stealthily advancing toward the main body of troops; then, believing that Indian would be the only one sent from that quarter and having eluded the redskin, he went hastily forward to the creek, crossing it at a narrow place fully half a mile above where the savages had crossed.
Making his way down toward the ambush was nerve-racking work, but finally the boy was rewarded by discovering a sentinel on guard.
The Indians were waiting just where he had supposed. Now to get back without meeting the scout he had passed! At last the feat was accomplished without a glimpse of a savage on the way. On his arrival he found the troops getting ready to advance, for another scout, sent out at the same time as he, had returned with the report that he found no Indians and that they must have fled.
“Well, they are there,” exclaimed Rodney, and he told what he had seen.
“The youngster’s got redskins on the brain, I calc’late,”126drawled one fellow, at which the boy got very red in the face.
Captain Morgan here appeared, saying, “You’re back at last. What d’ye see?”
When the boy described what he had done Morgan promptly said, “You did your duty, my boy,” and proceeded to act on the information. A guard was posted to make sure the savages did not recross and make an attack, for it was found they were in considerable force.
After several days, during which skirmishes were fought and the Indians beaten, the savages sued for peace and were asked to give hostages.
Rodney did not believe they wanted peace. They had been too angry to be satisfied with no worse defeat than this. His opinion proved correct and, the troops being short of provisions, a retreat began, everything belonging to the savages being first destroyed even to the corn, of which the troops took for their own use all they could carry. In fact, before they got back to Wheeling, they were obliged to live on one ear per day to each soldier, very short rations for men marching and fighting, as the savages dogged their footsteps and inflicted considerable losses on them.
There were times on the retreat when it seemed the troops would be cut off and annihilated. In this struggle Rodney bore his part so well as to win the approval of his associates. One day on the retreat, when the boy and the “Chevalier” were acting as flankers,127scouting ahead and outside the main body, Rodney saved his companion’s life.
The “Chevalier” was not familiar with Indian methods of fighting and held them in contempt. He and the boy had several arguments about the matter, the former contending that a savage was dangerous only when one was running away from him.
In the work they were now assigned to, it was a part of wisdom to screen one’s self behind trees, advancing quickly from one to another.
The “Chevalier” declared he was not out in that country for the “fun of dodging.” Rodney, however, adhered to the practice, luckily for both.
The “Chevalier” was striding along as though an enemy were not within a hundred miles, when the lad’s trained eye caught sight of the heel of a savage, who was kneeling behind a big tree and waiting for his foe to pass. The “Chevalier” was walking on, his head up, and in three paces would have exposed himself to the redskin’s rifle.
Rodney yelled an alarm and took a quick shot at the Indian’s heel, the only part of him exposed.
“Jump behind a tree and hold your fire,” the boy had cried, for, if he missed the savage, he would need the protection of the “Chevalier’s” rifle before he could reload. But his shot went true, as a howl from the savage bore witness.
Startled by the cry and the report of the rifle, the “Chevalier,” for once, moved quickly to cover, and, between the two, they compelled the Indian to surrender.128He had a painful wound in his ankle and finally, after being disarmed, was left behind, though some of the men wanted to kill him.
The “Chevalier” extended his hand to Rodney, saying, “I have you to thank for my poor existence. You did ill trying to do well, but of course you didn’t know it. Perhaps I will find a way to repay.”
The man spoke seriously, not in a spirit of banter, and Rodney wondered. When he told one of the men later what the “Chevalier” had said, the fellow remarked: “So the Chevalier was solemn, was he? Kain’t be possible his mightiness is sufferin’ from liver complaint with only one ear o’ corn a day.”
All were glad to be back at Wheeling, where Major McDonald decided to wait for the arrival of Governor Dunmore. The governor finally arrived in all the pomp of war and with enough men to raise the total number to about twelve hundred.
Up to the time of his arrival it had been supposed that he would take his army down the Ohio River and join that of General Lewis before making an attack on the Indians. Now he announced that the army would proceed in boats down the Ohio to the Hockhocking River and up that river to the falls, whence he would march across country to the Indian towns on the Scioto River. He sent messengers to General Lewis ordering him to join the main body at that point.
“If the redskins learn what’s up they’ll have a129chance to wipe Lewis off the earth,” remarked one frontiersman in Rodney’s hearing.
The Indians did learn Dunmore’s plan and almost succeeded in defeating the division under Lewis.
