“I’ll do my part in that fighting,” vowed Fesso, his mood of despair melting with every moment. “I’ll do what I can to help those that’s helped me.”
“And now, suppose we stay here tonight and wait for Cy Cole,” went on Zack. “We’ll all three take turns watching. Fesso can borrow Cy’s gun and stand a watch for part of the night. We’ll douse the fire when the sun sets, and keep quiet.”
Night came. Andy volunteered to take the first tour of guard duty. Zack lay down and slept soundly on a carpetlike heap of pine needles. He woke to the touch of a hand, and heard Fesso’s soft voice.
“Somebody coming, sir,” said Fesso. “I heard a noise like an owl, but it’s different from a real owl.”
Zack sat up. He listened. A long-drawn hooting cry sounded in the distance.
“Wake up, Andy,” Zack said, nudging his friend with a moccasined foot. “I think Cy’s coming in.”
The three waited, rifles in hand. Yet again came the owl call, skillfully done. Fesso’s ear must be good, and his knowledge of wild sounds great, to suspect it. Zack raised his own voice, hooting in response.
Then came the plodding sound of hoofs. Cy was riding in and dismounting.
“You’re safe,” Zack said happily, and reached for Cy’s hand in the darkness.
“Safe for the time being, yes. But I fear things are in sorry case for our people.”
“What happened?”
They sat around the ashes of the fire, and Cy told them.
He had come to the Tory camp without mishap, and had been challenged and taken to Colonel Moore. His story of bringing a message from the detail with the British arms had been accepted. The Tories had given him a good supper of beef stew and white bread, said Cy, and added that apparently Moore’s men were well supplied with food.
“Taken from patriots nearby,” judged Zack sourly. “What about Moore’s numbers?”
Cy had been able to make a good estimate. He thought that fully eight hundred men had eaten in camp that evening, and he had heard that the hundred pursuing McDowell still remained absent, as well as several other groups. In all, Moore’s boasted goal of a thousand had been reached, as Cy judged.
“They were hospitable to me,” he went on. “There was talk of what a brave soldier I’d make for the King, and what rewards I’d win. Then, suddenly, there came a challenge, and after that there was excitement out on the edge of things. And into camp rolled three wagons, with mounted men guarding them.”
“The arms,” exclaimed Andy.
“Aye, the arms. Colonel Moore came to examine them, and said that there were enough for all his men who had not brought their own guns. I heard him say that he would look forward to sweeping over the country in two weeks and snaking every rebel—and how he sneered out that word! — sick of rebellion. Then he asked somebody to find him that man who had brought false news of the delay of the wagons.”
“He meant you,” said Zack.
“True enough, he meant me. But I knocked one man down with a stick of firewood, and shoved another one away from my horse, and jumped on and rode away. Three shot at me, but it was dark and they missed. And here I am.”
Zack knit his brows in the night. “This news must go to Captain Martin,” he said soberly. “Bad as it is, he must have it and pass it on. But one of us will have to stay and watch—”
“Alack,” interrupted Andy, “now they know Cy, and if I stay they will be suspicious of me. What shall we do?”
“Young sirs,” said Fesso, strongly and confidently, and they turned toward him.
“They won’t pay mind to me,” he said. “I’ll do your spying.”
“What about those who burned your master’s house?” argued Zack. “They’ll remember you.”
“No,” insisted Fesso. “Didn’t I say they barely noticed me? They never notice my sort of folk. All the better for spying on them.”
“I think he’s right, Zack,” judged Andy.
“I’m not a fool, young sirs,” Fesso said earnestly. “My old master, Mr. Tom’s father, taught me to read and write and cipher. I can hunt and follow tracks in the woods. I’ll do your spying for you, and you can send to ask my news at Mr. Adam Reep’s.”
“Agreed,” said Zack, and his young hand caught Fesso’s old one.
“We’d better leave at dawn,” said Cy.
“No, we leave now,” amended Zack. “There’s still half a moon up, enough to start us on our way. We’ll lead our horses until it’s light enough to ride. But first, let’s share our rations with Fesso here, he has not a crumb to eat while he seeks out Adam Reep’s home.”
