CHAPTER III
IN WHICH NATHAN BECOMES A SOLDIER
Nathan's sudden disappearance indicated that the bullet had struck himalso, but such was not the case. He knew the horse was shot the instantthe report rang out, and his object in bobbing under was twofold; toescape the animal's struggles and to deceive the soldier. Lettinghimself sink a few feet, he dived still deeper, and then swam beneaththe surface toward shore. In spite of his clothes he covered a gooddistance, and when lack of breath forced him to the top he was withinten yards of the bank.
The watchful and suspecting dragoon spied the lad at once, and announcedhis discovery to the rest of the party by a shout, as he picked up thepaddle and drove the boat nearer. On coming within the same range asbefore he snatched the musket from his dead or dying comrade, and againdrew a bead on his intended victim.
Just at this point, when he was nearly to the shore, Nathan looked backand saw his danger. He was all but exhausted, and he knew that he hadnot a ghost of a chance to escape. He was too weak even to dive, and fora terrible second or two, while his enemy made sure of his aim, heexpected instant death as he struggled feebly on.
But an undreamed of deliverance was at hand. From the near-by edge ofthe bank, in front of the lad, came a flash and a report. He glanced inbewilderment over his shoulder in time to see the murderous dragoon drophis unfired weapon and pitch head first into the water. The body sank atonce, and the boat drifted on in pursuit of the dead horse.
Nathan swam to shore, scarcely able to credit his good fortune, and nosooner had he planted his trembling feet on the bank than a stalwartfigure rose before him out of the gloom--a Hessian with bristlingmustache, a blue and yellow uniform, and a brass plate on his tall,black cap. He uttered a few angry words in German as he stared at thelad.
"You saved my life," said Nathan, who was quick to see how the land lay,"and I thank you for it."
"Och, I mean not to," the Hessian replied, in broken English. "I thinkyou vas a comrade whom I watch for. You are American, eh? And you escapefrom the British?"
"Yes," boldly admitted Nathan.
The Hessian hesitated a moment. "You come mit me," he said. "This nosafe place to stay."
Nathan was of the same mind, and he followed his companion up the bankand then into the woods, while the angry voices of the British dragoonsgrew faint in the rear. As they went along the Hessian explained that hehad deserted that evening, and was to have been joined by another manfrom his company. He had taken Nathan to be that expected comrade. "Iwill look for Hans no longer," he added. "He may be dead or captured."
"Why did you run away?" asked Nathan, who had a thorough contempt for adeserter.
The Hessian was not angered by the question.
"Vy should I not?" he replied. "I haf no quarrel mit the colonists, andI like not to fight mit King Shorge for hire. In my native Anspach I getleedle pay und poor foot. I like America, and I alretty spike thelanguage. Ach, is it not so?"
"Yes, you'll do," assented Nathan.
"I spike it better soon," the Hessian added. "And now vere you go?"
"To the American lines," Nathan answered. "I'll take you there if youwish."
"Nein, nein," the man replied; shaking his head vigorously. "Yourgeneral vill make me fight, und I haf enough of it. You go your vay undI go mit mine."
He was plainly unwilling to disclose his plans, and the lad did not careto press him. So, with a hearty hand-shake, they separated, the deserterstriding off toward the west, while Nathan turned northward.
To reach the Germantown Road from the lad's present location would havemeant a recrossing of the Schuylkill and a long detour out of hisnearest course--a plan not to be contemplated for a moment. Afterparting from the Hessian he squeezed the water out of his clothes, driedthe dispatches as much as he could, and then tramped for half an hourthrough the dark woods and open fields. Coming to a road that herecognized, he pushed on more rapidly, and was soon knocking at the doorof a loyal farm-house. Down came the proprietor, nightcap on head andgun in hand, and on learning what was wanted he willingly loaned the ladhis old mare and a pistol, on condition that both should be returnedwithin a day or two.
Nathan mounted in haste and rode off. Mile after mile slipped from underthe flying hoofs and no enemy barred the way. As dawn was breaking agruff voice challenged him, and he knew he had reached the outer picketlines at Valley Forge.