130CHAPTER XVIRODNEY MEETS WITH REVERSES
All historical accounts of the battle between the forces under Lewis and the allied Indians commanded by the Shawnee chief, Cornstalk, which occurred at Point Pleasant on the Ohio River, October 10, 1774, agree that it was the fiercest conflict which had been fought in this country between white men and Indians led by an Indian, unaided by the advice of any white officer.
Cornstalk was a chief of unusual ability and good sense. He had been opposed to the war, but, finding it inevitable, succeeded in raising a formidable army of the various tribes, and commanded them with such skill and bravery that, in the battle, which lasted all day, the Indians fought doggedly and all but achieved a victory, which would have made a very different affair of what is known as Dunmore’s war.
His spies had kept him informed of the movements of the two Virginia expeditions, and he resolved to attack them separately before they could join their forces.
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Leaving scattering bands of Indians to delay the advance of Dunmore, he marched his main body of warriors to the Ohio River, crossed, and attacked the troops under General Lewis.
This commander had wisely chosen a position on a point, having the Ohio River on his left, Crooked Creek on his right, and the Great Kanawha at his rear. He was a veteran seasoned in the French and Indian war. With him was the courtly John Sevier, a French Huguenot planning for fortune in the lands of Kentucky, James Robertson, a wise leader of pioneers, and others of but slightly less distinction in the eyes of the hardy men who had gathered under their leadership.
All day long the battle raged there among the trees of the forest. The colonists could hear the voice of Cornstalk as he passed from tree to tree among his men, encouraging them. Rarely did they see more of their foes than a coppery gleam from behind a tree trunk, perchance the arm or leg of a savage or a glimpse of his warlock, and it was sure death to leave the shelter of the trees.
Toward night the company, with which David Allison at the time was associated, was ordered to make a flank movement. This was done with great difficulty and danger. When the movement was nearly accomplished, the men leaping from tree to tree as they advanced, he fell with a bullet through the neck. A brawny savage leaped from his cover, knife in hand and greedy for a fresh scalp, when a ball from a colonist’s gun stopped him half-way and he too went down132in the brush by the side of his victim. Over them leaped friend and foe without heeding.
Allison had fallen into a depression between two little knolls and the savage in falling had swept the bushes down over him so that he was covered from view. Later the Indians succeeded in dragging away their fallen comrade but overlooked, fortunately, the body of the white man.
General Lewis and his men were eager to pursue and thoroughly chastise the Indians. They reasoned that, while they were about it, the only wise thing to do was to administer such a defeat that the red people would keep the peace for years to come.
They crossed the Ohio and took up their march toward the Indian towns. When Dunmore’s messenger arrived with orders for them to join him they were angry. He had left them to their fate, they had won a hard earned victory and were determined to follow it to its logical conclusion.
Lord Dunmore’s force, after building a hastily constructed fort at the mouth of the Hockhocking River as a base for their supplies, continued to advance on the Indian towns. The savages had met overtures for peace with evasive replies or delays until they heard of the defeat of Cornstalk at Point Pleasant, then they earnestly sued for peace.
Cornstalk urged a continuation of the war, but in vain. The savages had acted more determinedly under him than ever before, but now they wished to save their towns and crops from destruction.
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Dunmore moved forward to a place called Camp Charlotte. Lewis pushed ahead to wreak vengeance on the savages, not stopping until a third order had been sent him by Dunmore commanding him to halt.
Lewis and his men thought this an interference with their rights. There were many heartburnings in his command, and rumours that Dunmore was acting under the advice of England to put an end to the war were generally believed.
Rodney obtained permission to visit the camp of General Lewis, eager to find his father. He went without forebodings and with a feeling of assurance that he should find him. The Indians had been defeated. The command had won a glorious victory, and, as is usually the case, while exulting over it, he overlooked the sacrifices made and hardships endured. He did not realize that General Lewis had lost half his commissioned officers and between fifty and sixty of his men. When told that his father, the man he loved above all others, was missing and undoubtedly had fallen in the battle, the blow was terribly hard to bear. He had known nothing like it, and made his way back to his quarters as one walking in his sleep. There, Morgan chanced to find him, his head bowed in his hands.
“Homesick, my lad, or a fit o’ the blues?”