They produced their little bundles of food and made up a package for Fesso. Again Zack shook the old man’s hand.
“We part now, and soon I hope to hear what you learn about the Tories,” said Zack. “Freedom, Fesso. That’s what we’re working and fighting for.”
“Freedom,” repeated Fesso. “It’s a word with a good sound, young sir. I can’t tell you how good it sounds in my ears.”
11 Flag of the Free
Zack and his comrades reached their company once more, not long after noon. They found that Captain Martin had added five recruits to his roll, and that the men were parching dried corn over their fires in preparation for new adventures in the field.
“Parched corn may seem to defy the teeth, but the Indians thrive on it and so shall we,” said Lieutenant Freeland, as he greeted Zack. “With a bit of sweetness it sustains a man for days as he fights or hunts, and even now some of the boys say they have found a bee tree. You can help rob that tree, but first Captain Martin waits yonder for your report.”
Martin beckoned Zack, who joined him and saluted. They walked apart from the others, and Zack told his story of the scouting trip and its results.
“This is grave intelligence, Harper,” said Martin, when Zack had finished, “but you have been both wise and brave in what you have said and done. I am pleased in particular with what you persuaded Mr. Reuben Sloan to do.”
“He fears that he may have the cannon finished and ready for the British to take ere we move against them,” said Zack.
“Then he must finish those cannon before the month is gone,” was the captain’s reply. “If Moore is recruiting, so are we. Today is Wednesday, the seventh of June, and General Rutherford, who prepares to march from Charlotte to join us, will go looking for Moore in good time before Cornwallis makes his way hither. Now sit while I take ink and pen and write down your words to send on to Colonel Dickson.”
Martin knelt beside a square-cut stump, which served for a desk. Zack repeated again the figures and other details he had gathered, and the names of those who had given the information.
“Do not forget Fesso, who will be our scout in those parts while we gather strength,” Zack ventured.
Martin glanced up from his writing. “You seem to set great store by this Fesso,” he said. “Yet, as you tell me, he is but an old homeless slave, without master or habitation or aught on which he may rely.”
“He relies on himself, Captain,” was Zack’s prompt reply. “His heart is strong and wise. He is loyal to his master, and to us. He knows that he fights for freedom.”
“Then he deserves to win it. Come, I want Freeland and the sergeants to hear your tale, too.”
For the third time Zack repeated his adventures to Martin’s subordinates, and then he was told that he need do no guard duty that day or the next. He strolled with Matthew Leeper and Andy Berry to where the bee tree had been found. It was a broad-trunked beech with a great dark hollow some twelve feet up, and several others of the company stood around it, peering at the hollow. As Zack came close he could hear the humming of bees within.
“There must be a whole nation of sweetening inside,” said one of the group. “We started to chop it down, but the bees came out like a regiment of Tarleton’s horse with drawn swords, and we got stung for our pains.”
“Smoke them out first,” said Andy.
“Aye, but
how?” challenged another. “Who is so hardy as to climb up there with a smudge fire?”
“I’ll get the fire up to them,” Andy promised. “Where’s a tall lean sapling? Yonder, one of those young persimmons will do. Lend me your tomahawk, Zack, it’s better edged than mine.”
Swiftly Andy felled and trimmed the persimmon pole, and to its tip lashed a big bundle of dried grass and flakes of bark. From several of his comrades he borrowed tobacco, and crumbled handfuls of it in among the folds of the grass.
“This will do to begin with,” he said.
“To begin with?” repeated Zack. “I think I see your method, Andy. Let’s make another to finish with.”
“Exactly,” Andy approved, and they cut another sapling and generously tufted its end with more grass and bark, mingled with tobacco. Then Andy took the first pile and stood close to the tree beneath the hollow. He held the grass-clumped end toward Matthew Leeper.
“Set fire to it,” he said, and Matthew scraped away with flint and steel. The grass blazed up, sending off clouds of rank smoke, and instantly Andy raised it and thrust it into the hollow.
