Part 25 (1/2)

Quite a number of deserters were picked up. Benjamin Franklin had devised a shrewd scheme for encouraging desertions. Learning the brand of tobacco specially liked by the Hessians, he had offers concealed in packages of this tobacco, which was distributed where the Hessians would get them. These hired troops had no love for the cause for which they were fighting, and many of them had little for the tyranny with which they were treated when at home in Germany. When they read these offers, printed in German, of money and land, they were sorely tempted to change masters, especially if they did not happen to be of those who loved fighting for the privilege it gave them to loot and ravage.

How the country people, all the Americans, indeed, except the Tories, despised and dreaded the Hessian! In fact he was no more brutal than many of the British, but he was trained to loot and thus was held in disrepute. On several occasions he had bayoneted the American soldier after the latter had surrendered.

”Why didn't our men serve 'em a like turn at Trenton?” was a question some had asked.

Zeb well expressed the matter once when the subject was being discussed around the camp-fire.

”I reckon that job at Trenton was most complete. Thar's nothing about it to be ashamed of, an' everything to be proud of. If we'd butchered the pig-stickers when they were whinin' on their knees it wouldn't hev looked well in history.”

”There comes a detachment of 'em now!” exclaimed Rodney, the following morning. He and Zeb were doing picket duty. The latter gave the call, and several Rangers ran up. A half mile down the road the Hessians came marching on in close order till they arrived at some farm buildings when they were seen to break ranks.

”Let 'em have it!” cried Zeb, bringing his long rifle to his shoulder.

Then, loading as he ran, he called, ”Come on, boys, let's get to closer range.”

Other Rangers, hearing the firing, came running after them. In doing this they not only obeyed orders, but most of them gratified their own desire to get into a skirmish with the enemy at every opportunity.

Soon the bullets were singing anything but a cheerful song about the ears of the Hessians, who began to reform their ranks and returned the fire. After several of them had fallen in their tracks, the remainder retreated, bearing off their dead and wounded, pursued by the Rangers clear to the enemy's lines, when they, too, were compelled by overwhelming numbers to retreat.

As they pa.s.sed the farm on the way back, ”Do-as-much Bunster,” a Pennsylvania Dutchman, exclaimed, ”Dey vas not alretty till Christmas for roast pig to vait, I tink.”

”Reckon your thinker is workin' this mornin',” was Zeb's reply as he turned aside to look over into a pen beside the road where a fine litter of white pigs lay cuddled about the old sow.

”You fellers hev earned one o' them beauties,” said the farmer, coming out of his barn and proceeding to slaughter one of the innocents without evident compunction.

”Do as much for you zumtime,” said Bunster, whereat all laughed. That was what the Dutchman always said when any one did him a favour. He was as good as his word, too, which not only gave him his nickname but made him one of the most popular men in his company.

He was both fat and jolly, as Dutchmen should be, but not always are.

His blue eyes twinkled with good humour and shrewdness, and his eagerness showed that he was fond of roast pig.

How good it tasted though cooked, as it had to be, under unfavourable conditions over a camp-fire, and without proper utensils. There was, however, a look of contentment on the faces of those who partook of the feast that afternoon, and sat around on the warm ground licking their fingers.

”Let's see,” said Zeb, ”Bunster and I and Rodney are off duty to-night.”

”Yah, and I tink I zum sleep get.”

”One of those Hesse-Ca.s.sel ruffians swaps even for one good American, and there's a lot of our boys rottin' in the prison hulks in New York harbour to-night.”

”Which is one way of saying we should capture a few Hessians for a pastime; hey, Do-as-much Bunster?” and Rodney thrust a forefinger into Bunster's fat ribs. The Dutchman squealed and leaped to his feet, for he was so ticklish that one, wis.h.i.+ng to see him squirm, only had to point a finger at him.

”That farmer is certain sure a good one, though he is too lazy to take his pigs in out of danger. I hate to see him lose 'em. Besides he has a big rick o' hay right nigh that pig pen an' it looked like a good place to sleep. What d'ye say, boys, if we tote ourselves down thar this evenin'?”

”Zum place to sleep, yah?”

”I'm not sleepy yet, but I am ready to go,” replied Rodney, so they set out.

They crossed the fields, some of which were new mown and fragrant. The sun was setting after a hot day. The swallows skimmed over the field.

”Swallers flyin' low, sign o' rain,” said Zeb.