Morgan had a voice that sounded in battle like the roar of a lion, but in it, as he spoke to Rodney, was a tone of genuine sympathy and the boy broke down and sobbed, as though heartbroken. Throughout his134captivity and when in extreme danger he had not shed a tear.
“Take heart, lad, an’ let me know what I can do for ye.”
After the boy, struggling with his sobs, had told him, there was silence for several minutes. Morgan’s hand was laid kindly on the boy’s shoulder, and finally he said, “I’d like to comfort ye, boy. He wouldn’t like ye to mourn. He’d say, if he could, ‘just go ahead an’ do yer duty.’ Death comes to us all sometime. An’ I want you to remember that Daniel Morgan’ll never be too busy to lend ye a helpin’ hand if it comes his way.”
A pressure of the sinewy hand on the boy’s shoulder followed the words, and the kindliness it signified went straight to Rodney’s heart. He never forgot it. That day another was added to the full ranks of those who loved Daniel Morgan and would follow where he led, though they might know certain death awaited them.
Governor Dunmore sent runners to the Indian towns requesting the chiefs to meet him. All complied with the request save a few in the northerly towns and Chief Logan. Major Crawford was sent with a force to destroy the towns of those who had failed to respond to the request, and in this force went the men under Morgan. They met with no resistance and, after burning the villages, the troops returned. An interpreter and a messenger were sent to Logan, and to them he is said to have made the memorable speech,135a model of dignified eloquence and sublime pathos, beginning: “I appeal to any white man to say that he ever entered Logan’s cabin but I gave him meat.” Broken in spirit, he afterwards became a sot and was killed while in a drunken fury.
Hostages having been taken from among the Indian chiefs and arrangements made for the return by the Indians of all whites held captive by them, they promising to observe the Ohio River as the boundary of their territory, Governor Dunmore’s army returned to Virginia.
On arriving at Fort Gower they were met by the news that England had closed the port of Boston, hoping by this arbitrary measure to punish the independent colonists. This news was doubtless received by Governor Dunmore with delight, but it was otherwise with the great majority of those in his army. Expressions of sympathy for the Bostonians were heard on all sides. Moreover, Dunmore’s delight was to be tempered with chagrin when he heard that the House of Burgesses had appointed a day of fasting, as an expression of the Old Dominion’s disapproval of England’s act.
For several months these men of Dunmore’s army had been deprived of what many, even in that day of primitive living, considered necessities. For weeks at a time they had eaten no salt; they had slept without other covering than the sky overhead. They were returning victorious, yet believing that Dunmore, instead of contributing to that victory, had belittled it.
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Self-reliant, hardy, convinced they possessed in their own strong arms the power to live and rear their families in this great country of the new world without interference from England, they spoke very plainly. Meetings were held, and at one of these a speech was made which, alluding to what they had been able to accomplish, concluded: “Blessed with these talents, let us solemnly engage to one another, and our country in particular, that we will use them for no purpose but for the honour and advantage of America and Virginia in particular.”
A resolution was passed to bear faithful allegiance to King George, the Third, “while his majesty delights to reign over a free people,” a proviso worth noting; also worthy of note is the fact that this resolution pledged them to do everything in their power for the defence of American liberty. Indeed, many of the men shook hands on an agreement to march to the defence of Boston if necessary. Some of them were to be called upon to fulfil this promise.
Such demonstrations away out there on the frontier ought to have served as a warning to the royalists, but they gave it little heed. The “Chevalier” forbore to take part and looked upon the whole affair with a pitying smile. “I know of none more in need of being ruled over, than you, my merry lads,” he said and laughed at the scowls in the faces of his associates. He laughed, too, at the retort of Ferguson, “Sure, me gallant warrior, ’tis we as will have a word to say aboot the ruler an’ how he rules, mind ye.”
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Ferguson had expressed the temper of the men composing the army, while the “Chevalier,” with his confident smile, was a type of many throughout the colonies who did not for a moment doubt the ability of England to govern the new land as she might wish.
At the post where the men received some of the pay for their service, Rodney Allison was to undergo temptations and experiences that were to cause him bitter reflections. The soldiers had endured privations and, as frequently happens, many sought relaxation in debauch at the first opportunity. Liquor was to be had by those with money to pay for it, and many a frontiersman would not leave it until his last penny should be spent and then would resume his life of wandering and peril. With the drinking there was gambling with cards and dice.
