CHAPTER XXI
THE RIDE WITH THE LIEUTENANT
Tom Coward followed young Lieutenant Gordon as he led the way to the post to which Friend Nathan had tied the steed, and then stopped and for a moment gazed ruefully at the beast. His friend's good-natured laugh broke forth again as he beheld Tom's evident hesitancy about mounting to the back of the animal; and surely to a boy who had been accustomed to ride the colts in Benzeor's pastures without saddle or bridle, and dash about the lots in sheer delight at the antics and efforts of the unbroken steeds to dislodge their rider, there was not much to inspire or impress him in the sight of the broken-winded beast which Nathan had provided. Even the horse himself appeared to be conscious of his degradation, and stood motionless and with hanging head, as if he, too, would protest against any warlike efforts on his part.
"I've only one request to make, Nathan," said the lieutenant. "I'm sure you will not object to it, but I think I'd better make it before we start."
"What is thy request?" said the Quaker.
"If General Washington once sees that horse, he'll want it for himself. You'll not object, will you, to his use of it?"
"Nay. I think not that George Washington will care for this beast of mine," protested Nathan soberly, and apparently not suspecting that the young officer was poking fun at him. "Still, he may be able to make him of some use. Thee will not forget to see that I am suitably rewarded?"
"Never fear as to that, though I doubt not my friend Tom here will be of the opinion that you ought to pay him handsomely for the pain he will suffer after he has ridden your beast a few miles. That is, if the horse can go as far as that."
"Thy heart may rest easy as to that. He may limp when he first starts, but as soon as his joints are warmed he will do thy service."
"We'll warm his joints, then," laughed the lieutenant. "You might be warming him up now, Tom," he added, turning to his companion, "while I'm getting my horse ready. He's in the barn, and I'll join you in a minute or two."
In a brief time the officer returned, but his steed was showing the evidences of his recent hard work, and Nathan's eyes twinkled with satisfaction at the sight, for his own horse, perhaps, might not then be at such a disadvantage, and the prospect of a "suitable" reward became more promising.
The young men quickly mounted, and, after thanking their host in a substantial manner for his hospitality, started down the long lane which led to the road beyond. Tom's horse limped painfully and caused no little delight to young Gordon, who again and again laughed aloud and offered all manner of suggestions to the lad concerning the impression he would create when the army should discover his approach.
At times Tom thought of dismounting and, turning the horse loose in the road, strive to make his own way on foot; but the creaking joints of the poor beast seemed to find relief with action, and the young riders had not gone far on their way before, to the surprise of both, Nathan's steed was proving his ability to keep up with the lieutenant's horse, which evidently had been overridden and was in no condition for a hard ride.
But, with the discovery of the service which Tom's horse might render, all the disposition to regard their journey lightly departed from the riders, and the serious nature of their undertaking rendered both of them silent. The American army could not be far distant now, but between them and it all the dangers had not disappeared. The visit of the British band at the home of Nathan Brown had indicated that other parties might be in the region on similar errands; but Tom was not thinking of these possibilities so much as was the young officer who was riding by his side.
Tom's meditations were mostly concerning the American army. For months his strongest desire had been to join it, and now that the time had come when his desires were likely to be satisfied, he discovered that much of his eagerness was gone. Not that he had any thought of turning back, but the proximity of the two armies clearly indicated that a meeting between the forces was not improbable, and Tom's thoughts were largely of that. The glamour was all gone now, and the serious nature of his undertaking was uppermost in his mind. The silence also of his companion did not tend to allay his fears, but the lad did not refer to them, and was doing his utmost to make his horse keep up the pace at which he was going.
"Whew! This is a warm morning! Let's give our horses a drink and a rest," said the lieutenant at last, as he turned into a little brook that crossed the road.
