In the Days of Washington: A Story of the American Revolution

by F. S. Brereton

  CHAPTER IV

  IN WHICH NATHAN'S MILITARY CAREER VERY NEARLY TERMINATES

  Within a few days Nathan was thoroughly accustomed to his new life, andthough the weather turned bitter and freezing, giving him a taste of thehardships the army had endured before his arrival, he felt no longing ordesire to return to the comfortable guardianship of Cornelius De Vries.

  On the contrary, he took pride in showing that he could endure therigors and duties of camp-life as unflinchingly as the older and veteransoldiers. His pluck and boyish good nature quickly made him a favoritewith officers and men alike. He was always ready to help a comrade, orto assume tasks that did not properly belong to him. Without a murmur hedid picket-duty by day or night, in rain and snow and freezing cold. Hemade light of the poor and scanty food that was served out to him, andwhen he lay awake shivering for want of sufficient covering, hisbed-fellows heard never a word of complaint from his lips.

  Thus a week passed, and the lad's heroic and steadfast performance ofduty was all the more praiseworthy because he was hourly tortured byfears for his father's life. The result of Captain Stanbury's wound wasstill uncertain. He was delirious and in a high fever, and none but thehospital attendants and surgeons were permitted to see him. He wasreceiving the best care and treatment possible under the circumstances,and his vigorous constitution was a strong point in his favor; but untilthe crisis was reached the issue could not be foretold. Not only theWyoming men, but many others as well, longed and prayed for the gallantcaptain's recovery. Washington sent twice daily to inquire for him, andon several occasions spoke a few words of comfort and hope to Nathan inperson.

  In the meantime the lad had written to Cornelius De Vries, and theletter, together with certain official dispatches to patriot friends inPhiladelphia, was delivered by a trusty messenger. The latter, on hisreturn to camp, brought papers for Washington and a reply to Nathan'sletter. Of necessity the worthy Hollander wrote briefly, yet what he hadto say was full of interest. He expressed deep sorrow for CaptainStanbury's critical illness, and while he showed that he was sorry tolose Nathan and missed him greatly, he took pains to give the lad somegood advice suitable for a soldier's career. Referring to the memorablenight at the Indian Queen, he stated that Anthony Benezet and TimothyMatlack had escaped to the lower floor of the tavern in the darkness andconfusion that followed the pursuit of Nathan, and that Jenkins hadconcealed them in the cellar until the danger was over. "Major Langdonwas slightly wounded in the arm," a postscript added, "by the bulletthat shattered his lantern."

  A few words must be said here concerning Mr. Noah Waxpenny. Thatpeculiar individual did not appear again at the Indian Queen. Beingunder the impression that the information given him was true, and thatMajor Langdon was not in the town, he took up temporary quarters at theCross Keys Inn on Chestnut Street. For several days he was occupied inmaking sly inquiries about Richard Stanbury and a certain other person,with what success will appear further on in the story. Then, stilltaking it for granted that Major Langdon was not in Philadelphia, he setout for Long Island in search of him. But on reaching New York he wasprostrated by illness resulting from a heavy cold, and in that city helay on his back for weeks, unable to give any attention to the task thathad brought him to America.

  A few days after the receipt of Cornelius De Vries's letter, and whileCaptain Stanbury was still hovering between life and death, Nathan metwith an adventure which very nearly terminated fatally, but which raisedhim even higher in the estimation of the commander-in-chief. To his ownquick wits and courage he owed his escape, but in after life he couldnever recall that night without a shudder.

  Driven by necessity to make use of a power granted him by Congress,Washington had issued a proclamation to all the farmers withinseventy miles of Valley Forge--they were mostly Tories in theirsympathies--ordering them to thresh out as much grain as might bedemanded, and at short notice, under penalty of having their whole stockseized as straw. Requisitions were first made on the farmers living at adistance, while those in the vicinity of the camp were prudently lefttill the last. Among the latter was a certain Jacob Troup, a man knownto be loyal to the Americans, and the owner of a large barn stocked withthe previous summer's crop of wheat and oats. His turn came during thethird week in February, and as the farm was close to camp, and Troup hadthree or four hirelings in his employ, a lot of confiscated grain wasbrought there to be threshed at the same time with his own.