The lad was known by name and reputation, and after a short wait he wastaken in charge by an officer and conducted through the camp. There wasmuch of interest to be seen. The narrow streets were waking up to theday's activity, and ragged and starved-looking men were issuing from thelittle huts. Some were building fires and others carrying wood. Nightpickets, just released from duty, were stumbling sleepily toward theirquarters. Wan and hollow faces peeped from the windows of the hospitals,and here and there a one-legged soldier hobbled along on crutches.
Nathan and the officer presently reached the angle formed by thejunction of the Schuylkill River and Valley Creek, where stood the largestone house that served for headquarters. The sentries passed themthrough the yard, and thence into the dining-room of the house. Here,early as was the hour, the American commander sat at breakfast. With himwere two of his officers--Baron Steuben and General Knox.
"A messenger for you, General," said the lad's companion, LieutenantWills. "He left Philadelphia last night and had the hardest kind of atime to get through. I thought you had better see him at once."
With this the lieutenant left the room, and Washington drew his chair alittle out from the table. His grave and somewhat haggard face lit upwith a smile of welcome as he looked at Nathan.
"So you are here again, Master Stanbury," he said, "and what do youbring me this time?"
"Dispatches from Anthony Benezet, sir," replied Nathan, drawing theprecious packet from his bosom.
Washington opened the documents, and read them slowly and attentively.Then with a few eager and low-spoken words, he handed them to hiscompanions. They perused them in turn, and seemed impressed by thecontents.
"Most satisfactory indeed!" commented Baron Steuben.
"And highly important," added General Knox. "But the papers have beenwet."
"Yes, I observed that they were damp," said Washington. "How do youaccount for that, Master Stanbury? Why, my lad, you have surely been wetyourself! Am I not right?"
"You are right, sir," replied Nathan; and in a modest way he went on totell of his experiences. But Washington and his companions, perceivingthat more lay beneath the surface, asked question after question. Thus,by degrees, the whole of the lad's story was drawn from him, and hishearers learned in detail of the thrilling fight at the Indian Queen andthe subsequent perilous escape from the town.
Washington's look was more eloquent than words, and he impulsivelyclasped Nathan's hand. "My brave lad!" he exclaimed, "I am proud of you.Thank God that you came safely through such terrible dangers! I have notin my army a man who could have done better."
"Not one, General!" assented Baron Steuben. "There is not one with ashrewder head and a pluckier heart."
"The lad is a hero," cried General Knox. "I predict that he will beheard of in the future."
Nathan blushed at these outspoken tributes of praise. He had never knownsuch a happy moment, and he felt more than repaid for all he hadsuffered.
"My lad," said Washington, "I thank you in the name of the country. Youhave performed a great service, and the safe-keeping of these dispatchesmeans more than you can understand. Had they been captured by the enemy,many lives must have been forfeited. And what will you do now? You darenot return to Philadelphia at present."
"Sir, I wish to be a soldier," Nathan answered. "That is my desire aboveall things. But my father will not permit me to enlist."
"You will make a good soldier," declared Washington, after a thoughtfulpause. "No doubt an officer in time. We have need of such recruits." Hesummoned an aid from the adjoining room, and said to him: "Tell CaptainStanbur
y that I wish to see him at once."
The man departed on his errand, and, during the interval of waiting,Nathan was made to sit down at the table, and satisfy his keen hunger onthe breakfast prepared for Washington and his guests. Nathan's fatherpresently arrived--a big, handsome man, bronzed and bearded. He warmlyembraced the lad, and listened with mingled pride and alarm to thenarrative of his adventurous journey.
"You have a noble son, Captain Stanbury," said Washington. "One that youmay well be proud of. He tells me that his dearest wish is to serve hiscountry in the field."
Nathan fairly trembled with eagerness and suspense, and his fatherlooked soberly at the floor, evidently at a loss for a reply.
"Sir," he said, finally, "this is a hard thing you ask. The lad isyoung, and his education is still unfinished. And he is all I have inthe world."
"He has proved himself a man in discretion and bravery," repliedWashington. "After the events of last night it will not be safe for himto return to Philadelphia at present. And his country needs him--"
"His country shall have him, sir," cried Captain Stanbury. "Take theboy! I can no longer withhold my consent."
