CHAPTER VII
IN WHICH A BUTTON BETRAYS ITS OWNER
"No, no, you will not die, father," cried Nathan. "It may not be amortal wound. Where are you hit?" He looked wildly around, wringing hishands. "Can't something be done?" he added. "Bring water from the swamp,or send for a surgeon."
"I'm afraid it's no use, lad," said the lieutenant of the company. "Ifit was possible to help him--"
"No, I'm past human aid," groaned the wounded man. "My time has come,and I must answer the call. I'm shot in the breast, and my strength isnearly spent. Compose yourself, dear boy, and listen to me. Remember, itmay soon be too late."
Nathan forced back the tears, and with a white, rigid face, he bentnearer his dying parent. "Speak, father," he replied, huskily. "I amlistening."
Captain Stanbury nodded. "There are papers buried under the floor of mycabin up at Wyoming," he said in a voice that was broken with pain. "Ihave kept them all these years--for you. Get them, Nathan, and guardthem carefully. You little know--how important they are."
"Yes, I will get them, father," promised Nathan.
"Barnabas will help you, lad. He is a trusty old friend--and neighbor."
"You kin count on me, Captain," declared Barnabas, as he wiped a tearfrom his eye with the palm of his horny hand. "An' what are you doin'here, Mister Redcoat?" he added sharply.
The last remark was addressed to Major Langdon. He had pushed into thegroup uninvited, and heard the American officer's words to his son. Now,as he peeped furtively at the wounded man from one side, his face waspale and bloodless under its bronzed skin, and in his black eyes was astrange and half-triumphant expression.
"Have you a prisoner there?" asked Captain Stanbury, catching a glimpseof the red uniform. "See that he is well treated, men. Oh, this pain!"he added, grasping at his breast. "Nathan--don't forget--thepapers--they contain the secret--and the proofs of--" His head droppedback and his eyes closed, the secret that had been on his lips stilluntold.
Was the brave officer living or dead? There was no time to tell. AsNathan clasped his father's hands in a passion of grief, the stragglingmusketry-fire in front suddenly ceased, and back in full flight pouredthe Pennsylvania troops. On their right flank, sweeping along under thegathering shades of evening to cover the retreat of the British brigade,came a compact line of dragoons. A dozen voices yelled at Nathan, but heonly shook his head.
"Take my father along," he cried, "and I will go."
Crack! crack! crack!--the rear ranks of the grenadiers had turned andwere firing. The dragoons were galloping closer. A ball tore the lad'scap from his head, and he sprang to his feet, staring around himundecidedly. Then Barnabas Otter and Corporal Dubbs grasped him by eacharm, and in spite of protest they dragged him rapidly along with theretreating regiment. In the rout Major Langdon was forgotten, and heseized the opportunity to drop into a clump of bushes, where he layunseen until his own men came up.
The dragoons continued the pursuit almost to the edge of the woods, andthere a hot fire from the rallied skirmishers, and a few shells fromKnox's guns on the hillside, drove them back with severe loss to theBritish lines.
Night was now closing in, and with darkness the battle ended. TheBritish had lost nearly a thousand; the Americans less than threehundred. But Washington was not satisfied. He issued orders to resumethe attack at daylight, and after eating supper in ranks the wearytroops slept upon their arms.
For Nathan the joy of victory was swallowed up in bitter grief. Afterthe moon rose, with Barnabas Otter and a few other faithful comrades, heventured out from the woods to recover his father's body. But it couldnot be found, though the spot where he had fallen was easily located.All around were dead and wounded, British and American, but no sign ofCaptain Stanbury.
"It's no use to look," said Nathan. "My father is not dead. He is alive,and a prisoner in the hands of the enemy."
"What makes you think so?" asked Barnabas.
"Because the British have left their own dead on the field," was thereply. "Would they have carried off an American officer, unless he wasalive?"
"True fur that, lad," said Barnabas, "but it's a mighty queerdisappearance just the same." His brow knitted as he remembered thestrange and evil look on Major Langdon's face while he watched CaptainStanbury. "I wish that stuck-up British officer hadn't slipped away," headded angrily, little dreaming, as he spoke the words, of what themajor's escape was to cost himself and others.
"We'd better be going back, my lad," said Corporal Dubbs. "Your fatherwill be exchanged one of these days, if he is alive; and I don't doubtbut he is. It's my belief the ball glanced from his ribs, or went in abit sidewise, and whichever it was the pain and shock would be enough tomake him faint."
Nathan brightened up at this opinion, and his mood was cheerful as hetrudged back to the lines with the search party.
"What can those papers contain?" he asked himself. "I suppose they willreveal the secret of my father's early life, of which he would neverspeak. I will get them at the first chance, but I will never open themso long as there is a possibility of my father being alive. A dozentimes in the past week I was tempted to tell him of the queer chap whoinquired for him at the Indian Queen. I wish now I had done so, but itis too late for regrets."