The drinking had no attraction for young Allison; on the contrary he looked upon it with deep disgust. Ordinarily the gambling would have had no fascination for him. Indeed, until his captivity, he had not known one card from another. One of the accomplishments Ahneota had learned from his acquaintance with white men was the use of cards, for which he had a great passion, and to please him the boy had spent many an hour playing various games.
Rodney’s grief over the reported death of his father, his dread of returning home with the sad news to face debt and poverty, coloured his thoughts,––often woke him from sleep, and made him reckless. As he watched the games he heard a familiar voice and, looking,138saw Mogridge at a table with large winnings at his hand. Rodney, from the day they first met, had cherished an unreasoning dislike for the young Englishman. He felt, rather than knew, that Mogridge had been instrumental in having his father dismissed by Squire Danesford. The boy was shrewd enough to suspect the fellow had come on with other adventurers to meet the army and fleece the unsuspecting. That money at his hand would clear the little home from debt and assure protection for the family for the present. How cool and insolent the fellow was!
“Sorry your luck runs so badly. The game’s much less interesting, you know,” Mogridge drawled as he swept the poor fellow’s money into his own pile. Then, looking up and noticing Rodney, though it did not appear that he recognized him, he said in a bantering tone, “Hello, here’s a young warrior who looks as if he’d like to tempt the fair goddess, Chance, with a sixpence.”
With the hot blood pounding his temples, and scarcely knowing what he did, the boy took the proffered seat.
“I’ll take a hand, if there be no objection,” said a bystander with a wink at Mogridge, which Rodney could not see.
While the cards were being shuffled the “Chevalier” came along and remarked that the game would be worth watching. Neither Mogridge nor his “pal” seemed pleased, but the “Chevalier” remained standing where he could observe every movement of Rodney’s139antagonists. The cards were dealt and played. The luck, which so often leads the amateur on to his downfall, smiled on the boy.
“If the gentleman from London doesn’t like the luck that goes with the warrior’s sixpence I’ll let some worthier foeman have my place,” said Rodney, who, now that his excitement had subsided, desired to leave the game.
Mogridge looked narrowly at the boy, but apparently failed to recognize him, and he replied, “Gentlemen usually grant their antagonists an opportunity to win back the smiles of the fickle goddess.”
“Deal,” replied Rodney with an air of importance he was far from feeling.
The “Chevalier” yet loitered near, and luck continued to run in Rodney’s favour. After four hands, and with quite a little pile of winnings before him, he wanted to leave the game, but was ashamed to do so. Then Mogridge said, “Let’s double the stake,” which was done. The cards were dealt, and the play was begun, when the “Chevalier” coolly remarked, “Card exposed. You’ll have to deal over.”
Mogridge’s little eyes looked like tiny, glowing coals, and closer to his long nose than ever, but the cards were dealt again, and again the boy won. Then Mogridge and his confederate rose and left the table while Rodney sat gloating over his winnings.
“One who would accustom himself to the whimsies of Fortune must learn to lose as well as to win. In your behalf I will endeavour to instruct you in that140part of the game, my boy. Won’t you gentlemen remain to see that I pluck the winner fairly?”
“You’re welcome to such small game. We didn’t know we were poaching on your preserves,” replied Mogridge in a surly tone, walking away.
Rodney was surprised. He had no desire to play with his friend. Yet in a masterful way the “Chevalier” appeared to take it for granted that they would play, and proceeded to deal the cards. The boy shrank from saying or doing anything which would excite the man’s ridicule, for he had come to regard him as a superior sort of a person, and was somewhat in awe of his rather grand manner.
The first game Rodney won. Then the “Chevalier” remarked, as though he were doing the lad a favour, “Now we’ll not prolong this; I must be going. Here’s my wager.”
To meet it required the last shilling of the boy’s winnings, but he staked it all, and the “Chevalier” won, coolly swept the money into his pocket, all but a few shillings which he carelessly shoved toward the boy, saying, “You’ll need those to get home. It’s bad practice to wager one’s last farthing.”
Friends of Rodney Allison would not have recognized him now as the same fellow he was an hour before. Fury filled him to overflowing. That coveted money was gone and his own with it, taken by a man whose life he once had saved, his supposed friend, who now had plucked him as one would a pigeon. He seized the money and threw it in the Chevalier’s face, then, as he reflected what his act signified, he grasped the handle of his knife in readiness to defend himself.