The hum within grew loud and furious. “Be ready with the other!” cried Andy, and Zack poised the second stick, while Matthew prepared to ignite it on order. Up above them a dancing scurry of bees made off through the churning fumes..
“Now!” said Andy, and Matthew struck sparks into Zack’s torch. It, too, blazed up and was lifted to send more smudge into the den of the bees, while Andy lowered his own sapling and quickly loaded its end with a new bale of grass. By the time Zack’s fire had burned out, Andy wasr ready to apply yet another. The humming grew softer inside the trunk, and faded away.
“We’ve sent them to sleep,” announced Andy triumphantly. “Now, cut down the tree ere they awaken and punish us.”
There were two axes, bigger and heavier than the light tomahawks, and a pair of sturdy-muscled choppers fairly blazed into action. The tree was cut from its roots and went toppling, and the honey hunters hurried to pry the hollow apart. Inside showed great dark combs, gleaming richly. In, triumph the party dragged out the dripping spoils, loaded. them on platter-like pieces of bark, and returned to camp amid whoops of delight.
That evening Captain Martin’s company made its supper on corn parched to crunchy crispness and dipped in wild honey pressed from the combs. It was sticky eating, but delicious.
“Don’t gorge yourselves,” Martin called out to his men. “Tomorrow may find us fighting or traveling, and I want no sorry stomachs among us.”
He had sent a messenger riding to Colonel Dickson’s headquarters, and the messenger returned after sundown with a written communication. Martin read it by the light of a fire, and then summoned his men to hear new orders.
“The work we have made contract to do is all but ready to our hands,55 he announced. “General Rutherford will move from Charlotte to Tuckaseege Ford, and Colonel Dickson bids us come to join the muster at his home by day after tomorrow. My friends, I will not hold from you the news that the enemy is numerous—perhaps greater in numbers than any force we can bring against him. Yet I have trust in your relish for a fight and the steadiness of your hearts, your eyes, and your hands.”
A cheer went up at that, and Martin lifted his hand to quiet it.
“I do thank you for that spirit, yet keep your voices down. We want no listeners from the Tory side to hear what we will do and how we relish doing it. Colonel Dickson bids us also to bring at least a week’s rations, and we have corn and honey, but we need meat. A good friend and neighbor of ours, loyal to the cause of liberty, has sent word that we can come to him tomorrow for supplies of beef.55
“Who, Captain?” asked Lieutenant Freeland.
“Mr. John Prothero.”
Zack started, ever so slightly, at the name.
“Therefore we march tomorrow morning early, and turn aside to the Prothero plantation. We stop there for the meat, and then on to Tuckaseege.”
Next morning the men mounted and fell into column for the march. Freeland commanded it, and Martin rode ahead with Sergeant Campbell to the Prothero home.
By midmorning they rode up to the yard in front of the great pillared house. Martin stood on the porch beside Prothero, and Campbell met the company, directing the men to dismount and tie up their horses. Then: “Come forward and form two lines, one behind the other,” ordered Campbell.
They did so. Zack stood at one end of the first line, with Andy Berry next to him. They looked up expectantly at Captain Martin and John Prothero. To Zack, it seemed that the owner of the estate had a worn and worried look, but was determined. Martin smiled at the men. Prothero did not.
“My friends,” said Martin, “I have already thanked Mr. Prothero for his hospitality, and have asked him to speak to you.” He turned toward his companion. “Will you do so, sir?”
Prothero put his hands behind his tail-coated back, and looked along the line. His eyes came to rest on Zack.
“There is but one word for you,” he began, “and that word is welcome. These are grim days that have befallen us, and we must offer our lives in defense of our rights. England and England’s ruler must be fought. England’s power and might are tremendous. But it is America that is fighting, and America has fought and won against England ere this. Up north, the Americans under Washington have beaten the English under Howe and Burgoyne, and now they move this way to beat the English under Cornwallis.
