Rodney, the Ranger, with Daniel Morgan on Trail and Battlefield

by John V. Lane

  CHAPTER XXXI

  HOME AGAIN

  Back at the scene of the battle Rodney found preparations were beingmade for the little army to march, leaving a detachment behind todispose of the dead and care for the wounded. No one seemed to knowwhere they were to go. Many thought, in view of the fact that theBritish had been defeated and Tarleton put to flight, Morgan wouldremain in the vicinity for reinforcements and await an attack byCornwallis. Few realized what a daring thing he had already done.

  Had Tarleton's headlong charges thrown his meagre forces intoconfusion they would have had little opportunity to retreat and mostof them would have been cut down. Morgan afterwards was criticized bythe envious for having risked a battle under the circumstances. Hebelieved he knew that it was necessary to fight that battle and he hadwon against odds. The "Old Wagoner" didn't propose to wait whileCornwallis should overtake him with a superior force and recapture theprisoners and spoils and annihilate his forces. Instead, though heconcealed his plans, he resolved upon making the quickest retreatpossible. To do this he marched toward a ford which was nearer toCornwallis than to him. It was a great risk but he felt he must takeit.

  "If you've got a home, you better get to it, my lad," the kindlydoctor had said while hastily bandaging the lad's wounded arm. "Thismay give ye trouble, though I hope not."

  "That's good advice," said Morgan, who chanced to overhear thedoctor's words and recognized Rodney. "You report to ColonelWashington and tell him Morgan has ordered you home to Charlottesville.This war has eaten up too many of my Rangers already." With thatparting advice he mounted his horse and rode away.

  There remained for Rodney nothing to do but obey orders, though he wasloath to leave. The spirit of victory was in his soul. That had been aglorious battle and the right had triumphed. The bloodhounds had puttheir tails between their legs and fled. He did not realize that theywould rally and soon be close upon the heels of the retreatingAmericans, and that nothing would save the latter but the winterfloods which were to fill the rivers and delay the British.

  Through a land ravaged by war, over roads deep with mud, where mightbe found only the poorest accommodations for man or beast, RodneyAllison rode homeward. His arm give him little trouble except the fearit might always be stiff. The nearer he came to home the more helonged to be back with the army. It troubled him to think that in thevictories he was sure would follow he could not have a part.

  "I'm never able to win promotion," he said to himself, ratherbitterly. The picture of that winter night, the witching face ofLisbeth and her mocking laugh as she rode away, kept recurring to hismind. What a girl she had been, the best playmate even a boy mightwish; always ready for a lark, daring, mischievous, with wit as keenas a blade and quick as a flash. He could not think of her as dead,and the bitterness of his heart at the trick she had played upon himtroubled him now as he looked back upon it. "She didn't know what shewas doing, did she, Nat, old boy?"

  Nat had been plodding along but now lifted his head with some show ofinterest. The hard life he had led since the day Mogridge had stolenhim had not quite broken his spirit, though he was gaunt and worn withcruel service.

  "I've got you, Nat, if I haven't got a promotion, and of the two I'drather have you," said his rider, patting his shoulder.

  The lad was nearing his long journey's end. In the distance were themountains. A few miles further and Monticello would be visible. Overthose mountains lay what seemed to the lad a great world. The life hehad lived in it seemed like another life and Ahneota, little Louis,the Indian village and all, but the fancies of a dream. Sometime hewould go back there.

  When he saw the familiar house a thought came to his mind, and hewondered it had not come sooner. Would he find them as he had leftthem, mother, and 'Omi, and Zeb, and Mam, and Thello?

  For an instant he almost feared to go on. Ah, there was Mam, waddlingacross from house to shed, probably going to call Thello from hisfavourite seat in the sunshine on the sheltered side of the building.The door opens and his mother runs out. She has seen him riding up,and she cries: "Rodney, my boy!" and throws her arms about his neck,standing on tiptoe, for he is tall.

  "Only one arm left for hugging, Mother. This is the only badge I bringback from the war," and he pointed to his arm in the sling, adding, ashe notes her alarm, "it's nothing serious. How are you all?"

  "All well and happy now you are back, all save poor old Thello, who'svery miserable, but sight of you will make him forget his aches, I'msure. Why, Rodney, where did you find Nat? Don't you know me, Nat, orhave they treated you so badly you've forgotten old friends?"

  Naomi, now grown to a handsome girl, ran out and it was some minutesbefore quiet was restored. Then Rodney asked for Zeb.

  "I sent him to Philadelphia. I learned a very dear friend of oursliving there is in sore trouble, and I hope he will succeed in havingher return with him."

  "Any one I know?"

  "Some one you are much interested in. Your friend, Captain Enderwood,who had been to Philadelphia to see her, came all the way toCharlottesville to tell us about her. He also told me how she was theone who had you released from prison and nursed you through yoursickness while you were unconscious, and made herself sick inconsequence."

  "You don't mean--you can't mean--"

  "I mean that Elizabeth Danesford is alive. The mistake came from thereport that she couldn't live. Doesn't it seem too good to be true?"and Mrs. Allison watched Rodney's face as she added: "She is verypoor. Captain Enderwood wished to marry her, he frankly told me so,but you know it would require more than poverty to weaken Lisbeth'sresolution. The captain had heard her speak of me as her adopted auntand he came all the way to Charlottesville to tell me about her. Yousee, her uncle and aunt in Philadelphia are dead and she has no kin inthis country save a cousin who is not able to render her much if anyassistance."

  "She'll not be poor if we ever get what the 'Chevalier' left to us inhis will, for half of what he gave to me, you know, he said he shouldhave given to her."

  "It may be difficult to persuade her to accept it. Enderwood, youknow, offered to share his fortune with her and she refused." Therewas a questioning smile on Mrs. Allison's face.