“HE SEIZED THE MONEY AND THREW IT IN THE CHEVALIER’S FACE.”
“HE SEIZED THE MONEY AND THREW IT IN THE CHEVALIER’S FACE.”
The “Chevalier” fixed his handsome eyes on the boy. His face was pale but those burning eyes held the lad as under a spell. Then the man spoke, his words as cool as ice, his voice low but painfully distinct: “One might think, my boy, you had staked your character, your soul, and lost. That’s what the gambler does. I did not realize this till I had killed my best friend. You will understand my motives better when you learn more.”
He turned away. The boy looked after him, and shame quenched the fury in his heart.
141CHAPTER XVIISOMEWHAT OF A MYSTERY
A long, dusty road swept by the bleak wind of a November day. A boy, young man he seemed in his ragged frontier garb, trudged wearily on. The long rifle he carried had a fancifully carved stock, once the pride of a veteran Wyandotte chief.
The lad’s face was worn and thin and, by reason of long exposure, almost the colour of an Indian’s. “Four miles further to Charlottesville,” he said, and threw himself down beside the road as one exhausted. At the sound of a galloping horse he looked up with dull, sullen eyes, into which there came a flash of recognition and he cried, “Nat, old boy!” The horse stopped so quickly his rider narrowly escaped being unhorsed.
“What in thunder are you doing? er––shadder of old black Tom! is it you, Rodney Allison, or your ghost?”
“I feel like a ghost, Angus, and I don’t think I’m heavy enough to bother Nat if we ride double back to142town. How is mother and ’Omi? and how did you come by Nat? Is the place gone? I feared Denham had the colt.”
“Never heard that ghosts could ask questions or I’d sure think ye was one. Ride double? You bet ye can, an’ if thar ain’t horse enough, I’ll walk. Give us yer hand, thar, now I’ll answer the rest o’ yer questions. The folks are right smart but powerful anxious fer yer dad. Reckon they’d lost hope o’ seein’ you again.”
“Father was killed in the battle at Point Pleasant.”
“Yer father killed! An’ he thought you was dead. He was a good man, Rodney. Everybody’ll be mighty sorry to hear that,” and then, words failing, he said no more and in silence they arrived at the Allison home. Angus led the colt to the stable while Rodney entered the house.
Mam saw him first, and for a moment she was almost a white woman. His mother fainted and his little sister ran from him in terror. But why attempt to describe that which words fail to express? Tragedies were not uncommon in the frontier homes of that day in this new land, and wives and mothers were heroines, though the great outside world never was to learn their names and Fame could not record them.
Angus with true delicacy went to his home, but later in the day called, and the two boys had a long talk.
“You haven’t answered my questions, yet, Angus. I haven’t felt like talking business with mother. I find143poor old Thello sick and I don’t know as Mam will ever get over her scare at sight of me.”
“Thello’s bein’ sick was why I was exercisin’ the colt. I say, Rodney, old Denham mighty nigh owned the critter, and the place to boot. He’d got his thumb right on ’em when along come a feller as told him to take it off.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Denham was––er––foreclosin’, that’s the word, when this man interfered.”
“What man? Not Mr. Jefferson?”
“No. He would, though, if he’d been round home an’ known about it; but he’s away most the time. No, I don’t know who the man was. Yer mother may know fer he left the deed with her. Ye see, ’twas this way. I met him ridin’ like the wind. His nag was all of a lather. He pulled up an’ says, ‘Can you tell me where the Allison home is?’ I says, ‘I reckon I can, it’s right over thar.’ He kept on an’ met ol’ Denham leadin’ Nat out’n the stable. I dunno what was said, but I saw ’em an’ moused right along down whar they was talkin’. Yer mother had gone to the village. Well, when I got within earshot, I heard the man say, ‘I’ve got the money right here.’ Denham didn’t act as though he had any use for money, which looked mighty funny. But the man, he was a masterful one, I tell ye,––”
“I’ll bet Mr. Jefferson sent him. What’d he look like?”
“Oh, I dunno. He was one o’ the quality, I c’d see144that with half an eye. Anyhow he jes’ tol’ Denham to take that money an’ Denham ’lowed he wouldn’t. Then the man, he says, ‘You’ll take that money an’ give me a deed o’ that Allison place, free an’ clear, or I’ll fight ye through the courts an’ I’ll win.’ Denham, he hemmed an’ hawed, but the man wouldn’t stand fer no foolin’ an’ Denham, he wilted. They went down to the Squire’s to fix the matter up.”