  For three days the work went on, the greater portion of the grainaccumulating in the loyal farmer's granary preparatory to being cartedto camp. But, late in the afternoon of the fourth day, Washingtonreceived word that a force of British cavalry had been seen withintwenty miles of Valley Forge, and this news, considered in connectionwith a well-founded rumor that spies were, or had been, within thelines, led him to take prompt measures to secure the large store ofgrain.

  For this duty twenty men of the Wyoming Company were detailed, andBarnabas Otter and Nathan were of the number. So many of the officerswere sick or disabled that the command of the little party fell to thelot of Corporal Dubbs. Shortly after supper they formed in the companystreet and marched quietly through the camp, heading southwest towardPhiladelphia. They passed out of the lines between Knox's batteries andWoodford's redoubt, from which point the farmhouse of Jacob Troup wasrather more than a mile distant.

  It was as bitter and stormy a night as the army at Valley Forge couldremember in all that winter. That morning a brief thaw had beensucceeded by a cold snap, which formed a hard crust on the snow thatthickly covered the ground. Since afternoon fresh snow had been falling,and now the flakes were coming down in a dense, fine mass. Aided by acutting wind drifts were gathering here and there, and it was impossibleto see more than a few yards in any direction. The cold was stillintense.

  Under these circumstances the thinly-clad and poorly-shod men sufferedgreatly as they marched on in the teeth of the storm, leading with themfour horses that were to haul the grain to camp in the farmer's bigsledge. But not a word of complaint was uttered. The thought that thesuccess of their mission meant bread for the army kept their spirits up,and like true heroes they faced the cold and snow. No doubt the bravefellows longed for a fight to heat their blood, but there was littlechance that any of the British would be hovering near on such a night asthis.

  On they went, holding their musket-stocks with numbed fingers. In ablack line they straggled through the storm, up hill and down, acrosspatches of timber and low scrub, now knee-deep in fresh snow-drifts, nowplodding over the wind-swept crust beneath. At last the leader gave theword to halt. It was in a hollow partly sheltered from the wind, andstraight ahead, toward Philadelphia, the snowy landscape merged duskilyinto the night. To the left a narrow lane led fifty yards to the farmbuildings of Jacob Troup. Word of the coming had been sent to him, and acheery light was flashing in house and barn.

  "All's well," declared Corporal Dubbs. "I expected nothing else, for theBritishers ain't the kind of chaps to stir from their warm fires in suchweather. But precautions won't go amiss, and I'm going to post half adozen pickets to watch while the rest of us load the grain."

  Accordingly he selected two men, and gave them orders to advance to theleft and take their stand on a road that lay some distance to the rearof the farm buildings. "Amos Brown," he said, "you and Tom Relyea marchin the opposite direction--off here to the right--and keep on till youcome to the road that leads to the Schuylkill beyond Valley Creek."

  The corporal now turned to Barnabas Otter, pointing one numbed handstraight ahead to the southwest, in a direction at right angles to thoseindicated to the other sentries. "Comrade, you know who lives overyonder?" he asked.

  "Abner Wilkinson," replied Barnabas. "I've seen the place often. Theowner is a rank Tory."

  "Ay, he's said to be," admitted the corporal, "and I reckon opinion isright. He certainly looked mighty sour when we stript him of his grainand stock. Well, to proceed, just back of Abner Wilkinson's barn is abroad lane that connects further
on with the main highway fromPhiladelphia. It's bordered by woods, and if the enemy come at all,they'll likely come that way. So you post yourself on that little hilloverlooking the road beyond the barn--it's not much over a quarter of amile from here. Nathan Stanbury will go with you as far as the orchardthis side of the house, and that's where I want him to stay. Do youunderstand?"

  "Ay, ay, sir," assented Barnabas.

  "And you, lad?"

  "Yes, I understand," said Nathan. "I'm to mount guard at the edge of theorchard."

  "Exactly; and keep an eye on the house. I'm telling you this because ofthe rumors about spies being in camp. The family are living inPhiladelphia, and Abner Wilkinson is said to be there too. But I've mydoubts about that, and you and Barnabas may learn something to-night ifyou're wide-awake."

