251
“General Howe well might know this be no place for women.”
The gruff, surly tone of Cunningham was answered by one as sweet as the note of a song bird.
“But, Captain, he surely might know it would be a better place for human beings if it were.”
Lawrence lifted his head and his eyes lighted, as well they might, for the girl was a refreshing picture.
“You are right, Miss Danesford. General Howe not only might, he ought to know about this villainous place.”
“Ah, Mr. Enderwood––pardon, that epaulette declares you are a captain and the red facings of your blue coat indicate that you lead Virginians. Possibly, however, the Mister to you is of more value than the title of captain, since your General Washington has made himself famous with the British as a plain ‘Mister.’”
“It must be very humiliating to their generals to be beaten by a plain ‘Mister,’ must it not? But I would not say unpleasant things, for verily your visit is most welcome, whether you came to see me or another.”
“You, most assuredly. Colonel Brent was boasting yesterday of having bagged a genuine militia captain from old Virginia, and, when he told me your name, I did not thank him for his exploit.”
“Believe me, I greatly appreciate your kindness. Perhaps, having been so kind to a poor Virginia captain, you may come to speak of ‘our’ Washington, for you are a daughter of Virginia.”
252
Lisbeth appeared not to notice this allusion to her Tory principles, and exclaimed, as she looked with evident disgust at the squalid surroundings: “Why will men be so cruel to men? I will tell General Howe some truths that will cause his ears to burn, and––”
“And shut the door against your return. You see I am selfish enough to look for another visit, though this pestilent hole is no place for you to visit. Howe will do nothing. When he was in command at New York our men literally rotted in the foul prison hulks lying in the harbour. It is a cheap and an easy way for killing us off.”
“Now, no lectures, Captain Enderwood. Howe shall know of this, and I believe will do something to improve it. Meanwhile, here is a little basket of food cooked by our old Nancy. You always praised Nancy’s cooking when you came to ‘The Hall’ in the old days, so you are under obligations to eat every crumb of it, even if it isn’t as good as the prison fare.”
“Good as the prison fare! Why, the cockroaches that crawl around here are literally starving. It’s a marvel you got past old Cunningham with this basket. Nothing infuriates him so, and this morning I saw him knock on the floor a bowl of broth brought to one of the prisoners.”
“Oh! I can’t understand it.”
“No, and you never will until you get better acquainted with men like Cunningham, which God forbid. But tell me about the ‘Mis-er-’”
“‘Mischianza?’ Oh, it was the most delightful253affair ever known. You should have seen it. The floats on the river, the parades, the arches, the battles between the knights and all! Well, Major Andre was a true prophet when he said no Roman fête would equal it. I simply can’t find words to describe ever so little of it.”
With you present I couldn’t have realized its magnificence if I had seen it, was the thought in Enderwood’s mind, but what he said was: “They tell me it was gorgeous, and you may say with the old Roman, er––how do those Latin words go? Anyhow it was to the effect that he’d been a part of the doings, quite a big part at that.”
“I? Why, I was but a crumb at the banquet.”
Ah, Lisbeth! Those flashing eyes, that colour such as “blended rose” never had, that lithe, rounded figure radiating vitality, bespeak too much of modesty in your words.
“Go on, Nat, old boy, faster! We must save the girl. Up and at ’em, Rangers! Cheated of promotion, and by a girl! Oh, Lisbeth, how could you do it! You knew I’d believe what you told me.”
“Who is that?” The girl’s face is pale and her voice trembles.
“Another victim. I was about to ask you, if possible, to have a doctor sent here. Cunningham refused it. You know him, surely you do. It’s poor Rodney Allison. He’ll not ride many more races, I’m thinking, such as the night he rode and overtook your horse and stopped it.”
254
“Rodney! Don’t you know me, your old playmate? Don’t you know Lisbeth? How hot his head is!”
The girl sat, as one dazed, with her cool hand on the lad’s forehead. He lay more quietly under her kindly touch.
“He hasn’t got to suffer as long as the most of us. It will only be a question of a few days in this place,” said Lawrence, bitterly.
Lisbeth looked up, and Lawrence saw that her eyes glittered and her face looked hard. She bade him adieu and was gone before he could say more.
“She come in like an angel o’ mercy an’ went out with a face like Jezebel’s. Guess she was feared she mought ketch the fever,” said one of the prisoners. Captain Enderwood swore at the poor old man, though the captain ever respected age and regarded profanity as the mark of a boor.
That night Rodney Allison slept in a clean bed in a neat room, with a doctor by his side and a nurse none other than Miss Danesford herself, while Captain Lawrence Enderwood, on parole, walked about the city and then took night watch at the side of his sick friend.
255CHAPTER XXVIIINEW VENTURES WITH OLD ACQUAINTANCES
What is more grateful to a weak, weary mortal on a hot morning than a snug seat under the shade of a tree, stirred by a gentle breeze from the river? Rodney Allison could think of nothing, and sank into the seat with a sigh of relief.
