Part 29 (1/2)
Rodney thought of the Indian saying: ”My foot is on the path and the word is onward,” when, on the first of November, orders came to join Was.h.i.+ngton's army.
”Now we'll be under a general as will play fair,” was the way one rifleman expressed the general sentiment, and they set out on their journey, war-worn and ragged and weary with the arduous campaigning of the previous months.
As they marched away, one of the number sang to improvised music those stirring words written by the Reverend Timothy Dwight, one of the army chaplains:
”Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies.”
Sorry looking Rangers were they when they arrived at Was.h.i.+ngton's headquarters; shoes worn out, clothes in tatters. There they found a dwindling army. The battles of the Brandywine and Germantown had been fought in their absence, and the British were in Philadelphia, planning for a hilarious winter. What remained of the American army must exist outside in the cold of a bitter winter and do what they might to keep the enemy where it was and cut off its supplies whenever possible. Those of the Rangers who had suitable clothing were immediately a.s.signed to duty. At Gloucester Point they bore themselves so creditably that Lafayette said of them: ”I never saw men so merry, so spirited and so desirous to go on to the enemy....”
Later, at Chestnut Hill, their unerring rifles did such execution that Howe's soldiers bore a sorry burden back to Philadelphia. There were sad gaps, as well, in the ranks of the Rangers, and among those fatally wounded was the gallant Morris who had charged the line at Bemis Heights.
As usual, the Rangers were a.s.signed to outpost duty and scouting.
Owing to need of secrecy, many a bitter winter night was pa.s.sed by Rangers in this work without a camp-fire. These were wretched weeks for Rodney Allison; and there were moments when they seemed worse than the days of his captivity among the Indians. Then he would be reminded that Morgan's men were noted as well for endurance and fort.i.tude as for courage and skill. It should not be said that the son of David Allison flinched or s.h.i.+rked a duty!
At the close of one cold, gray day spent on guard the officer in charge of the guard said to Rodney: ”Can ye keep awake all night? I needn't ask ye though; ye've got to, fer thar be no men left to do the job.”
”I'll try. What is it?”
”This mornin' one of our scouts saw a British officer ride to a house 'bout half a mile from here. We sent three Rangers down thar an'
hunted high an' low, but hide nor hair could they find. I 'low he's thar an' to-night he'll try to git ter Philadelphy. You got ter go down thar an' stop him. If a word won't do, try a bullet.”
It was a dismal prospect. The wind was cutting, and Rodney's clothes were worn thin. The weather was almost too cold for snow, but by night it fell in fine, stinging particles. Out on the road young Allison tramped to and fro to keep warm, occasionally stopping to thresh his arms. Late in the evening he saw someone go to the stable, and soon after a double team was driven out. The door of the house opened and a woman came out and entered the carriage. There were good-byes spoken in loud tones with no apparent attempt at concealment. Rodney was no coward, but in his heart he was glad that, instead of two men, he had only one and a woman to deal with. The woman might scream but probably wouldn't shoot.
The driver cracked his whip and the team came down the road at a rattling pace.
”Halt!”
The word rang sharply on the ears of the driver, a black man, and he quickly brought his horses to a standstill.
”Drive back. My orders are to allow no one to leave that house.”
”You surely aren't making war on women,” said the girl, opening the door of her carriage, and her voice sounded strangely familiar.
”I am making war on no one who obeys orders,” he replied, his rifle levelled at the driver.
”Is that you, Rodney Allison? It is!” Then she laughed, such a merry, rollicking laugh, which the next instant gave place to indignation, as she exclaimed: ”You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What have I done that I should not be permitted to return to Philadelphia? Am I the man your backwoodsmen searched the house for, do you think? Black Pete does not greatly resemble any British officer I ever saw,” and then she laughed again. ”And I'm not forage, am I? And there's not a soul but me in this carriage; look for yourself. There, now tell Pete to drive on, please. After all, I'm glad to see you. And send my love to your mother and Naomi, won't you.”
Rodney hesitated. She was the same imperious, winsome girl who had been his favourite playmate. No, there was no one inside the carriage; he was sure of that. How the men would laugh at him for capturing a negro and a girl! He felt like a ninny and afraid he might look like one.
”Drive on,” he said with all the importance he could command, adding: ”I am sorry to delay you, but must obey orders.”
”Good night,” she called back as she rode away. The coachman was plying the whip, and there was a note of triumph in her voice that somehow jarred on Rodney's nerves.
As he paced back and forth the conviction that he had made a grave mistake grew upon him, though for his life he could not be sure why it might be a mistake. Why need he say anything about the affair? The men would only joke him. Yes, he would tell the whole story and take the responsibility.
”Did ye inspect the inside o' the n.i.g.g.e.r as well as the carriage?” was the question sharply asked him by the officer the following day, when it was found that the officer's horse was gone from the stable, and that every slave on the place had run away the day before, just after the search of the house.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'SAY, YOU FELLERS AS HEV BREECHES OUGHT TER BRING US IN A BITE TER EAT.'”]
a.s.suming the disguise of a black menial was the last thing he would have suspected a haughty British officer to do!