So the question was settled to Nathan's satisfaction and delight, and inall the camp that morning there was no heart so light and happy as his.That he had attained his dearest and long-wished-for ambition seemedalmost too good to be true, and it is to be feared that he felt butslight regrets at leaving his studies and the protecting care and homeof Cornelius De Vries.
He did not find an opportunity to tell his father of the mysteriousvisit of Mr. Noah Waxpenny to the Indian Queen, for Captain Stanbury anda small force of soldiers speedily and secretly left camp in thedirection of Philadelphia, no doubt on account of the dispatchesreceived from Anthony Benezet. And they took with them the mare andpistols borrowed from the loyal farmer.
That same morning Nathan was mustered as a private into his father'scompany of Wyoming men, most of whom were neighbors he had known up athis old home on the Susquehanna, and which belonged to General Mifflin'sdivision of the Pennsylvania troops. A supply of powder and ball and amusket were given to him; but he retained his own clothes, for uniformswere few and far between in the American army at that time. Having thusbecome a full-fledged soldier the exhausted lad went to bed in the hutassigned to him, and slept under blankets all the afternoon and throughthe following night.
On turning out in the morning, hungry and refreshed, Nathan found a sadand shocking piece of news awaiting him. Briefly, it was as follows:
Late on the previous afternoon Captain Stanbury's little force met andattacked, midway between Valley Forge and Philadelphia, a foraging partyof British soldiers in charge of two wagon-loads of provisions. In thefight that ensued the enemy were driven off with severe losses, and thesupplies fell into the hands of the Americans. Only two of the latterwere killed, and Captain Stanbury was shot in the groin. His men hadbrought him back during the night, and he was now lying in the hospital.
Thither Nathan posted in haste, only to learn from the attendants thathis father was too ill to be seen, and that his ultimate recovery wasvery doubtful. A kind-hearted surgeon came out and tried to cheer thelad up, bidding him hope for the best; but in spite of this well-meantconsolation the young recruit spent an utterly wretched day. During themorning and part of the afternoon he was under the tuition of adrill-sergeant. At another time he would have taken keen delight inlearning the duties of a soldier, but the thought of his father lying inthe dreary hospital made the work irksome to him, and it was a greatrelief when he was set at liberty.
At eventide, when supper was over, and the camp-fires were casting ruddygleams on the quiet waters of the Schuylkill and the brown hills,Nathan was drawn aside by a member of the company named Barnabas Otter.The latter had been a friend and neighbor of Captain Stanbury and hisson up at Wyoming, and though now quite an old man he was as rugged andable-bodied as many who were half his age.
"Sit down here, my boy," said Barnabas, indicating a log in front of hishut.
"None of my mess-mates are about, an' we can have a quiet chat toourselves. This open sort of weather is nice after what we've had, butI'm thinkin' it won't last long. Lucky for you the Schuylkill wasn'tfroze night before last, else you would hardly have given the Britishtroopers the slip. Why, it's the talk of the camp, lad--the way yououtwitted the enemy. We fellows from Wyoming ain't the ones to be caughtnapping, are we?"
Nathan smiled sadly. "I did my duty, that was all," he replied. "But Iwould go back this minute and surrender myself to the British, if thatwould restore my father to health."
"I don't wonder you feel bad about it," said Barnabas. "We all do, lad,for there ain't a braver and better liked man at Valley Forge thanCaptain Stanbury. I only wish I'd been along to take part in that littlescrimmage; it was this pesky lame foot that kept me in camp. How is thecaptain this evening? Have you heard?"
"Just the same--no better," answered Nathan. "I was at the hospital abit ago, and they won't let me see him. The surgeons were awfully kind,but they don't seem to have much hope. The wound is a bad one, and it'sin a vital place. Oh! what will I do if my father dies--"
The lad broke down, and could say no more. He covered his face with bothhands, and hot tears fell from between his fingers.
Barnabas patted Nathan on the shoulder. "Now, now, don't take on so," hemuttered huskily. "Cheer up, young comrade! Your father ain't going todie--his country and General Washington need him too badly. He's beenthrough too much this winter to be taken off by a British bullet. Markmy words, lad, he'll be on his feet again before the spring campaignopens."