This was his first attempt at walking abroad since his illness, during which the British had left Philadelphia and returned to New York, pursued and harassed by the Americans. That morning Captain Enderwood had left him, and, when he had inquired for his bill, he was told that it had been paid. He had been dimly conscious during his illness of the presence of a nurse other than Enderwood, but when he had asked about it the captain had ignored the question and talked about something else. Surely he was indebted to some one for his life and life was very sweet this July morning.
“When d’ye leave yer grave?”
“Hello, Zeb! I was thinking about you, and wondering if we’d ever meet again.”
“An’ I was thinkin’ the same thing when I got sight o’ you an’ concluded we wouldn’t.”
256
“Concluded we wouldn’t?”
“Ye see, I ’lowed ’twas only yer ghost I was lookin’ at. Ye’ve either had poor victuals or a poor appetite.”
Rodney had the first hearty laugh he enjoyed for months and replied, “I’ve been pretty sick and am lucky to have any sort of looks left. But what are you doing in Philadelphia?”
“I’m hangin’ around this town hopin’ the schooner Betsy has escaped the British and will bring my wife.”
“Your wife?”
“All the result o’ my furlough in Boston.”
“So Melicite, of whom Donald Lovell told me so much, consented. Zeb, you’re a born conqueror. When you found you couldn’t capture Canada you won a wife.”
“More to my likin’ than the whole o’ Canada. Now I’m wonderin’ how I’m goin’ to support her. A soldier’s pay for a month won’t buy more’n a pinch o’ salt, an’ salt ain’t very fillin’ ’thout somethin’ to go along with it.”
“Well, I know where we can get a square meal, though it won’t taste as good as that roast pig down in Jersey. Will you go with me?”
“Certain sure I’ll go. I reckon thar be no good o’ my hangin’ round any longer to-day.”
As they walked down Chestnut Street Rodney saw a familiar figure approaching.
“Zeb, there comes one of the greatest men in the country, Thomas Jefferson. Wonder if he’ll remember me.”
257
He was not left long in doubt. Mr. Jefferson’s face was careworn and noticeably older than when Rodney had last seen him, and the lad was but a shadow of his former self, yet the man recognized him the moment they met.
“How is my young friend this morning? You’ve had an illness.”
“I am just up from a fever. Mr. Jefferson, I want you to know my friend, one of Morgan’s Rangers, Mr. Campbell, or Zeb, as we call him. He’s been to me almost as good a friend as you.”
“I’m always glad to meet your friends, Rodney. What are you doing here?”
“I’m waiting till I get strength enough to go back to Charlottesville. I was taken prisoner and am on parole and I think home is the best place for me.”
“Charlottesville is a good place at all times, especially now that Burgoyne’s troops are imprisoned there. I should think you might also find it profitable to return, for the prisoners kept there have put money in circulation and made work. By the way, I haven’t seen you since you sold your horse to my overseer. I felt badly about that because I knew you didn’t let him go without a sacrifice. I will give you a letter and when you get back you take it to Monticello and get the colt. You can pay me at your convenience.”
This was unexpected good fortune, and Rodney felt very grateful. “I wish I had Nat here. I would start to-morrow,” he remarked to Zeb as they walked on.
258
“Thar seems to be no such thing as complete satisfaction in this world. Now, if I had a home fer Melicite an’ me to go to, well, I reckon I’d be a little easier in mind.”
“Come to Charlottesville with me. You heard what Mr. Jefferson said about business being brisk there. It’s only a little village, but we’ll find some way to turn a dollar. You’ve got to come, unless you can find something better.”
And so it happened that Rodney and his friend and Melicite, who arrived in due time, all found their way to Charlottesville, and also found home and opportunity.
Rodney was surprised on his first visit to the quarters of the “Convention troops,” as they were called. On Colonel Harvey’s estate, about five miles distant from the Court House at Charlottesville, barracks and camps had been erected for the prisoners, who were constructing a building to be used as a theatre. Many of them had vegetable gardens, one officer, it was said, having spent nearly five hundred dollars for seed to be planted by his men.
When these prisoners had arrived there the previous winter, after a march of over seven hundred miles from Massachusetts, the hillside, which now bloomed, was desolate and bleak. But few buildings had been erected, and about the only provisions obtainable were corn meal and water. All that had been changed as by magic, and many of the poor fellows had not known such comfort since leaving their homes in England,259while most of the Hessians were faring better than they ever had done at home.
It will be recalled that Gates had weakly consented to terms which allowed Burgoyne’s soldiers to be transported to England on condition they should not fight against America. He was so eager to secure a surrender, that he evidently did not stop to consider that these soldiers could be used in England to replace those stationed there, who in turn could be sent to America. Shrewder men were quick to see the mistake and to take advantage of any circumstance to prevent it. Such a circumstance was afforded by Burgoyne himself, who, not liking the quarters assigned to him in Massachusetts, had declared the terms of the surrender had been broken. Moreover, when the Americans were ready to let the troops go on their arrival in Massachusetts, the British would not provide transportation, and by the time they were ready the Americans had various pretexts for not complying with the terms of the surrender. The British declared their opponents acted in bad faith. Undoubtedly many Americans believed England would act in bad faith if she could get the troops back.
