The light touch of his hand was a torment to Laddie, but a delicious pain, and she was hypnotized by his closeness. She knew that she ought to move away, but she sat very still, unwilling to lose the slight pressure of his hands.
“What I mean,” Nathan said gently, “is that I don’t ever want to let that happen again—so that’s why I want to tell you right now—I love you, Laddie—hard as it is for me to say such things—I do love you, boy!”
Laddie knew that he wanted her to speak, to say something of her feelings, but she was too full to trust herself. She waited until he released her, saying, “Well, I just wanted you to know.”
He rolled up in his blankets, and she did the same, but she was biting her fist fiercely to keep back the choking sobs.
The fire burned on, sending ghostly shadows against the trees, and the wind sighed faintly through the bare treetops. Overhead the stars moved across the ebony sky, rank on rank, doing their great dance.
Finally, much later, the log that he had put on burned in two, snapped, and fell on the coals beneath, sending a shower of sparks upward. And in a voice that Nathan never heard, Julie Sampson—not Laddie Smith!—whispered faintly:
“And I love you—Nathan Winslow!”
The tall form under the blanket did not stir, but far off a lone wolf lifted his muzzle to the stars; his nocturnal cry echoed the sadness that filled the girl’s heart.
* * *
Two days later they returned to camp, the mules loaded with the dressed carcasses of four deer and a canvas bag stuffed with wild turkey—enough to feed the whole unit! Neither of them had referred to that first night, and Laddie sensed that Nathan felt that her response had been too cold. She had tried to make it up, but the moment had passed, and by the time they returned to camp, Nathan was depressed. Although he had said only a little, Laddie had a suspicion that he was thinking of Abigail Howland. He had said once, “Guess Paul has been having it pretty well his own way with Abigail—with me stuck out here for months.”
Knox greeted them with a shout of joy at the sight of the small mountain of game. “Roust that cook out!” he roared. Then he had thrown his arms around the two of them, practically picking Laddie off the ground in his massive arms. “Bless you both! I don’t care right now if you never do another blessed thing right—I forgive you for the sake of that fresh meat!”
“Anything happen while we were gone?” Nathan asked.
“No, but something’s going to happen!” Knox said. “There’s a meeting of staff officers tonight, and I’ve got a plan to save our bacon—if I can get the His Excellency to buy it!”
“What kind of plan, sir?” Laddie asked.
“You’ll find out, because I want you there with every map you can lay your hands on, Sergeant Smith!”
Nathan said suddenly, “You won’t need me around for a little while, will you, sir?”
“Why, no, Nathan—” He paused, then said quickly, “I won’t need you tonight—but if they like my plan, I want you handy.”
“I’ll be back day after tomorrow.”
Knox stared at him, started to say something, but then shut it off. When he walked away, Laddie stared at him, then said quietly, “Don’t do it, Nathan.”
“Do what?”
“Oh, don’t be so innocent!” She lifted her head and said scornfully, “You think I don’t know what it is? You’re going to sneak into Boston and see that woman!”
He stared at her; then a grin touched his lips. “Guess you know me too well, Laddie. But it’s no risk. I’ll go in after dark so the patrols won’t get me.”
She stared at him, then begged, “Nathan, please don’t go! You know what they say—that they’ve already shot two men they caught spying!”
“I’m not spying.”
“You think they’ll believe that? Nathan, wait a while—please!”
He sobered, then said, “I’m sorry, Laddie. I know you’re too young to understand this—but love makes you do crazy things.”
He wheeled suddenly and walked away, and she stood there helplessly watching until he disappeared behind a line of tents.
She knew that he was gone at supper, for he did not appear to take part in the feast. Many hands were clapped on her shoulder, with a “Good job, Laddie!” and “Thanks for the meal, Sergeant!” but she could not swallow more than a few bites.
Later, she went with Schuyler and Knox to a large house where Washington was staying. His wife was there, a small woman with bright eyes and a quick word of welcome for all, but she soon disappeared, and the council began at once.
Washington spoke briefly, thanking each of his officers for their labors, then said in a tired voice, “Gentlemen, we have the British trapped, but we can’t do anything with them.”
“Your Excellency,” Nathanael Greene, a tall, handsome officer, said, “I’m a Quaker, as you call us, and we are, in principle, opposed to fighting; but I can’t see that waiting is getting us any closer to freedom. Can’t we hit them head-on?”
Washington would have liked to do exactly that. Waiting was not his idea of war, but he shook his head, saying, “No, we’re not yet ready for that sort of head-on fight. The answer, of course, would be to blast them out with heavy guns—but we have none. Until we can get some, we’ll just have to pray that General Gage doesn’t get inspired to move.”
Knox stood up, the tallest man in the room except for Washington. “May I have your permission to offer a solution, sir?”
Washington had a deep affection for the officer, and he said with courtesy but little hope, “Certainly, Captain Knox.”