  The six pickets had stepped to the front as their names were called, andCorporal Dubbs now addressed them collectively in a few brief words."These precautions are no more than my duty warrants," he said. "Asoldier never knows what's going to happen. As for the posts I'veassigned you to--why, I don't believe General Washington himself couldimprove on 'em. If the enemy come they won't find us napping, andthere'll be plenty of time to save the grain. In case all goes well youcan leave your places in about half an hour from the time you get there.Should one of you discover the British he will fire his musket, and thenyou must all fall back. The report will reach us over here, and willgive us a chance to get the grain into the lines. Now off with you, andbe spry about it."

  The corporal gave the word to march, and his fourteen men and fourhorses followed him down the lane toward the farm-house. The sixpickets, trudging off by twos, quickly vanished in the darkness and thestorm. Side by side Nathan and Barnabas struck over the open field, anda tramp of a quarter of a mile brought them to the crest of a slightridge, from whence they saw the Tory farmer's house and barn loomingmistily out of the snow at a distance of four hundred yards. The windnow had a clean sweep at them, and the snow cut their faces like sleetas they pushed on down the slope. They felt their limbs growing numb,and half of the time they had to close their eyes. At length, pantingand exhausted, they reached the welcome shelter of the orchard, and wereout of the worst of the storm. For several minutes they crouched in asnow-drift on the farther side of the fence to recover breath and toreconnoiter. But there was no sign of danger--so far as they could seeor hear. The house, looming close by, had a dreary and desolate lookwith its shuttered windows below and its black squares of glass above.

  "I reckon there's nobody in yonder," said Barnabas, his teethchattering as he spoke. "I sort of agreed with the corporal thatAbner Wilkinson might be lurking about, but I daresay he's keepingsnug in Philadelphia."

  "Yes, that's more likely," assented Nathan. "And I don't believe thattroop of cavalry is anywhere near."

  "Perhaps not," replied Barnabas, "but if they are, it'll fall to my lotto spy 'em. I must be going now, lad. Just you stay right here, and besure to keep moving a bit, else you'll get numbed and drop over asleepin the snow. If you hear the crack of my weapon don't wait--cut and runfor Troup's place."

  "And if I fire you'll hurry this way?" asked Nathan.

  "Of course, lad; but there's no danger of you givin' an alarm. If theBritish are prowlin' about I'll be the first to see 'em."

  With this Barnabas shouldered his musket and trudged off. His tallfigure grew dimmer and dimmer amid the flurrying snow-flakes, and he wasout of sight before he had reached the farther end of the orchard.

  A sudden feeling of loneliness now oppressed Nathan, and with it came anunaccountable suspicion of danger. He looked warily up the bare, whitehillside toward the Troup farm, and then he trudged across the orchardin the opposite direction. Looking from the fence past the end of thebarn, he could vaguely make out against the sky-line the rounded andwooded little hill on top of which Barnabas was to mount guard. It wasvery nearly a quarter of a mile distant. Coming back to his formerpost, he riveted his eyes on the house. It faced toward the barn, andthe side wall was directly opposite him, separated by a thirty footstrip of yard. He half expected to see one of the shutters thrown open,or to hear the sound of voices from within.

  But, as the minutes slipped by, and only the moaning of the wind brokethe silence of the night, the lad grew ashamed of his fears. The bittercold was the only enemy he had to contend with. His bare ears and handspained him terribly, and a slight sensation of drowsiness warned himthat he must keep moving. So he stood his musket against a big appletree, wrapping a rag around the flint and pan to protect them from thedamp, and began to pace up and down the narrow angle of the orchard. Hecontinued this for a quarter of an hour, stopping occasionally to lookand listen, until his feet had trodden a well-defined path between thetrees. Feeling the need of more violent exercise, he rapidly folded andunfolded his arms for a few minutes, and then, fastening his hands on abig limb overhead, he repeatedly drew his chin up to a level with it.When he had warmed himself comfortably by these means he shouldered hismusket and stepped to the fence.