Zeb’s attitude on this question was that of many Americans. “I don’t care to argue the matter,” he said. “I can if necessary; the argyments been’t all on one side.”
Zeb would always be lame from his wound, in fact this had forced him to leave the army. “The Rangers aren’t what they were,” he told Rodney, “since Morgan260was given another command. He was the king pin. He had a way o’ seein’ the Rangers got what belonged to ’em. They knew it, an’ thar was nothin’ they wouldn’t do for him. I mind one day he was ridin’ past whar some o’ the men were at work clearin’ a road. Two of ’em were tryin’ to roll out a big rock an’ a little squirt of a sergeant was bossin’. ‘Why don’t ye help the men?’ Morgan shouted at him. ‘I’m an officer, sir,’ says the sergeant. ‘Oh yes,’ says Morgan. ‘I didn’t think o’ that,’ an’ he jumped off his horse an’ helped the men roll out the rock.”
Rodney’s work that fall often required him to visit the prisoners’ encampment. One day, as he was passing a cabin, he heard some one call in a faint voice for help. He rushed in and found a man lying on the floor. He helped the man to his bed and as he did so saw that he was none other than his old acquaintance, the “Chevalier.”
While Allison did not feel so bitter against this man as formerly, for the reason that his recent experiences had brought him knowledge of bigger rascals than he had ever supposed this man to be, yet his feelings were far from being friendly. He nevertheless ran for the camp doctor and waited until he had declared the man out of danger for the present. Rodney heard his advice to the patient, that he keep very quiet and free from excitement, as otherwise his next attack might prove fatal.
Rodney turned back into the cabin to ask if there were anything he might do, and the look in the face261of the “Chevalier” startled the lad. It quickly passed, however, and the man quietly said: “Why, this is Rodney Allison, who saved my miserable existence out on the Scioto.”
“Not much of an exploit to be remembered by. You’d have shot him if I hadn’t.”
“Why, you shot the redskin in the heel and, if I correctly recall my mythology, Paris required the assistance of the god, Apollo, before he was able to hit Achilles in a like spot.”
“He only had a bow and arrow while I had one of the finest rifles in the country.”
“Anyhow, it was an act worthy of a better return, as you no doubt concluded later.”
This allusion to the gaming incident annoyed Rodney. He thought the least the fellow might do was to make no mention of that rascally affair.
“If I don’t refer to that matter I see no reason for you to do so. Of late I’ve been associated with men who think that, after you’ve rolled a man in the dirt, it isn’t necessary to rub it in.”
The “Chevalier” whistled and then smilingly quoted:
“‘The duke, he drew out half his sword––The guard drew out the rest.’”
“Can I do any more for you, sir?” Rodney spoke impatiently.
“You might tell me how are the mother and the little sister and about the home you feared the miser262would get. You see I have a good memory for some things.”
“They are well. They yet have the home, though I did my best to sacrifice it. If there’s nothing I may do I will be going.”
“You are kind, and I wish you would call again. I expected you would be in the army. As I remember, you were a lusty young rebel when I knew you.”
“I served with Colonel Morgan’s Rangers at the capture of Burgoyne.”
It must be admitted there was a touch of malice in these words and the tone in which the lad spoke them.
“So I’m still further indebted to you. Well, as you are responsible for my being here, I hope you will feel under obligations to call again when I am better able to entertain company. By the way, did you ever know a man by the name of David Cameron? Why I ask is because you resemble a man by that name, whom I once knew.”
“That was my father’s name,” replied Rodney, and the next instant he could have bitten his tongue. He quickly added: “My father, after coming to this country, had good reasons for taking the name of his mother’s people, the Allisons, not that he had any occasion to be ashamed of the name of Cameron. Now that he is dead we shall retain the name of Allison.”
“As I remember your father, he had no occasion to263be ashamed of anything, except, possibly, some of his acquaintances. So David is dead.”
“My father was a man who kept good company to the day of his death.”
“He was a very kind-hearted man, and such cannot always keep what you term ‘good company.’ May I ask you to send here some worthy lawyer or trustworthy justice of the peace? I have some transactions which I wish to discuss with such a person. You, being the son of your father, I know will do that for me.”
“Where and when did you know my father?”
“More than twenty years ago in London. When did he die, Rodney?”
“He was killed at the battle of Point Pleasant at the time we were out in the Ohio country.”
“Four years ago. Do you come often to the camp?”
“Frequently.”
“Will it be asking too much for you to look in on me, as they say?”
“I will do as you wish.”
As Rodney rode away he thought much upon the strange man he had left. Evidently he was one whom his father had befriended. And the rascal had tried to rob his benefactor’s son. Probably, what with the illness and all, the fellow’s conscience twinged a little. Anyhow, he should have the lawyer though it were better he should have the clergyman, thought the lad.
264
That night Rodney found it difficult to put thoughts of the sick man out of his mind and, when a few days later he again had occasion to visit the camp, he took along with him some delicacies which he thought might tempt the patient’s appetite.