Tom followed his example, and the dripping horses thrust their heads deep into the water. The sun had now appeared and the beams fell full on their faces. The air was motionless, and even at that early hour was in places quivering under the heat of the summer sun. The very birds were silent, while high overhead the heavens were like brass. On the horizon masses of dark clouds were piled, and a low, deep rumble startled both the young riders.
"Was that a cannon, or was it thunder?" inquired Tom quickly.
"Thunder. We may hear the cannon before long, though."
"Why don't we start on, then? The sooner we gain the army the better. We don't want to be caught in here between them." Tom spoke anxiously, and his fear was as apparent in the expression upon his face as in his words.
"We've got to give our horses a bit of a rest. Mine has been going hard all night, and yours won't be able to go far in such heat as this. We'll have to be careful of their strength, or we shall be worse off than we are now."
"Have you been out all night? What have you been doing?"
"Finding out what Clinton is up to. When I was talking with Nathan I knew all the time more about it than he did."
"Did you find out?" said Tom eagerly. "What are the redcoats doing now?"
"Pretty much the same thing they've been doing right along. They're making a change in the direction they're going, unless I'm greatly mistaken. And then, too, they've done something else which doesn't promise very well."
"What's that?"
"They've drawn all their stronger forces into the rear guard and sent on the Hessians with the baggage train in front, for one thing."
"Why do you suppose they have done that?"
"Oh, they've an idea, I fancy, that we're going to try to take their supplies. They'll find out, though, that we're after men more than we are after their baggage wagons. However, that explains the change in the direction of their march, if I'm not greatly mistaken. They've put the Hessians in front and the best men behind."
"I wish they had left the Dutch butchers there!" said Tom impulsively. "I hate the Hessians. I hate the very name and sight of them! Think of it! A lot of men just hired to come over here and shoot and kill and steal! I wish they had been left where they were, that is, if General Washington is ready for them!"
"I think you'll find him ready when the time comes," remarked the lieutenant quietly. "But about the Hessians. I don't like them any better than you do, but somehow I can't bring myself to feel about it as some of the men do. I can't see that they're to be blamed for being brought over here, or even being engaged in such work as they're doing; and I know more about that than you do, too. The ones who are the worst are not those who have come over here, but those who have sent them. Just think of a petty little prince, or king, being able to hire out a lot of his own subjects to pay off his own debts with! These men feel just the same as you or I would, I have thought. They have wives and mothers and children, and yet they have to leave them all and come over here and be marks for our bullets, whether they want to be or not. They just haven't anything to say about it. They're told to come and come they must, though there won't be so many to go back as came over, I'm thinking. At least, I'm going to do all I can to thin out their ranks, though I feel sorry for the poor fellows all of the time."
This was a new way of looking at the hated "Dutch butchers," at least it was entirely new to Tom Coward. He had heard only the expressions of rage among the colonists which their coming had aroused, and their strange words and brutal acts had never received much mercy in the judgment which he had heard passed upon them by his acquaintances.
The anger of the patriots, perhaps, was but natural; but the employment of the Hessians has not furnished the only instance in history where the first and most apparent view has not always been the most correct one. Indeed, it frequently happens that the troubles between men, to say nothing of boys, arises from a misunderstanding; and it is the part of wisdom, as well as of justice, to look below the surface and try to discover the true conditions.
"Then the British are to be blamed, if what you say is true," said Tom, after a brief silence. "They are the ones at the bottom of it all."
"Yes, the British are the ones who are most to be blamed. But even there, Tom, if I'm correctly informed, it's the leaders and not the people. The way I understand it is that the rank and file of the common people in England are opposed to this war, and would put a stop to it in a moment if they could."
"If they could?" repeated Tom. "I don't understand what you mean."
"Just what I say. The very best people in England have, from the very beginning of this war, been opposed to the taxes, the use of the Indians, and the hiring of these Hessians. It's the king and Lord North and a few others of the pig-headed fellows who are doing it all. Tom, my father and my mother both came from England. As far back as I can remember they have told me stories of our old home and of the friends we have over there. Why, do you know it's been the dream of my life to go over there some day, and meet some of my cousins and see the place where my father and mother were born."