  "Why don't Barnabas come?" he said half aloud. "I've surely been herehalf an hour, and that was the limit. By this time the grain ought to beall loaded and on the way to camp. I wouldn't mind the cold if there wasany fighting going on, but this sentry duty in winter is the worst partof a soldier's life. And I am anxious to get back to see how my fatheris--"

  The sentence was stifled on the lad's lips, and he very nearly uttered asharp cry. For just then, under one of the shuttered windows of thehouse, he saw a flash of yellow light. It was visible for a few seconds,and then it vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared.

  Nathan felt a cold shiver run down his back. "Did I imagine that light?"he asked himself, "or is there some one in the house?"

  The next instant he was crouching low behind the fence, every nervequivering with excitement, and his musket trembling in his hands. He hadmade another startling discovery, and one that was too real to bedoubted. The dark figure of a man was approaching the rear of the housefrom the direction of the American lines, and it was only too evidentthat he was not one of Corporal Dubbs's sentries. On he came through thedrifted snow, stepping quickly but stealthily, and turning his head fromright to left.

  Nathan aimed his musket through the fence. "A spy!" he muttered. "He'sjust been to the camp! Shall I shoot?" putting his finger to thetrigger. "No, I have a better plan. He's going to the house, and therehe'll be trapped."

  The lad was right. A moment later the crouching figure had gained therear wall and was lost to sight. A door was heard to softly open andclose.

  Nathan watched and listened in vain. For half a minute he hesitated.Should he hurry off to bring Barnabas, or should he first endeavor tolearn who was in the house? The thought that he might, after all, bemistaken decided him. Holding his musket ready for instant use helightly scaled the fence, and waded through the snow to the side wall ofthe house. He crept to the rear angle, cautiously peeped around, andthen boldly turned it. A few steps brought him to the door, and hediscovered it was open a few inches. The wind had evidently done this,the latch having failed to drop into its socket.

  Nathan stood at attention, outwardly cool and alert in spite of hisinward excitement. All was black behind the crevice, but he could hearfaint voices at a distance. The temptation was too strong to beresisted, and with a sudden impulse he carefully pushed the door fartheropen and stepped into what seemed to be a wide hall. Looking to the lefthe saw another door. This also was open an inch or two, and in thelighted room to which it led two persons were talking in low and eagertones.

  "I've got to find out who's in there," the lad resolved. Holding hisgun in front of him he advanced with a cat-like tread. Happily the barefloor did not creak under him, and his ragged shoes were so full of snowthat they made no noise. He reached the door, halted, and peeredanxiously through the crack.

  What he saw was a small room, scantily furnished with a bed, two chairs,and a table. A lamp was burning dimly on a shelf, and every crevice ofthe one w
indow was stuffed with rags to keep the light from showingoutside--a precaution that had not been entirely successful.

  In the chair beside the table sat a bearded, harsh-looking man, whocould be none other than Abner Wilkinson himself; he was wrapped in aheavy cloak and held a hat in his hand. Near by stood the man who hadjust entered the house. He was young and smooth-shaven, with a handsomebut sinister countenance. He was hurriedly exchanging his snowy and wetgarments for a uniform of green faced with white--the uniform, as Nathanwell knew, of the Tory soldiers of the British army.

  The lad saw all this at a brief glance, and then he listened keenly tothe conversation. "I wouldn't have done what you did for a king'sransom," Abner Wilkinson was saying. "Man, you took your life in yourhands--"

  "But I got what I wanted," the other interrupted, calmly, "and now thatI have them safe we had better be off at once. There's no telling whatwill happen if the loss is discovered, as it may be at any moment."

  "It's a bad night to travel on foot," said Abner Wilkinson. "Don't youthink we might wait till morning? There's no danger of your being tracedhere, for the snow will cover your footsteps--"

  "But not right away. I tell you we're in danger, and the sooner we startthe better. Have you got those other papers ready?"

  "Yes, Captain," the Tory farmer answered; and he stepped toward a closetat the end of the room.

  Out in the dark hall Nathan trembled with excitement. "They havepapers," he said to himself, "and the one in uniform has been spying inour lines. They mustn't get away."

  Just then Abner Wilkinson turned around from the closet, holding apacket in his hand. "Here they are, Captain," he said.

  "Put them in your pocket," replied the officer. "They may be asimportant as those I have. Are you ready to start? We'll go as soon asMawhood comes back. I'm beginning to feel worried about him."