“But before Washington can reach here to meet Cornwallis, I fear that we must meet Cornwallis ourselves. Your company is small, but it is brave, and it is one of many companies. I will go bail that every man of fighting age in our whole land has chosen one side or the other. And I believe that a battle will be fought here, or near here, that may well decide the war in the Southern States. Pray heaven that it is decided in our favor.”
“Amen,” said Martin solemnly, and, “Amen,” repeated someone behind Zack.
“I will give what I can,” continued Prothero. “There are ten cattle in my pens which I have been fattening for the market. They are yours, my friends, to take with you to the rendezvous of your army for provisions. And an eleventh has been slaughtered and is now roasting, behind this house, for your dinner. There is also another gift, if you will accept it.”
He walked to the front door and opened it. He looked into the hall within. “Grace, my dear?” he said.
Grace Prothero came out and stood beside him. She wore a full-skirted, snug-sleeved dress of blue silk, and in her hands she bore a flag on a staff. It was striped white and red, with blue in the upper corner. At her father’s gesture, she stepped forward to the steps.
“I offer you the flag of our country,” she said, and her voice, though quiet, carried to every man in the two lines. “I fear it is but poorly made. I sewed it myself, and would not let our servants help. I dare say it is the first American flag to be seen here on the South Fork. Can you all see it?”
Holding the staff in one hand, she caught the edge of the flag and spread it out. Zack had heard of the flag that Washington had caused to be made three years earlier, but he had only imagined how it might look.
“You see thirteen stripes, white and red, for our thirteen states,” Grace was saying. “And here, in the blue field, are thirteen stars for those same thirteen states.”
The stars were arranged in a circle of twelve, with the thirteenth in the center. Grace pointed to that central star.
“This,” she said, “is what I like to think of as our own state, North Carolina.”
“Will Zack Harper step forward to receive the flag?” spoke up Martin.
Zack handed his rifle to Andy and walked silently toward the porch. Grace came down the steps and stood before him.
“Carry it with honor, Zack,” she said, so softly that only he could hear, and put it in his hands.
He gripped the staff. “I venture to speak for my friends as for myself,” he said slowly. “We will follow this flag, and defend it so long a
s one of us is left alive to stand upon the field of battle.”
Turning, he walked back to his place at the end of the line. Then a cheer rose, loud and joyous, that fluttered the leaves of the trees. But Zack watched Grace, still standing at the bottom of the steps. She looked at him, then up at the flag he carried, then at him again. At last she smiled.
It was a sad smile. Zack thought that she was remembering her brother. But it was better than no smile at all.
They ate a hearty, savory dinner of hot roast beef served them by the Prothero servants, with floury sweet potatoes baked in the ashes. After that, the company made sport, with the Protheros and their retainers for an applauding audience. When wrestlers were called for, none wanted to compete with Zack, whose long hard limbs were the strongest and surest of all the company, but Sergeant Campbell and his brother staged a straining grapple, friendly but desperate, and the sergeant won. At last Martin ordered his company to horse. Zack, the flag in his hand, found time to speak a word aside with Grace.
“I have never had proper chance to thank you for seeking my brother and giving him my message,” she said. “Now let me bid you good luck as you go to battle. Please come back safely.”
“Surely you can say such things with only half a heart, Grace,” suggested Zack.
“No, my heart is wholly for American liberty,” she assured him. “I cannot wish, even for a moment, that Godfrey’s side wins. All I can wish is that he, too, lives through the fighting.”
“I wish the same,” Zack said earnestly. “I promise you that he’ll come to no harm through me.”
“I will pray that you and he do not come face to face in the war.”
He bowed, and went to mount his horse. He carried the flag beside Captain Martin at the head of the company. Others herded the ten cattle that were John Prothero’s gift.
In the evening they reached the muster grounds at Dickson’s estate. A dozen companies were there already, camped in the open air or under rough shelters of boughs and thatch. Colonel Dickson came in person to welcome them. He wore the blue and buff of a Continental officer, and he shook hands vigorously with Captain Martin.
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1961 Page 9