Nathan's sleep that night was peaceful, but he awoke in the morning toshare a great disappointment with the whole army. Under cover ofdarkness, the British had stolen off, cavalry, infantry, and batteries.They were already miles on the march to Middletown--too far away to beovertaken.
This discovery was followed immediately by a piece of news that provedof the deepest interest to Nathan and his friends. A courier rode intocamp with a letter for Washington from the Board of War. It appearedthat messengers had lately been sent to the Board by the Wyomingsettlers, stating that their peaceful valley was threatened by theinvasion of a large force of Tories and Seneca Indians under ColonelJohn Butler; that they were too few in number to hold their scatteredforts with any hope of success, and begging for the immediate return oftheir able-bodied men who were serving in the American army. The letterconcluded by urging that their request should be acceded to.
Washington lost not an hour's time, realizing that the intended attackwas prompted by the knowledge that the greater part of the fighting menof the settlements were absent, and that it might even now be too lateto save the almost defenseless women and children from Tory bullets andIndian tomahawks.
Ammunition and arms were distributed to the Wyoming men, and ere the sunwas well up the little band--numbering less than ten-score--had startedon their long march of nearly one hundred and fifty miles to thenorthwest, eager to save families and friends from massacre.
Nathan and Barnabas were naturally of the party, and while they sharedthe fears and resolves of the others, they were also determined toprocure the papers that were buried under Captain Stanbury's cabin--thesuccess of which mission depended on their reaching the valley before itshould be seized and occupied by the enemy. General Washington hadpromised to do all in his power to procure the exchange of Nathan'sfather--if he was still alive--and this enabled the lad to set out onhis journey with a comparatively light heart.
Barnabas Otter was a product of the early days of Pennsylvaniacolonization. One of the first settlers in the Wyoming Valley, hisbravery and sterling qualities had there gained for him the honestliking of his neighbors. He was now nearly sixty years old, lean andrugged, with a physique like iron and limbs that never tired. He was amaster of woodcraft, as many a wary Indian had learned, and his aimrarely missed. With the fearlessness of a lion and the stealth of apanther, he combined the vision of a hawk and the hearing of a deer.Altogether, he was such a friend as Nathan might well count worthhaving.
Many of the Wyoming men were weak and exhausted, and though the marchwas kept up at a fairly good speed, it was not fast enough to suitBarnabas. So, at noon of the third day, July 1st, when the party hadhalted for a brief rest in the lonely country, miles to the northwestof Trenton, the ol
d woodsman suggested that himself and half a dozenothers--naming those most capable of speed and endurance--should push onin advance of the main band. He urged as a reason the necessity forletting their imperiled friends know that aid was on the way, so thatthey might hold out with better spirit. The possession of CaptainStanbury's papers was purely a minor reason with Barnabas, as he franklyadmitted to Nathan. "The first object of the journey is to save thesettlements, lad," he said; "but of course we'll dig up these papers assoon as we git a chance."
The officers commanding the troops promptly recognized the wisdom of thesuggested course. Barnabas chose Nathan--whose wind and strength wellfitted him for the purpose--and five brave and hardy men of his owncompany. They started at once, taking plenty of ammunition and suppliesfor three days, and were a mile on their way when the main body whichthey left behind, began the afternoon's march.
The region stretching northwest to the Susquehanna at Wilkesbarre waswild and lonely, but Barnabas knew every foot of the way. He avoided thecircuitous bridle-road, and led the party by narrow and direct trails ofhis own choosing--over rugged and dismal mountain passes, throughforests where deer and bear, turkeys and pheasants abounded, and acrossstreams that teemed with fish.
By the aid of an early moon they traveled until ten o'clock that night,and after sleeping soundly in the woods, and without camp-fires, theyresumed their march at daybreak. About the middle of the morning, comingto an open glade by a spring, they made a startling discovery. Here aparty of horsemen had plainly spent the previous night. The ground wastrodden by hoofs and footmarks. The ashes of two fires were still warm,and close by were heaps of pine-boughs that had served for bedding.
"Who can they have been?" asked Nathan.
"I can't guess, lad," replied Barnabas, shaking his head, "an' it's hardto say where they're bound for. They ain't been gone long, an' from thelooks of things they numbered nine or ten. We must have crossed theirtrail somewhere's back without seein' it. From here," stepping forwardand pointing to the trodden grass, "they went almost due north. I reckonthey're striking for the bridle-road yonder, which runs sort of parallelwith the course we're making--"
He stopped suddenly as he spied a glittering object at his feet: "ABritisher's spur!" he exclaimed, picking it up. "An' the pattern thedragoons wear. What on earth does this mean?"
"It means a squad of the enemy's cavalry, Barnabas," declared EvanJones.
"I believe you, man," said Barnabas, "who else but the cussed Britishwould have cut limbs for bedding? An' the camp-fires show that theydidn't reckon on any other travelers bein' in the neighborhood. I'mclean beat to know--"
"Here's something else," interrupted Nathan, handing Barnabas a largehorn button of an odd color.