"I hope and pray that he will," said Nathan, cheered by the old man'sconfident words.
"That's the way to talk," exclaimed Barnabas. "Listen, now, an' I'lltell you what the captain an' the rest of us have been through since wewent into camp here. I reckon you ain't heard all."
"I never heard as much as I wanted to," replied Nathan; "I didn't getthe chance. But I know it was awful."
"Awful ain't half the truth," declared Barnabas, with strong emphasis."There's been wars and wars in this world, but I don't believe any armyever suffered like ours did the last few weeks. It's bad enough now, butit's not what it was. I tell you, lad, we've got to win if there's aProvidence up yonder--and I know there is."
Barnabas was silent for a moment, and then he resumed. "It was the 11thof last December when we started for here from Whitmarsh, lad, and themarch took us four days. Half of us were without shoes, and there was asteady trail of frozen blood along the way. And when we got here thingslooked as blue as could be. The place was a lonely wilderness--mostlytrees and water and hills. But Washington and his officers declared itwas a strong position, an' I reckon they were right."
"What did you do first?" asked Nathan.
"Built redoubts and dug entrenchments," replied Barnabas, "an' then wecommenced on the huts. What a time we had of it in the bitter weatherand snow, felling and hauling the trees and putting the logs together!And it took purty near as long to stuff the cracks with clay, and coverthe window openings with oiled paper. Why, it was the first of the yeartill we got into the huts."
"I don't see how you lived through the exposure, all the time you wereworking and sleeping without shelter," said Nathan.
"I hardly see myself, lad, looking back on it now," declared Barnabas."It were little short of a miracle. We were without proper food andclothing, to say nothing of shelter. Flour and water, baked at openfires, was mostly all we had to eat, and we were without bread for daysat a time. You see, supplies were scarce in the surrounding country,owin' to the military operations of last summer. Lots of us had noshirts, and the hospitals were full of barefooted soldiers who couldn'twork for want of shoes."
"And where did you sleep at nights?" inquired Nathan.
"Where we could," Barnabas answered bitterly. "Those of us who hadblankets were glad to sleep on the hard ground, though the weather wasthe coldest and the snows the deepest I ever knew. As for tho
se who hadno covering--why, lad, I've seen dozens of men, after working hard allday, sit awake around the fires from sunset till sunrise to keep fromfreezing. And all this time Lord Howe and his army were snug and warm inour Philadelphia, an' livin' off the fat of the land."
"Which they're doing yet," Nathan exclaimed, wrathfully. "Haven't I seenthem with my own eyes?"
"Just wait till the winter's over," said Barnabas. "They may be singinga different tune then. Ain't Benjamin Franklin across the sea tryin' toget the French to help us, lad?"
"Yes," assented Nathan.
"And is there no word from him yet?"
"Not yet, Barnabas; but it may come any day."
"It can't come too soon," replied the old man. "And now to go on with mystory. As I was saying, lad, it was the first of the year till we gotinto the huts, and since then we've been sufferin' purty near as bad.The horses died by hundreds, and the men had to haul their own suppliesand fire-wood. And look at the sick men in the hospital, and men withlegs amputated, and men with legs froze black--that's on account ofthere being no straw to sleep on. But it's no use my tellin' you, foryou'll see it all yourself."
"I have seen it," exclaimed Nathan, "even in the short time I have beenhere, and what I wonder at most is the way the men endure theirsufferings. There is no complaining--"
"Complaining?" interrupted Barnabas. "I should say not, lad. This is anarmy of heroes, from General Washington down. You should have seen yourfather during some of them blackest times, not thinking of himself, butsharing his rations and blanket with others, and helping weak and sicksoldiers in their work--"
Barnabas stopped thus abruptly, seeing tears in Nathan's eyes, andwisely tacked off on a different subject. For some time longer the twofriends chatted, discussing the past and the future, and deploring thewell-known fact that Congress and the people were withholding theirsympathies and confidence from Washington in this the darkest period ofhis career.
At last the bugles sounded taps, and they retired to their damp huts tosleep till the dawn of another day.