Washington sat down, and Knox looked around the table at cynical Charles Lee, hot-tempered John Sullivan, the old Indian fighter Israel Putnam, John Grover of the 21st Massachusetts Regiment, Greene, and Schuyler. “Gentleman, guns are the answer, as the general points out. I propose to get some heavy guns, to place them on Dorchester Heights and blow the Redcoats out of their shirts!”
A look of disgust crossed the thin face of General Charles Lee. “Knox, it’s impossible! We’ve tried to get guns from every possible source.” Lee was always negative, and now he yawned and dismissed Knox’s proposal with a wave of his manicured hand.
“Where do you propose to get the guns, Henry?” Washington asked, a trace of hope illuminating his face.
“Sergeant, hold up map Fourteen-C,” Knox said, and Laddie quickly held it up with both hands. She felt Knox’s heavy hand punching it, and he said one word:
“Ticonderoga!”
Washington stared blankly at Knox; then the idea brought a light to his gray eyes. “There are heavy cannon there—I’d forgotten!”
All of them were thinking of the wild raid under the command of Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys and Benedict Arnold. The two of them had captured Fort Ticonderoga the previous May. The fort itself was falling in, and of no great use to anyone, but there were many cannon there.
“Henry!” Washington was visibly excited, a sight rarely seen. He stood to his feet and stared at the map. “Can it be done? Winter will catch you, and the roads are terrible.”
Knox said at once, “General Washington, I will get those guns or die in the attempt!”
Washington slammed his fist down on the table. “We must have those weapons! Take any men you need—do what you have to!”
Lee said languidly, “Oh, it can’t be done—not until spring, at least!”
But Knox was staring straight into his commander’s eyes, and he said in a steady voice, “You shall have them, sir!”
The meeting went on for some time, but Laddie was dismissed, and went to bed. The next day, Knox moved through the camp like a whirlwind, picking men, choosing only the best and toughest. He stopped long enough to ask Laddie, “Where’s Nathan?”
“I—I haven’t seen him, sir—but you said he could have two days.”
“All right, but as soon as you lay eyes on him, tell him I want him to go on this mission!”
All day Laddie looke
d for him, but Nathan didn’t come. That night after supper, Knox came to her with an angry look on his round face. “I’ve got bad news, Smith.” He stared at her, then said plainly, “Nathan’s been captured.”
“No!”
“Yes. One of our informers just brought word. There’s no doubt of it.”
“But, what will they do to him?”
He stared at the stricken countenance before him, then said, “They’ll hang him, I’m afraid. He’s been tried by a military court and sentenced to death.”
“I’ve got to go to him!”
He shook his head. “It would not do, Laddie. You can’t help him—and you might be taken as well.”
She looked straight at him and said, “Sir, I’ve got to go. If you don’t lock me up, I’ll go.”
He stared at her, then said, “By heaven, I’m sorry to hear it, Laddie! You know how fond I am of Winslow—” Then he groaned and said, “Go on then. I’ll give you a pass—but it would be better if you didn’t go.”
Laddie said quietly, “He saved my life, Captain Knox. I’ve got to go—to do what I can!”
She turned and walked away, shoulders held square, and Knox suddenly swore, whirled and walked quickly away. It would have been better if he’d been killed at Breed’s Hill! he thought grimly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ESCAPE!
“Miss Abigail—dat man, he heah agin!”
The black girl entered the room reluctantly, keeping a respectful distance from the young woman who sat up in the bed and glared at her. “I told you to say I wouldn’t see him! Why can’t you ever do a single thing right, Susie?”
The slave blinked, then rolled her large eyes upward. “I done tole him ’zactly whut you said—but he jes’ set there and say he ain’t gonna move till you sees him.” She shook her head with exasperation, adding, “It sho’ is a shame yo poppa and momma both gone—I bet dey get shut of ’im!”
Abigail got up from the bed, smoothed her dressing gown, and walked across the room to stare out into the falling darkness. Her face was puffy with sleep, and she asked idly, “What sort of man did you say he was?”
“Oh, jes’ a young man—sort of plain. He ain’t no quality folks, Miss.”
“I don’t know anybody named Smith.” Abigail went over to the mirror, sat down and began to brush her hair. Finally she said, “Oh, well, show him up, Susie. You can say I’ve been ill and can’t come down.”
“Yas, Miss Abigail.” When the slave left, Abigail carefully brushed her hair, then moved to a plush couch, put her feet up and covered them with a brightly colored quilt. When the knock sounded on the door, she said, “Come in,” and looked up to see Susie admit a young man.
“Yes, what is it?”
“You don’t remember me, Miss Howland?”
Abigail stared in the failing light at the youth, but said, “I don’t think we’ve met.” Curiosity had caused her to let him in, but he was merely a plainly dressed youth in his late teens. The oval-shaped face and large eyes reminded her of someone, but she said, “I’m not well, Mr. Smith. I’ll ask you to come back tomorrow and see my parents.”
She blinked nervously as the man called Smith did not turn to leave, but stepped up so close that she could see determination in a pair of inky black eyes and a firm mouth. Fear rose in her, and she opened her mouth to call for the slave, but he said, “I’m here about Nathan Winslow.”