“I wish I knew who he was or how I’m going to pay him.”
“Don’t reckon ye got to pay him. Yer mother’s got the deed fer I see him give it to her.”
“It’s a debt of honour, Angus. You must help me to think up some way to make a living, and something besides, off the old place.”
“We’ll figger it out certain sure, Rodney. You’ve got a home as no one can take away from ye if ye don’t mortgage it.”
On his return to the house Rodney asked his mother about the matter.
“It’s all very strange to me. The gentleman, and it was very evident that he was one, called and handed me a paper, saying, ‘Madam, there is the deed to your home. I understand that leaves you free of debt. I do not wish to seem impertinent but am I correct?’”
“I told him I knew of no other obligations. I said: ‘You are very kind and I am deeply grateful if I do not seem so. It is hard for one unaccustomed to charity to accept it, you know. I must know to whom I145am indebted, for I certainly hope the time may come when it may be repaid.’”
“What did he say?”
“His reply was, ‘This is not given as charity. It is to repay a debt owed to one very dear to you and I am not at liberty to mention the debtor’s name. I assure you, however, that it is not charity, but the payment of an obligation. The only request is, that this home, never, so long as in your possession, be mortgaged again.’”
“Father was always helping people and saying nothing about it,” replied Rodney, and the tears came to his eyes.
They sat many minutes looking into the open fire. Then Mrs. Allison said: “Rodney, I wish you would go to the closet in my room and get the little trunk in which your father kept his papers.”
The boy brought back a little leather-bound trunk, neatly ornamented and secured with brass headed tacks.
Mrs. Allison was a woman of strong character and, after the shock of hearing the report of her husband’s death, took up her duties with composure, though the lines in her face seemed deeper, and Rodney saw that an errant lock of her hair, which he had always thought a part of the attractiveness of her fair face, was now quite gray, and, as she pushed it aside, a familiar way she had, he noticed how thin and white her hand was and saw that it trembled.
“As I put the deed in the trunk with the other papers, the day it was brought to me, I noticed a sealed146paper there, which I think we perhaps should open,” saying which she took it and held it out that her son might read the inscription, which was: “To be opened by my dear wife after my death, if she should survive, otherwise to be burned unread.”
She broke the seal and read, the boy watching her face as she did so. Having read it, she allowed it to lie in her lap for a time, and then gave it to Rodney, and this is what he read, his wonder increasing with every line:
“My Beloved Wife:––As you read this you may recall the last evening in the old home before we came to Charlottesville. I sat by the window and you said, ‘It is a pretty picture, David, the water in the creek, in the sunset colours, looks like wine and the road is a brown ribbon on green velvet. But perhaps you are not thinking of that at all. Sometimes, David, I think there is a part of your life in which I do not live.’
“You did not see me start at those words, for they were true. After you had retired I sat for a long time and then it became clear to me that you should know in good time that other part of my life, for there really was another.
“I had not seen the colours on the creek nor the brown ribbon on the green velvet, as I sat by the window. Instead I saw the streets of old Edinburgh, the shadows heavy in the Greyfriars’ churchyard, the familiar scenes along High Street of an evening, when the students were out laughing and joking, strolling147along, each with hand on the other’s shoulder, and I among them. For I was as care-free as any one of them all. The good mother had not let me see that she was making any sacrifice in giving me those years at the University, and I was confident of the future.
“I have told you of those days, but not that my mates knew me as David Cameron,––David Allison Cameron, to be exact, Allison being my mother’s name. ‘Why should you change it?’ I can hear you ask, apprehension in your voice. That is the part of my life in which you are now to share. Nor do I clearly know why you have not been permitted to do so before. It was no guilt of mine that caused me to change my name, except, possibly, that I was influenced by pride. My father’s brother was a merchant in Glasgow, who urged that I become his apprentice. Mother was all for having me educated. I think the dear soul hoped to hear me expound in the kirk, as possibly she might but for the cold that came upon her and, before I realized what it meant, the good doctor was telling me it would be her last illness.
“Ah! the mists hung heavy over the lowlands the morning I turned my face toward London, where I was determined to seek fame and fortune. I might have gone to my uncle in Glasgow, but no, mother had wished otherwise and I was as proud as I was inexperienced.