  Two days later Zeb returned from the Quaker City, very much downcastin appearance until he saw Rodney, when his face lighted withpleasure that was unmistakable.

  "Looks how Tarleton let ye off easy."

  "He was busy looking after himself. But, Zeb, it seems you failed inyour errand. Is Lis--is Miss Danesford sick?"

  "No. I reckon," and Zeb gave a shrewd glance at Rodney, "the wrong manwas sent. She looks pale and tired. She has to work hard; she'srunnin' some sort of a girls' school, an' I'd ruther train a yardfulo' raw recruits."

  "I'm sorry you could not persuade her to come," was all Mrs. Allisonsaid, but she looked at her son, who remained silent.

  About two weeks later he announced that he was going to Philadelphiaand no one questioned him as to what his errand might be, though itwas evident to Zeb that Rodney's mother was much pleased.

  He had recovered from his wound, and good care and plenty to eat hadrestored some of Nat's good spirits, so that man and horse made a verypleasing appearance as they set forth on the long journey. Nat foundhis rider impatient and both were tired when at evening they reachedthe tavern where they were to stop for the night. After supper Rodneysat on the veranda watching the arrivals and departures, for the housewas a much frequented public resort on the main thoroughfare.

  CHAPTER XXXII

  A REWARD GREATER THAN PROMOTION

  Rodney had risen from his seat to step inside when the arrival of acoach, which bore the marks of a long journey, attracted hisattention.

  The light from the small paned windows shone dimly, but he saw thatonly two passengers alighted, one a young woman accompanied by an oldman who appeared to be very feeble and leaned heavily on her. "Fatherand daughter," was Rodney's thought, but his words were, "May Iassist," as he went to meet them.

  The girl turned
a white, tired face toward him, the face of Elizabeth,but, oh! so unlike that which had mocked him three years before!

  "Rodney!" The girl's voice trembled.

  "Aye, lass," said the old man in a weak, quavering voice. "Would theladdie were here the noo. I'm a sair burden for your frail strength."

  For an instant Rodney's face was whiter than Elizabeth's.

  "Father! I am here," he cried and took the tottering man in his strongyoung arms.

  It was a strange story to which Rodney listened that evening, one ofthrilling interest and unusual even in the annals of wild frontierlife.

  Not all Indians were grateful, especially when maddened by lust forwar and vengeance. In the gray light of the dawn of the morning, afterthe fierce conflict at Point Pleasant, the savage who, because of hisgreed for scalps, had skulked behind when his fellows had crossed theriver the night before, bore little resemblance in his war paint tothe Indian David Allison once had warmed and fed within the walls ofthe stockade on a cold winter night; but he instantly recognized hisbenefactor. For hours David Allison had lain unconscious in the placewhere he had fallen. During the night he had regained consciousness,but could make no outcry louder than a moan. He had thought to draghimself toward the camp where he might attract the attention of hiscomrades, but had failed, and lay back against a fallen tree, his facegray and ghastly.

  The morning mists hung low over the river, and, under cover of these,the savage paddled away unobserved, his captive lying in a faint onthe bottom of the canoe. No prisoner ever received kinder treatment atthe hands of an Indian than did David Allison. As he graduallyregained his strength he yearned for home and pleaded to be taken backto Virginia, but his captor was obdurate; he wanted the man for acompanion and in many ways gave evidence of affection for him.

  One day, in a quarrel with another savage, the Indian was killed.Shortly after, Allison made his escape and in a canoe drifted downthe Ohio. He felt unequal to attempting to work his way back as he hadcome and so decided to go with the current down the Ohio into theMississippi. His utmost endurance and shrewdness were put to manysevere tests before he reached a white settlement and eventually NewOrleans. There, when about to take ship for Norfolk, he was taken sickwith a fever which left him without strength or money.

  The desire to return home, whatever might be the sacrifice, becamealmost a mania with him, but he would not beg his way. And so hestruggled on, meeting with disappointment again and again, yet neveryielding in his purpose. Then, on the threshold of success, when helanded in Philadelphia without money and without friends, he was takenseriously ill. By what seemed the merest chance Elizabeth learned ofhim, and it was through her efforts and sacrifices that he was spared,to enjoy in the comforts of home and family, years, scant in numberbut abundant in happiness.

  Rodney Allison won promotion--the esteem of all who knew him--and whocould wish for greater? A few years later, on the spot where had stoodthe lodge of Ahneota, he built a home such as he planned that night,years before, when he lay by the spring looking down on the sleepingIndian village; and Zeb was his neighbour, prosperous and respected.Some called Rodney "Colonel" Allison because of his militaryexperience and influence, but he preferred the title of "Squire," andby this he was generally known among neighbours and friends. In theIndian wars he was serviceable in securing peace, for he was trustedalike by red people and white. Through influential friends, of whomGeneral Morgan was one, he was able to accomplish much that was ofbenefit to the pioneers with whom he had cast his lot.

  Soon after Benedict Arnold's treason, Rodney received a letter fromDonald Lovell, then a captain in the army. "Uncle Dick," the lettersaid, "exclaimed when he heard of it: 'what a pity that a Britishbullet had not taken his life before a British bribe killed his goodname!'" It became a custom for Rodney and Zeb to yearly exchangeletters with Donald Lovell who, later in life, established his homedown on the far-away Kennebec River.

  "Squire" Allison's children were David, and Harriet, and Elizabeth,and Rupert, and Donald; and Elizabeth's eyes were very dark blue withlong lashes, at times as serene as the eyes of the beautiful ladywhose portrait had greeted those who came to "The Hall." At othertimes they flashed, as did those which her father, when a shiveringsoldier lad, saw looking out of the old coach and mocking him as hestood guard one bleak winter night.

  THE END