“So you didn’t forget me. What’s this? Something besides camp fare? Oh, yes, you are David Cameron’s son, but you’ve got a life work ahead if you live up to his standard.”
“I believe you, sir.”
“Would you be willing to send this letter? I suppose it will reach Philadelphia in a few days. By the way, did your father come to Charlottesville from London?”
“No. He lived nearly eighteen years down in Prince William County. He was employed there much of the time by Squire Danesford.”
“Danesford! Did he have a daughter about your own age?”
“Yes. Lisbeth. She was in Philadelphia the last I knew of her. I heard the other day that the state had seized their estate. Danesford is a bitter Tory, you know.”
“Danesford died a poor man in London last April. His daughter, I understand, died about three months later. At least the person to whom that letter is addressed wrote me she couldn’t live.”
“Are––are you sure? I didn’t even know she was sick.”
The man looked keenly at his caller. “I have no265reason to doubt the report. It was said she took her father’s death very much to heart, and, what with not being well,––she had nursed a friend, I think,––she was taken down with a fever. You must have known her?
“Why, she was my playmate. I––I can’t realize she’s dead.” Then hurriedly saying good-bye he went away, seeing little and thinking much, and the “Chevalier” lay looking at the blank wall.
On arriving home Rodney went directly to his room. He shrank from telling the news to his mother. He must first think it over. The girl in the red cloak who had stamped her foot and called him a simpleton, ah, she was the one he missed, and not her who had laughed in his face that winter night and wheedled him as she laughed.
Mrs. Allison was greatly shocked. Rodney had been ashamed to tell his mother of the time Lisbeth had tricked him, and now it somehow seemed disloyal to the girl to speak of it. Well, he would forget it, and so resolving he worked as never before. There was work to do, both for himself and Zeb; moreover, it was profitable.
When he next had occasion to visit the encampment he called on the “Chevalier” as soon as he arrived. All the way to the camp the question had been in his mind: How did it happen that the man knew the Danesfords, spoke of them as persons with whom he was quite familiar? He met Angus, who said, “Ridin’266back along soon?” and, on being told, replied, “I reckon I’ll wait fer ye.”
Rodney found the “Chevalier” unusually bright and nimble of wit. “I suppose, Allison, you think the war is over with the surrender of Burgoyne? Most of your people lose no opportunity to express that opinion. I notice, however, that the British army marches about the country pretty much as it pleases. Why, my lad, the war is just begun.”
“Certainly it’s a good beginning,” was the lad’s rather dry response.
The “Chevalier” appreciated it. There was a twinkle in his eyes. It was evident he liked to draw Rodney out. He said: “What would you people do if by some accident, for you can never hope to win unless some other powerful nation helps you, what would you do if you should win? All the colonies would be by the ears in less than a year.”
“Perhaps you never heard what ‘Sam’ Adams told the Quakers who said they wished to obey such government as the Lord placed over them.”
“What did he say?”
“He told them the Lord was providing a government.”
“Don’t you think this so-called government, where Congress may only humbly ask the several colonies, each to do its part, a pretty poor sort of government to lay at the Lord’s door? Why, once these colonies get clear of England, they’ll fight among themselves. But, even if they didn’t, the country would have a267patchwork of little petty governments and nothing in common to make them strong.”
“Do you remember what Gadsden said at New York at the meeting held in protest against the Stamp Act?”
“No; what was it?”
“He said: ‘There ought to be no New England man, no New Yorker known on the continent; but all of us, Americans.’ I well remember father speaking of that. There was a queer codger who joined the Rangers. The men, because of his long legs, named him ‘Lopin’ Luther,’ and he once said: ‘We’re fightin’ fer free Englishmen as well as Americans, only the darn fools don’t know it.’”
“You mean, or rather he meant, the principle involved. But, from what I have learned, the more of what the people term freedom they have, the more they want.”
“And why not? Whoever called you the ‘Cavalier,’ evidently knew why he did so.”
The man’s face became grave. He said: “I am not worthy of the name. I have great respect for those who were known as Cavaliers. Some of your best blood in the Old Dominion descended from them. I believe it isn’t so much what people have as the way they use it. I’ve seen those who were getting along finely until something more was added to them, then make a failure of it. Take your hero, Morgan; what did he have but his own courage and brains and powerful body? He’s made the most of what he had.268Had he been born a duke he might not have done so well.”
“Could he have done what he has in your country, where your dukes are born with the privilege of lording it over the Morgans?”
“Rodney, you argue well. Where did you learn? I forget your father. You are indeed his son. Must you go? Well, here is a packet, of which I wish you to take charge. When you learn that I am dead, and the doctor tells me my heart is about worn out, you are to open the packet and I am sure will do right with what you find there.”
Rodney hesitated, and the man, noticing his hesitation, said, “You will not regret it. You believe me, don’t you?”
Looking into the face of the man, Rodney had it not in his heart to say no. Somehow, and he was almost ashamed to admit it to himself, he did believe. This man, who, under the guise of friendliness, once had robbed him, this gambler, literally compelled his liking.