The old man looked at it intently. His eyes flashed, and his teethshowed behind his parted lips. "Simon Glass!" he cried.
"Simon Glass?" echoed three or four voices.
"Aye, Simon Glass, men," repeated Barnabas. "I'll swear to this button.It came off his buckskin coat, an' the inhuman fiend lost it herehisself."
"I've heard of Simon Glass," Nathan said curiously. "Who is he?"
"You don't want to meet him, lad," Barnabas answered grimly. "If everthere was a devil in human shape he's that same. He's a little squattyman, with one eye out; but the other's worth half a dozen. An' his faceis a criss-cross of knife-scars.
"There ain't any crime too bad for the wretch," Barnabas continuedearnestly. "Until eight years back he lived about Wyoming, an' every onewas afraid of him. He shot two men what crossed him, an' robbed an'murdered another. Then he had to light out, an' the next heard of himwas that he'd killed a man an' woman up at Niagara. When the war begunhe turned Tory an' joined the British, an' since then they say he'skilled a heap of Americans in cold blood. I have a score agin him, an' Iwon't forget it. An' as for this old buckskin coat--why, he's beenwearin' it steady for fifteen years, an' he wore it on this very spotlast night. I know the buttons."
"What can he be doing here?" asked a Scotchman named Collum McNicol.
"He may have some bloody work of his own on hand," replied Barnabas,"but it's more likely he's been hired to lead these dragoons up to joinButler's forces at Wyoming. An' yet it ain't natural for such a littlehandful of British to march a hundred and fifty miles up country fromClinton's army. Well, it's no use guessin'. We can't overtake the party,seein' they're mounted, and p'raps it's just as well. But if we do runacross 'em--along the way or up at Wyoming, I'll have a bullet ready forSimon Glass. We've fooled too long, men--march on."
Rapidly, and with untiring speed, the little band of seven filed onthrough the forest paths, while the sun crept from horizon to horizon.Barnabas was in a sober and thoughtful mood, and his companions couldnot shake off a feeling of impending ill. Brave men though they were,the presence of Simon Glass in the vicinity was enough to unsteady theirnerves. Eyes were keen and ears alert as they advanced.
About the middle of the afternoon footsteps were heard in front, anddown dropped every man to cover. Seven musket barrels were in line withthe stranger as he came in sight among the trees--a bearded settler ingray homespun.
"Hooray! Luke Shippen!" cried Barnabas, jumping up, and soon the wholeparty were shaking hands with an old friend and neighbor.
"Where's the rest of the troops?" was the new-comer's first question."I've come to hurry them up."
"Are they needed sorely?" asked Barnabas.
"Aye, men," Shippen replied. "When I left Wilkesbarre night afore lastColonel John Butler was up above the valley at the mouth of theLackawanna, with a force of Tories and Indians from Canada. He'sholding off for reinforcements, but they may come any time. Our peopleare in the forts, but they won't be able to offer much resistance."
"God help them!" muttered Barnabas. "Push on, Luke. You'll find theWyoming troops half a day's march behind. Bid them travel with allhaste. Meanwhile, we'll let no grass grow under our feet."
"I'll trust you for that, man. I'm off."
"Wait," added Barnabas. "You met none on the way, Luke?"
"Not a soul. Why do you ask?"
"No matter," said Barnabas. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye, comrade," replied Shippen, and his long strides quicklycarried him out of sight.
"Now for a hard march," said Barnabas to his men, "and God grant wearrive in time. We are sorely needed, few as we are."
Twilight came, and a brief interval of darkness, and then the glow ofthe rising moon. For mile after mile the little band pressed on,heedless of hunger and weariness, and it was close to midnight whentheir leader halted them on a far-stretching plateau high up among themountains, sparsely timbered with pine and oak.
"Here we'll spend what little of the night is left, bein' as we're alldone out," declared Barnabas. "I know the spot. Wyoming is but six oreight miles off, an' we'll make it afore to-morrow noon. Now for supperan' rest."
Rations were served out and eaten, and then Barnabas divided the nightinto three watches and assigned the men to duty. Reuben Atwood's turncame first, and the soft step of the sentry was the last sound the wearymen heard as they fell asleep on the fragrant pine needles.
Nathan slumbered for hours, too fatigued even to dream, and then hesuddenly opened his eyes and sat up, barely able to repress a cry. Asmall snake glided from his side, and he knew that the cold touch of thereptile on his hand had wakened him.
His companions were sleeping around him, but he saw nothing of thesentry. Looking further his eyes rested on an open glade, bathed inmoonlight, that was twenty feet away among the trees. Cold perspirationstarted on his brow, and he trembled from head to foot. His breath camequick and hard. Was it a real or a ghostly visitant--that slim figurestanding in the centre of the glade; that familiar face staring towardhim, with its every feature clear in the moon's silver glow?
In the Days of Washington: A Story of the American Revolution Page 7