  "Oh, he'll be in presently," said Wilkinson, "unless he's lost hisbearings in the storm--"

  Nathan trembled with sudden fear, missing the rest of the sentence."There's another spy," he reflected, "and he's outside somewhere. Thesetwo are waiting for him. Whew! what a scrape I'm in! There's no time tolose if I want to get away."

  He turned cautiously around to retreat, and even as he did so the floorcreaked and he saw a dark object between himself and the outer door. Thenext instant, as he made a headlong dash for liberty, a strong armencircled him and a hand clutched his throat. The lad's musket fellwith a crash, and he struggled hard to break loose. But his efforts werefutile. In less time than it takes to tell he was dragged, bruised andhalf-choked, into the room. Abner Wilkinson was trembling with fright ina far corner, and the officer had drawn a sword and a pistol. With anoath he reached for the lamp, evidently intending to blow it out.

  "Stop, sir; you needn't do that," cried Nathan's captor, who was a burlyBritisher in plain dress. "There's only one of 'em, and I've got himsafe. He must have crept into the house a bit ago, for he was listeningat yonder door when I spied him." He released the lad's throat, and heldhim out at arm's length.

  The officer glared at Nathan. "Are you sure there are no more, Mawhood?"he demanded hoarsely.

  "Quite sure, Captain," the man replied. "There's a party of rebelsremoving the grain from Troup's farm back across the hill, and this chapwas posted here as an advance picket. There are no others in theneighborhood, for I've been all around the house. But I would advisegetting away just as quick as possible--"

  "Yes, yes, let's start at once!" interrupted Abner Wilkinson, who waspale with fright. "We will be hung if we are caught."

  "We must attend to the prisoner first," said the officer. "Who are you?"he added to the lad. "Why did you come in here?"

  Nathan tightened his lips and made no reply.

  "Do you hear?" thundered the officer. "Answer my questions! Were youlistening at the door while we talked? Are any more of your rebelfriends posted in the neighborhood?"

  "I won't tell you, sir," the lad replied firmly.

  "You won't?" cried the officer. "Well, if you did it wouldn't help youany now. I'm going to hang you, my fine fellow."

  "Yes, hang the dog," exclaimed the Tory farmer. "I'll show you how." Hedarted to the closet and produced a coil of heavy rope. The soldierquickly seized this in obedience to a signal from his officer, threw oneend over a thick beam of the ceiling, and deftly looped the other end.Swish! the fatal noose settled on Nathan's neck, and was tightened by ajerk.

  The lad stood firm, but in a few seconds a thousand thoughts seemed toflit through his throbbing brain. He thought of Philadelphia, ofCornelius De Vries, of his father lying sick in the hospital--of all hispast life. He realized that there was no hope for him. Even should heshout, Barnabas and the other sentries were too far away to hear him.

  Mawhood stood face to face with Nathan at a distance of a couple offeet. The end of the rope was twisted in both his hands, and the officerwas close alongside of him. The latter pulled out a watch. "I'll giveyou twenty seconds to pray," he said, "and then up you go."

  "Don't murder me," Nathan begged hoarsely. "I've done nothing to deservedeath."

  "You're a dog of a rebel," was the brutal answer, "and that's enough.Ten seconds gone."

  The lad glanced at the mocking and merciless faces of his enemies,hardly realizing his doom, and then a ray of hope flashed suddenly tohis bewildered brain. His hands had fortunately been left untied, and ashe saw a huge pistol protruding from the soldier's belt decision andaction were almost simultaneous. A rapid snatch, and the barrel of theweapon was between his fingers. As quickly the butt crushed withstunning force on Mawhood's temple, and over he went like a log, therope slipping from his nerveless fingers.

  Back Nathan sprang with a shout, and reversing and cocking the pistol heturned it on the officer. The latter already had his own pistol out andleveled, but when the hammer fell only a sharp click followed. With anoath he dodged to one side, and his agility saved his life. The lad'sbullet barely grazed him, and struck Abner Wilkinson, who was directlyin range. With a shrill cry the Tory farmer fell to his knees and thentoppled over on his back.