When Allison had finished the business for which he had come, and was about to leave, he noticed the camp doctor hurrying to the Chevalier’s cabin. With fear in his heart he followed. The fear was realized. The man who had been known to him as the “Chevalier” was dead. Rodney helped prepare the body. He had performed similar services for friends who had died in camp. It was not a duty from which he would flinch. Yet he started back, his face was pale.269The doctor noticed the agitation and sought the cause. Young Allison was staring at tattoo marks on the right arm of the body. These represented a closed hand gripping a sword. Rodney had seen the exact counterpart of that on the right arm of little Louis, who had told him, “Papa put it there!”
270CHAPTER XXIXWHAT THE PACKAGE CONTAINED
“What’s the trouble here, Rodney?” asked Angus, shouldering his way in through a throng of the curious, assembled about the door of the cabin.
The hearty voice of his friend helped Rodney to collect himself. “There has been a sudden death; he was a man I knew,” he replied.
“I reckon you’ve lost a good friend,” said Angus, when he saw the face of the figure on the couch. “He certain sure did you a good turn.”
Rodney’s look showed that he wondered just what his friend meant. He was not aware that Angus knew the man.
Seeing that Rodney seemed puzzled, Angus said: “Why, that time he euchred old Denham. You told me then ye didn’t know him.”
“What do you mean? This the man who paid off the mortgage? Oh! if I had known that!”
It all came to Rodney Allison, as light comes to one who has been blind, and is made to see. This man, instead of a knave, had been his friend! He had won the money in gambling that it might be used for a271right purpose. He had so used it, and taken from his own purse as well. The sense of having done an injustice is very bitter when the injured has passed beyond one’s power to atone!
When everything had been done that might be, and Allison and McGregor were walking away, the latter said: “I’ve found a feller as is lookin’ fer a good horse. He saw Nat when you rode in this mornin’ an’ he asked no end o’ questions, whar ye lived, how ter git thar an’ said he was thinkin’ o’ buyin’. I ’lowed as how ’twould take a tote o’ money ter buy. Thar goes the identical minion o’ King George, now.”
Rodney looked in the direction indicated. “That knave!” he exclaimed. “I’d never sell Nat to him if I needed the money to buy bread.”
“Don’t like his looks, eh? Yer powerful fussy. He ain’t the best lookin’ feller I ever did see, but I reckon his money’s good.”
The other made no reply. He could not explain his antipathy to Mogridge, for it was he whom Angus had pointed out. So he’s here, thought Rodney, wondering what he could want with a horse.
Allison was not an unduly inquisitive youth, but it may readily be imagined his pulse quickened when he sat down with his mother to open the package which had been given him by the “Chevalier.” It almost seemed that the man had known he was about to die, though his manner had been so cheerful.
Ah! Here was money––the package had seemed heavy––nearly fifty pounds in all; and here was his272gold watch and seal ring and a letter. He quickly opened the letter and read with wonderment in his eyes, and then tears.
“My Dear Rodney:––The man, whose life your father once saved at risk of his own, and whom you again saved from the bullet of a savage, wishes to express his sense of obligations. Please accept the contents of this packet as such an expression, for the obligations themselves cannot be repaid; also what I have tried to provide in the will which you will find enclosed. I would suggest that you consult the lawyer whom you brought to me at my request. Rightly cared for, the inheritance will ensure your mother and sister against want and afford you the chance of which you have been deprived on account of lack of funds. I’m sure you will understand that I do not allude to ‘Chance,’ the fickle goddess of the gaming table, and I have been happy to learn you profited by the lesson I taught you. Had I learned a similar one at your age, that one may not obtain something for nothing and be happy in the possession, I might have been of some service in the world. Instead, my life has been a failure, and that which I am leaving to you was the fruit of the service of my forebears. May you never feel the humiliation of uselessness, of having contributed nothing to the world that was of value!
“The property is in England, and not until the war shall be ended, I presume, will it be possible for you to come into the inheritance. I am leaving no near273kindred. My little son died in Canada during my absence; his name was Louis. Elizabeth Danesford’s mother I knew when she was a girl and lived in London, and, for her sake, her daughter, had she lived, was to have had the half of what I’m leaving to you. The estate in England, which Louis would have inherited, reverts to a distant cousin.
“I do not know whether your father ever told of his acquaintance with me, nor what his feelings toward me may have been. Surely, there was ample cause why they should have been unpleasant, but I like to think they were kindly. He loved me despite the sore distress I so often caused him, but when I struck him down, thinking him an enemy, and fled, believing myself a murderer, he must ever after have thought I deserted him. I hope he knows better now.