“What! Who are you?” She threw back the quilt and stood to her feet, staring at her visitor. “I don’t know you, and I’ll ask you to leave!”
“You’ve seen me, Miss Howland,” Laddie said. “I once worked for Mr. Charles Winslow. You saw me there when you came to visit his son—and I was at the warehouse when you came to go for rides with Nathan.”
Abigail stared at her, then nodded slowly. “Yes—I think I do remember you—but what do you want?”
“I want to save Nathan’s life,” Laddie said evenly. “And you’ve got to help.”
“It’s impossible!” Abigail cried at once, and she walked to the small French desk and picked up a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, and then twisted the kerchief into a knot. “Do you think we haven’t tried? If you work for Charles Winslow, you must know he’s talked to General Gage for hours—but the general says it’s out of his hands.”
Laddie did know that to be true, for she had gone straight to the Winslow house and asked Charles point blank what he was doing to get Nathan out of jail. He had stared at her, a haggard look in his eyes, and said wearily, “I’ve not slept a wink since he was taken—and I’ve used all the influence I have to get him out—but they’re determined to make an example of him, Laddie. I’ve done all I can!”
She had left, and all day she had haunted the large building where the second story was used for a jail. In desperation she had gone inside and asked to see Nathan, claiming to be his brother, but the burly corporal had shaken his massive head, saying, “Not a bit of it! We got ’im clean, and we’re gonna ’ang the blighter at dawn! And we don’t mean ’e should cheat us by doin’ away with ’imself, either! So it’s no visitors ’cept them wot’s got a pass signed by the general his own self!” A tall officer in shirt sleeves, his red coat hanging on a peg, looked up from across the room, where he sat idly reading a newspaper, then shrugged and looked back at the paper.
Laddie had left, noting carefully the details of the building. The room below was large, with several desks, but besides the corporal only two privates were on duty. That’s four in here—at least at night, she thought, then glanced at the stairs at the back of the room. No way to tell how many up there, she thought as she left.
All night she walked the streets, and the next day she listened to the talk in the taverns, and found out that Nathan’s hanging was to be a celebration of sorts. The Tories looked on it as an example for other traitors, and she heard bets made as to whether he would break his neck in the fall or die of strangulation, kicking wildly.
Her mind raced madly, and fear was a metallic taste in her mouth. If only his father were here! she thought. But there was no time. Finally in the early afternoon she passed by a church, and some impulse drove her to enter and take a seat in the dark recesses. A few candles burned on a table in the front, and a few people sat quietly with their heads bowed. She didn’t even know what sort of church it was, but that didn’t seem to matter.
The quiet soaked into her, and her fear lost some of its piercing sting as she began to pray. It was a strange time for her, for like most, she had always prayed calmly, rather routinely. But desperation numbed her now, and she began to weep, her chest heaving and great choking sobs racking her body. There was no eloquence, no fine phrase. Help, O Lord! Oh, God, have mercy! Over and over she cried out, as if she were dying herself. Never had she experienced such a paroxysm of grief and terror, and she remembered once what Rev. Zachariah Kelly had said in a sermon: “Men only seek God out of desperation.” Now she knew it was so.
Finally her sobs ceased; suddenly a strange peace seemed to fill her mind, and the exhaustion and fear faded. She heard no voices and there was no mystic vision, but a passage of Scripture quietly drifted into her mind. At first she ignored it, thinking only of Nathan, but it came back, not once but several times:
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even my enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.
The words were very familiar, for they had been the favorite verses of her pastor, Rev. Kelly. Many times he had quoted the entire twenty-seventh psalm from the pulpit, and she seemed to hear his voice as the words continued to flow through her spirit:
Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path because of mine enemies. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the
Lord.
She got to her feet and left the church, and there was no trace of fear in her. As she made her way through the streets, she repeated the words: “Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path because of mine enemies.”
And there was still no fear in Laddie as she stood before Abigail and said, “There’s not much time. They’re going to hang him in the morning.” She had come to the Howland residence because no other course had occurred to her. She had never been a believer in visions and dreams, but as she walked the streets after leaving the church, she somehow took the impulse to go to see Abigail as part of the “way” that she felt God was going to show her.
Abigail was trembling, and she collapsed on the sofa, moaning. “I’ve tried to help! Can’t you understand that? I’ve had my father practically on his knees begging General Gage—and it’s no use.”
“Have you seen him?”
“I—wanted to. I even had Father get me a pass from General Gage!” She leaped up and ran to the desk. Picking up a sealed envelope, she held it up, then threw it back on the desk with a groan. “But Mother won’t hear of it!”
“So it’s no visitors ’cept them wot’s got a pass signed by the general his own self!”
The words of the corporal echoed in her ears, and in that instant she knew what she had to do! There was no dreary planning, no wrestling with details; it sprang into her mind fully formed, and with a leap of her heart she remembered the words “ . . . lead me in a plain path.”
The Gentle Rebel Page 19