"I didn't know you were a tory," said Tom slowly.
"Tory? I haven't a drop of tory blood in my veins, and hope I never shall have."
"But—but—you talk like one."
"Is it tory talk for me to say I don't blame the Hessians for coming over here, but those who hired them and sent them? Is it tory talk for me to say I love to think of the place where my father and mother were born, and that I should be glad to look into the faces of those who bear the same name I do, and who have some of the same kind of blood in their veins? Is it tory talk for me to say that I'm proud of what Old England has done, or rather of many things she has done, from the days of William the Conqueror until now? And that belongs to me as much as it does to them, for my own grandfather was one of the bravest men in the whole British army! This war is like one between brothers, and it's all the more wicked on that account. And it's worse yet, because the most of the Englishmen are not in favor of it at all."
"I don't just see why you don't fight with the redcoats, instead of against them, then."
"Because this is my home and this is my country, and because the king and his court aren't fit to govern cannibals, to say nothing of men. No, sir, it's just because I do believe in all I've said that I'm fighting for my country and shall till the war is ended—which I hope will be soon!"
"And would you shoot a redcoat or a Dutch butcher?"
"Every time! It was a sad thing that the war had to come, but as come it did, it would be sadder still not to do everything in our power now to carry it through. I'm sorry for the Hessians, but I'd shoot every one of them if I could do it. I'm sorry for the redcoats, and I know they are not to be blamed, or at least some of them are not, but I'd mow them down now, every one of them, as I'd cut the grass in haying-time. Fight? Why, my lad, I'm in this war from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot! And I wouldn't stop till the redcoats cry 'enough,' or we drive them right into the Atlantic ocean, the way Parson Tennent used to tell about the pigs in Gadara being chased by the devils right into the sea. Not that I think the ones who are doing the chasing are in any way connected with the swine drivers in the parson's story," he added, laughing lightly as he spoke. "But we must be going. Our horses are rested now, and we'll be running into a thunder-storm before we see the Continentals, if we don't look out."
The ride was quickly resumed, but Tom Coward was silent and sadly puzzled to account for his friend's words. Apparently, he was enthusiastic in his devotion to the cause of the patriots, but he had never heard any one talk in that manner before. His friends and neighbors were all hard and bitter, and the bitterness seemed to increase as the war continued. But here was his friend, fighting with all the devotion of his heart, and yet not blaming the very men he was trying hard to conquer for the part they were taking in the war.
It seemed to him all strange, and while he was deeply impressed by many of the words of the enthusiastic young lieutenant, his own feelings were of a very decidedly different character. For a half hour they rode forward as swiftly as their steeds could carry them, but the heavy clouds had meanwhile been climbing higher in the heavens, and the mutterings of the thunder had now become deeper and heavier.
"We'll put into that barn ahead there, and wait for the storm to pass," said the lieutenant, pointing as he spoke to a rude barn by the roadside.
As the rain was now falling, Tom was glad to follow the advice, and in a few moments they approached the open door. They had not dismounted when a strangely clad being stepped forth from the barn and shouted:—
"Halt, will yez? I'll be after havin' yez give an account of yerselves, that I will."
Tom glanced up in fear and surprise, and the sight before him did not tend to allay his alarm. The soldier presented a gun, but was its bearer a man or woman? A long petticoat certainly looked like the garb of a woman, but the soldier also was clad in an artilleryman's coat, while a cocked hat and feathers crowned the head of the strange being.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a voice that was gruff and deep, the strangely clad soldier bore but slight resemblance to a woman, though the dress certainly seemed to proclaim the sex of the speaker.
The rain was now falling in torrents and Tom was drenched in a moment; but in the brief silence which followed the demand of the soldier, he could not determine what course his companion would decide to follow.