“After that horrible experience I joined the army in Canada and a year later was married. Louis was born and, after six years of such happiness as one who believes himself a criminal may enjoy, my wife died and Louis went to live with her parents near Lachine. One day I met a man who recognized me and, fearing exposure, I fled to New York, later to Philadelphia and then to Virginia at the outbreak of Dunmore’s war. After that I returned to Canada only to learn that Louis had died. It seemed as if a fatality pursued all I loved. I went to England, determined to give myself up to justice, but was astounded to learn that there was no evidence that a crime had been committed. I was told your father did not die but was put aboard274ship for the Colonies. Believing that England, however much in fault as to administration, was right in fighting to retain her government over this country, I again entered the army. The day on which I had the serious attack of heart trouble, and called for assistance and you came, I saw that in your face which told me you must be near of kin to David Cameron. I wonder that I never had noted the resemblance. If you are like him, as I believe, you will not leave the world the poorer for having lived in it, and at the end will not, as I, feel impelled to recall these lines which that wretch Wharton wrote:
“‘Be kind to my remains, and oh! defend,Against your judgment, your departed friend.’
“Richard W. Ralston.”
“Dick Ralston! And but for him I would not have had David. The ways of Providence are past finding out, Rodney.”
“Nor would we have had a home but for him, mother.”
“True, I forgot that. He had a kind heart and I remember what an attractive gentleman I thought him, the day he came here. Think what he might have been!”
The day on which the remains of Ralston were laid at rest, Rodney, on returning home, found Mam in a state of agitation. She beckoned him into the house and hoarsely whispered: “Dar’s a dirty Injun in de shed. I wouldn’ ’low him ter set foot in dis yar275house, I wouldn’, not ef he’d scalped me on de spot. He grunt, an’ squat, an’ ’lowed he done wouldn’ stir less he seed you.”
“I’ll bet I know him,” saying which, Rodney ran out and, as he suspected, found Conrad stolidly waiting for him.
“Where’s little Louis, Conrad?”
“He vould stay mit der priest at Detroit. He say he a medicine man be himself.”
As Rodney wrote the letter Conrad was to take back through the hundreds of miles of forest to the son of Richard Ralston, he thought what a pity the boy’s father died without seeing him. The son should know, however, that he was loved and that his father had been a brave man and that, if he but chose to return to England, he might come into his inheritance. What would he choose, the life of the missionary with all its dangers and sacrifices, or that of a country gentleman,––rather what would his advisers choose for him?
Weeks lengthened into months and months into years, slowly so far as concerned the progress of the war, but swiftly with regard to the growth of the country. Notwithstanding Continental money was becoming almost worthless, bountiful crops were raised and the greater part of the population were engaged in work.
The surrender of Burgoyne had proved the success necessary to enable that wise old man, Benjamin Franklin, to secure recognition of the United States by France. A French fleet hovered along the coast276and annoyed the British without accomplishing anything decisive. The American people seemed less inclined to make great effort, relying on French aid to secure independence for them. Corruption,––depriving the army of supplies and money,––the weakness of Congress,––unable to do more than suggest and leave to the several states to respond or not as they chose,––all served to delay the war. But for Washington, patient and wise, standing as a tower of strength about which the patriotic people might rally, the end of it all might well have been in doubt. The people of the country, however, did not doubt. The great majority of them believed their cause invincible.
Washington’s army had chased Clinton’s British troops from Philadelphia back to New York, and would have inflicted serious punishment upon them but for the treachery of General Charles Lee. As it was, Washington saw the hand of Providence in the fact that, after two years, his and the British army were back in their old positions with the British less confident and powerful. General Howe on returning to England had remarked: “Things go ill and will not go better.”
The Wyoming massacre, perpetrated by Indians and Tories, sent a thrill of horror over the land, and the man who had been thinking the war would be ended without further assistance from him burned to fight the foe. The successes of Clark in capturing British posts west of the Alleghanies, and so laying the foundation277of our claim to that vast territory, increased Rodney’s restlessness.
“Zeb,” he said to his friend on hearing the report, “I’m beginning to long to go West again.”
“You ought to know what is thought of a man as fools with fire after havin’ his fingers burned once.”
“I can’t help it. I know that is a wonderful country. Great work will be done there in the next few years and I want a share in it.”
“I reckon I’d wait till the war is over an’ the redskins are tamed.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to. But it’ll be either the West or the war for me before long.”
Zeb looked shrewdly at his friend, wondering why he was so restless, for he had prospered. “It’s nigh two years since we licked Burgoyne an’ they don’t make much headway. Reckon we’ll hev to go back an’ show ’em how we used to do it. But, if we ain’t needed, it will be too bad to leave things here just as we’ve got ’em into shape.”
“You ought never to go to the front again, Zeb. You’ve done your share and, with your wound and your rheumatism, you couldn’t last long in camp. You stay at home and take charge of matters and let me go. I heard yesterday that the British are having things their own way down in South Carolina, murdering and pillaging. Cornwallis evidently intends to frighten the people into submission and then invade Virginia.”
“He hasn’t licked ’em to a standstill yet awhile.278Thar’s Sumter an’ Marion left, an’ the boys o’ the mountains,––oh! but he’ll have trouble.”
“I hear the Tories down there are helping the British much more than the Tories in any other part of the country have been able to do.”