  The report was terrific and seemed to shake the very house. The powdersmoke hid the scene for a moment, and then it cleared sufficiently toreveal the officer in the act of drawing his sword. There was no time tohesitate, and Nathan dashed at him before he could lift the weapon for athrust. The two grappled, swayed fiercely for a few moments, and thencame heavily to the floor. Over and over they rolled in a tight embrace,the officer cursing most savagely, and Nathan shouting at the top of hisvoice.

  The struggle lasted but a short time, though to the combatants it seemeda long while. The lad was the weaker of the two, and he realized that hemust soon succumb. But he fought on, gasping hard for breath, and justwhen his hold was relaxing there came a rush of feet and a loud shout.

  The faithful Barnabas had arrived, and without an instant's delay hehauled the officer away from his intended victim. Nathan was able toassist, and between the two the desperate Britisher was overpowered andhis arms were bound behind him with the rope that had so nearly endedthe plucky lad's life. Abner Wilkinson was just breathing his last, andthe soldier Mawhood was beginning to show signs of returningconsciousness.

  "The shot brought me here in time," exclaimed Barnabas. "But what doesit all mean, lad?"

  Before Nathan could reply a muffled clatter of hoofs was heard from therear of the house, followed by the shrill whinny of a horse. Barnabasand the lad exchanged startled glances, but they quickly discovered thatthey had no cause for alarm. The next instant half a dozen soldiers inthe uniform of Washington's bodyguard surged into the room, and withthem, muffled in a heavy cloak, was General Washington himself.

  "Gentlemen, we appear to have come too late," remarked thecommander-in-chief. "I think that is the spy yonder." Then he asked forexplanations, and Nathan briefly and clearly told the whole story.

  "You have done well," said Washington. "Search that man at once," headded, pointing to the prisoner.

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p; Barnabas did so, and speedily produced a thick bundle of papers.Washington took them eagerly, glanced over them, and then thrust theminto his bosom.

  "These were stolen from a chest in my private room but half an hourago," he said. "The thief entered the window by means of a tree, and Isuppose the storm enabled him to pass the sentries. Fortunately the losswas discovered a few moments afterward, and before the snow had coveredthe man's tracks sufficiently to prevent us from following him. Theimportance and value of the papers cannot be exaggerated, and I amindeed fortunate to recover them."

  Washington now ordered Abner Wilkinson to be searched. The Tory wasquite dead, having been shot through the heart, and in his pocket werefound minute plans and data relating to the camp, showing that the manmust have made numerous excursions within the lines.

  As there was possible danger of a surprise by British cavalry, thewhole party speedily left the house, taking the two prisoners with them,but leaving the body of the Tory behind. Mawhood and the officer refusedto speak, and they sullenly submitted to be mounted behind a couple ofthe troopers. Barnabas and Nathan trudged behind the little processionto the house of Jacob Troup, where they found Corporal Dubbs and his menin a state of excitement induced by the pistol shot. The other sentrieshad come in, and the grain was already far on its way to camp. An hourlater all who had participated in the night's adventure were sleepingsoundly in their quarters, and the two prisoners were pacing restlesslyup and down the narrow confines of the guard-house, with the spectre ofthe hangman's noose dangling over them.

  The following day Nathan was summoned to headquarters, where Washingtonthanked him for the great service he had performed and complimented himhighly on his pluck and bravery. This gave the lad keen pleasure, but itwas as nothing compared to the joy he felt a week later, when hisfather passed the crisis and began to recover. His convalescence lasteda long time, and during that period Nathan did not venture to excite orworry his father by telling him of the visit of Mr. Noah Waxpenny to theIndian Queen. And when at last Captain Stanbury had entirely recovered,the lad had come to regard the affair as hardly worth speaking of.

  Brief mention must be made of the two men captured in the farm-house ofAbner Wilkinson. The officer turned out to be Captain Conway, of theTory troop of horse known as the Queen's Rangers, and Mawhood was aprivate of the same force. Death by hanging would certainly have beentheir punishment had they not made a desperate attempt to escape shortlybefore being brought to trial. Mawhood did succeed in eluding the guardsand getting out of the camp, but Captain Conway was riddled withmusket-balls and killed instantly.