“I will not pain you with a recital of the struggles I endured until, as I thought, Fortune came to my relief and Lord Ralston engaged me as the tutor of148his son, Dick. And, when I saw the lad, my happiness was complete. He was a handsome fellow, generous to a fault, and his pleasant smile and hearty greeting won me at the first. The stipend, to one impoverished as I was, seemed munificent, but I soon found that Handsome Dick, as he was called, made sure the spending of it should not trouble me. He could borrow a pound or two as if doing one a favour, and I knew it was with the firm intention that I should have it back. This, however, he found so inconvenient I rarely had enough to help him out of scrapes when his own funds were wasted. Admonitions to him were like the falling rain on the back of the duck. He early acquired a passion for gambling. His father knew it, but hoped that time would work his cure. He, himself, I learned, had been somewhat of a profligate.
“I loved the boy and life with him would have been a pleasure but for the anxious moments when it seemed he would go headlong to perdition despite my utmost efforts. Once, I thought, he seemed inclined to mend his ways, when, after the manner of youth, he met a young lady in whose eyes he thought his happiness to lie. For a time his passion for cards was forgotten, and neither White’s nor the Coffee House saw him for months. But she went abroad and he became restless. Then came news of her marriage and he returned to his first love, the gaming table. Do what I might I could not restrain him. He was perfectly reckless. Soon he was in debt and his father, when it was too late, sought to check him and cut down his allowance.149From associates at White’s he descended to the lower resorts. There was one fellow that I specially feared, and with whom he had become a boon companion, a Captain Villecourt, a gambler and a rake, whose reputation was unsavoury. I pleaded, but in vain. I could not desert the boy. He loved me, and I him, and so I dogged his footsteps, helped him out of difficulty whenever I could, and lost no opportunity for pleading his cause with his father.
“One night, I shall never forget it, word came that his father was ill. The laddie was out and I thought he had gone to meet Villecourt, who lived in a low tavern and frequently did not dare venture abroad for fear of meeting his creditors and being lodged where he belonged, in a debtor’s gaol.
“It was a villainous place. A dismal rain was falling, the street was poorly lighted, and, but for the mean attire I put on, I might easily have become the victim of footpads.
“I was not a welcome caller at the tavern, was told with an oath that neither Villecourt nor Ralston was in the house. There seemed nothing to do, and I turned down the ill-smelling passage leading to the side entrance, when, from a room on the right, I heard Dick’s strong young voice cry out, ‘You are a knave, sir!’
“I tried to open the door; it was bolted. I threw myself against it and the rotten casing yielded, the door burst open. The room was in semi-darkness, one candle, along with the cards, having been upset and150knocked to the floor. Dick with uplifted cane stood over the cowering Villecourt. Hearing the noise of the bursting door, and doubtless thinking Villecourt’s friends were coming to the rescue, he wheeled and struck me a savage blow.
“How long I remained unconscious I do not know. I awoke with an aching head on a pallet of filthy straw. The place I was in was in utter darkness. I listened for any sound which might explain my situation. The vile odours of a ship’s hold, the sound of water, and a slight sense of motion convinced me I was on shipboard! I felt in my pockets, but they had been rifled!
“I fell asleep, or fainted, and was again awakened with an oath. I was on board a ship bound from London to Norfolk, Virginia, and soon learned that I not only was to work but would be sold on arrival there for a sum equivalent to the cost of passage. How I toiled until I secured my freedom!
“You know the rest, except my motive for not giving my full name. That I scarcely know myself, but suppose shame at the condition in which I found myself led me into the deception, and I adopted the first name that suggested itself. Afterward, an explanation would have been embarrassing and apparently of no value, yet I much regret the mistake.
“What became of Dick Ralston I have never learned. He may have been killed, and the crime laid at my door. The place he was in was one convenient for such a crime. Had he lived I am sure he would have prevented my being put aboard the ship, for he151was as brave and loyal to a friend as he was reckless. As for the name Allison, it is as honourable as the other, and I intend now to retain it and hope you will appreciate the wisdom of so doing.
“My life at times seems a failure, but that is when I am thinking of the little of this world’s gear I have accumulated for my family. In you, beloved, and in our dear children, I am blessed beyond my deserts. That you may forgive my unintentional deception, and never have cause to suffer by reason of it, is my daily prayer. Believe me, your affectionate husband,
“David Allison.”