“Unless they do they won’t help much. They were goin’ ter help Burgoyne an’ didn’t amount to a pinch o’ snuff. All they can do in the way o’ fightin’ is killing women an’ children an’ then scalpin’ ’em. Anyhow, if ye can’t keep contented at home any longer I’ll try to look after matters here while you are away. But why not get advice from your friend at Monticello? ’Pears to me you have done your share of the fightin’.”
“I don’t like to bother him with my petty affairs, with his many important duties. Being governor of Virginia is enough for one man, let alone all he’s doing for national affairs and for education. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did something to abolish slavery; father believed he would. You know Mr. Jefferson says he trembles for the future when he thinks that God is just.”
“We’ll never live to see it, Rodney.”
Rodney inherited his father’s hatred of slavery, and his kindly feelings toward all men, but the following morning, when he went to the stable and found that Nat, together with saddle and bridle, had been stolen in the night, and thought of what Mogridge had asked Angus––well, it was fortunate for both that young Allison and Mogridge did not meet that morning.
279CHAPTER XXXRODNEY RIDES WITH THE DRAGOONS
After the battle of Camden, in which Gates was sorely defeated by Cornwallis, affairs in the South looked very dubious for the American forces. A large part of the people in South Carolina and Georgia were loyalists, and their relations with their Whig neighbours were exceedingly bitter. Except for small bands of patriots under daring leaders like Marion and Sumter, “The Carolina Gamecock,” as his followers proudly called him, the British and their Tory allies held possession of Georgia and South Carolina and were planning to sweep northward into North Carolina and on into Virginia. Cornwallis’ fame was in the ascendant.
Such were the conditions on that October day when Rodney Allison joined the army of Gates. Two days later came the cheering news that a force of Tories under the command of Colonel Ferguson had been almost annihilated at King’s Mountain by a body of pioneer Whigs, most of whom came from the border settlements over the mountains. A number of those captured, known to be guilty of murder, were hanged280and the impression made on other Tories in those states was very depressing.
The Americans now expected great assistance from the militia of those states, but the British emissaries among the Indians incited them to attack the frontier settlements, thus making it necessary for those brave fellows who had won the battle of King’s Mountain to return home to protect their families from the savages.
When finally General Nathaniel Greene, at Washington’s request, was sent to supersede Gates, he found an army of only about two thousand men, poorly equipped, the enemy strongly entrenched, the country swept bare of subsistence and winter approaching.
Through the influence of General Morgan, Rodney was assigned to duty with Colonel Washington’s dragoons. It was a proud moment for the lad when he found himself associated with the finest body of cavalry in the army. Those daring horsemen were the terror of the Tories and young Allison rode with them on many a daring exploit, a full account of which would fill a volume. The lad had now grown to man’s stature and sat his horse like a veteran. How often on those wild rides he longed to be on the back of Nat once more! Poor fellow, what had become of him? The sight of the spur-scarred, hard-ridden horses of the British cavalry filled him with fury as he thought it probable the fate of his beloved colt had been like theirs.
Finally came the day when General Morgan was to add another to the long list of his successes. Cornwallis281and Colonel Tarleton, “the bloodhound,” had planned to trap Morgan and annihilate his force. The latter was compelled to retreat and Tarleton was sent in pursuit. When he believed Morgan was fleeing from him he threw caution to the winds and hurried his force on to what he doubted not would be the capture of the doughty leader.
Morgan has since been criticized for hazarding a battle. His force was far inferior to Tarleton’s and did not include artillery as did the latter’s. Moreover, with Morgan were many raw militia who could not be depended upon to face the veterans under the British leader, knowing, as they did from sad experience, that little quarter would be granted them if defeated. But he had the veteran Marylanders who had fought so bravely at Camden, and the support of Colonel Washington’s dragoons. Furthermore, shrewd leader of men that he was, he felt that the moment had come when he must fight. To continue his flight meant capture or dispersion of his forces. He believed that Tarleton would be over-confident and so run headlong into whatever trap he might set, and this was just what happened.
At a place called the Cowpens he found the position he desired. Here were two small hills, one behind the other and with a river at the rear; no place for a scared militiaman to escape, nothing to do but fight to his last gasp, because he knew that if he offered to surrender he would be ruthlessly bayoneted.
The night before the battle it is said Morgan did not282sleep. His men, enraged at the cruelties inflicted upon their country by the invaders, were longing for revenge. This spirit Morgan fanned to flame. Throughout the night this big, brawny man, whose fame for success in many perilous undertakings inspired the confidence of every man who came to know him, walked among the soldiers and talked with them. His was the appearance of a man perfectly confident that the next day would bring victory and glory to American arms. He laughed and joked with them. “Just hold up your heads, boys; give ’em three fires and you are free. The Old Wagoner will crack his whip over Ben Tarleton in the morning, sure as he lives. Think of what your wives an’ sweethearts will say when you go home an’ tell what ye did.”
Ah! How they loved and admired the big fellow who was one of them. He had stormed the defences at Quebec after leading his men through an almost impassable wilderness; he had led his Rangers in wild charges against the regulars under Burgoyne and driven them; he would win, and they would help him, to the last drop of blood in their veins.
In that spirit of implicit confidence in their stalwart leader even the raw recruits never thought of trembling on that raw morning in the middle of January, 1781, when the outposts came riding back with the report that Tarleton was approaching. They had been placed down in front with the Marylanders at their backs to support them, and Colonel Washington’s dragoons screened behind the hill waiting for the283word to charge. In front of the Carolina and Georgia militia, between whom Morgan had excited a spirit of rivalry as to which body should behave with the greater bravery under fire, riflemen had been stationed.
Soon the American sharpshooters in front began firing and falling back toward the militia, who never wavered. They had been ordered to hold their fire and they obeyed implicitly.
Now the solid wall of British infantry is almost upon them, and a sheet of flame spurts out along the American line; then another and another, and those raw soldiers only retreat before overwhelming numbers when it is apparent they can resist no longer, and then, like veterans, slowly and under orders.
Over behind the hill Rodney Allison’s knees grip his horse. This waiting is worse than fighting, waiting for that soul-stirring word, “Charge!” Now it rings out and echoes through the ranks, and like a whirlwind they sweep right through the lines of Tarleton’s cavalry forming for a charge, and, wheeling about, come riding and slashing back through them again. Colonel Howard is skilfully handling the troops and the gallant Pickens rallying the militia. The British ranks waver and become disorganized, the Americans charge and the British throw down their arms and sue for mercy or flee from the field.
Tarleton is trying to rally his shattered horsemen when down upon them come Washington’s dragoons, with Colonel Washington far ahead of his men.
Then it is that Tarleton tries to kill or capture his284antagonist. Washington’s sword is broken at the hilt and, but for the assistance of a boy, the brave Washington would have been struck down. Now his men are at his back and Tarleton rides away with his fleeing men as though pursued by demons.
Then come orders to pursue and the dragoons go riding out into the country after the fleeing British. Most of them choose a wrong road and only succeed in picking up a few stragglers.
Rodney had charged and wheeled and charged again. It had been his fortune to be in the thickest of the struggle from first to last. Then he joined in the pursuit.
The group of horsemen with whom Rodney was riding came to forks in the road. Rodney’s training among the Indians often proved valuable and now he declared there were but two horses of the enemy on the road they had come, also that they had divided at the forks, each taking a different road. As many of the cavalry had come to the Cowpens over this road early the same morning, there was a confusion of tracks and a consequent confusion in the minds of the pursuers. Allison doggedly stuck to his conclusion and rode on alone.
Judging from the tracks, it was evident that the fleeing British cavalryman had ridden his horse at a mad gallop and Rodney urged his own to the utmost.
On either side of the road stretched a scraggly growth of trees. Suddenly his horse shied and at the285same instant a pistol shot rang out. The lad’s left hand relaxed its grasp of the bridle and slipped nervelessly to his side. The ball had broken his arm below the elbow. Had his horse not been frightened and shied, the ball intended for his heart probably would have hit the mark.
A British rider came crashing through the bushes. Finding there was but one pursuer, and he wounded, the fellow had decided to fight. He certainly had Allison at serious disadvantage, but the latter, slipping the half drawn pistol back into the holster, grasped the bridle with his uninjured hand and wheeled his horse sharply to meet the foe, who was almost upon him.
For an instant each stared in astonishment at the other. Then into the face of young Allison swept a savage fury. His gray eyes looked black and blazing. He dropped the bridle and drew his sword, spurring his unguided horse forward. The horse swerved and Rodney missed the blow he aimed at the head of his antagonist. The latter was a better swordsman on equal terms, and Rodney, unable to use his left hand, was at a decided disadvantage.
Soon he was at his wits’ end. Twice the thrust of his antagonist had grazed his neck. Thinking he had Rodney at his mercy, the Englishman rose in his stirrups and swung his blade with evident intent to cut him down. In parrying the blow Rodney’s inferior blade was broken near the hilt, which was knocked from his hand. He struck his horse a smart blow286with his right spur, reached for his pistol and cried “Down, Nat!”
Mogridge, for the Englishman was none other than the one who had stolen Nat and nearly ridden him to death, again rose in his stirrups, confident of cutting down his foe. The look of malignant hate in his face changed to that of consternation; the horse under him was kneeling!
Rodney draws his pistol. The foe is wickedly spurring and yanking the bridle and cursing his horse. Every thrust of the spur into Nat’s gaunt flanks pricks Rodney as well. He aims to kill and his finger is on the trigger, when, like a flash of light, he recalls Zeb’s words: “Killin’ even an enemy is serious, an’ not pleasant to dream about.”
“Dismount and surrender your arms or I’ll blow out your brains,” he cried.
Mogridge dared not disobey.
“You will now lead that horse back to camp. If he could ride you he should have the chance, you cur.”
“There’s such a thing as courtesy even in war,” replied Mogridge, though he was careful to do as he was bid.
“Not with horse thieves.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” retorted Mogridge, and then, seeing the look in Allison’s face, he wisely decided to say no more.