152CHAPTER XVIIIRODNEY RIDES WITH DISPATCHES
Rodney had been at home but a short time when he realized that important events had occurred in his absence.
“Mother,” he said one day, “it looks as though the king will have to send over a new governor in place of Lord Dunmore, or there’ll be trouble. You know, Colonel Lewis and his men were mad enough to fight both him and the Indians because, instead of punishing the Indians, he made peace with ’em. I hear he had trouble before he left Virginia on the expedition over the mountains, and is having it now.”
“Yes, he dissolved the Assembly because, out of sympathy with Boston, it appointed a fast day. England, you know, closed the port of Boston. The year before Governor Dunmore dissolved the Assembly because it expressed sympathy with Massachusetts. I fear he is too arbitrary.”
“Well, they do as they have a mind to after all. Last year, I understand, Mr. Jefferson and Colonel Washington and others met at the old Raleigh Tavern153and arranged to have correspondence with all the colonies so they could all act together if necessary.”
“Yes, they also met there five years ago and resolved not to import goods from England, and, before they went home last June, they met at the same place and planned for the Colonial Congress they held in Philadelphia last September. I believe these meetings were in what is called the Apollo room. I remember dancing there when I was a girl. It is a large room with a big fireplace at one end. I expect the king’s ears would tingle if he could hear all the angry words that have been spoken against tyranny in that room. Oh, I don’t know what it all will come to. There must be faults on both sides. I think Patrick Henry is too impetuous for a safe leader. I’ve been told that he believes the colonies should declare themselves independent of England. That would mean a terrible war. I do hope we may escape such a calamity.”
The king had heard of the words spoken in the Apollo room of the old tavern. Governor Dunmore, an irritable, haughty Scotch nobleman, with little respect for the people, also had heard enough to fill his heart with rage. He sent the legislators, many of whom had ridden many miles to the capital at Williamsburg, back home with his disapproval. He would teach them submission!
On their part, the people had no thought of submission. Wherever they met there was a sound as of angry bees.
154
“I think our people must have much of right on their side, or such men as Colonel Washington, who is an aristocrat with much to lose and very conservative, ’tis said, would not favour what is being done in opposition to the British ministry,” said Mrs. Allison. Rodney, while seeing the matter largely through his mother’s eyes, nevertheless recalled the words he had heard fall from the lips of the rough frontiersmen. He knew that they were ready to fight, indeed many of them eager for a conflict, confident that they, who could clear the land, build homes in the wilderness and defend them against the Indians, could likewise defy the tyranny of King George. The boy became restless. He wanted to participate in the agitation which was noticeable on all sides, indeed the air seemed charged with it.
There was little work to be done on the farm during the winter. Hearing that Mr. Jefferson was then at his home, Rodney decided to visit Monticello. There he met with a warm greeting, though a shade of disappointment was in his face when he learned that the great man had been so busy he had not followed the fortunes of the Allison family, and did not even know that Mr. Allison had fallen at the battle of Point Pleasant. For the first time Rodney now doubted whether after all the man who had paid off the mortgage, and thwarted Denham, was really an agent of Mr. Jefferson. Finally, an opportunity came for assuring himself. His host was admiring Nat when Rodney said: “The colt is in fine condition, handsomer than ever.155I nearly lost him. Denham wanted him and, when he started to foreclose, he took possession of Nat.”
“Denham foreclosed? Have you then lost the home? I wish I had known of it, I might have prevented that.”
“Some kind friend learned of it and paid the mortgage; neither mother nor I know who it was. I thought he might have been your agent.”
“I am glad you think I would have assisted had I known, but this is the first I have heard of the matter. You see I have been very busy and away from home much, and not in a way to hear. I’m very glad you were rescued from the clutches of Denham.”
“He seemed determined to have both the place and the horse. Both Thello and Mam offered to sell themselves, even suggested that to Denham, but he told them he didn’t want any old, worn out niggers on his hands. I’m glad I wasn’t there,” and the lad’s eyes blazed with indignation as he thought of the old miser’s greed.
“Denham is said to be as ardent a Tory as he dares to be,” remarked Mr. Jefferson, as though to himself. Then, turning to the boy, he looked into his face, and Rodney felt as though his inmost thoughts were being read.
That he stood the test well appeared in the next words of Jefferson.
“I believe your experience with the Indians has greatly matured you. How old are you?”
“I am well on to sixteen, sir.”