But the lieutenant merely smiled faintly, took on a look of drowsy resignation, essayed to shake his head, and whispered the word, "Farewell!" Dick had to yield the hand he held, and his place by his friend's side, that his captain and certain of his comrades might clasp the hand once ere it should be cold. Even as Dick was thinking of the sunny April morning when his friend had ridden up, all life and animation, with the news of Lexington, the soldier sighed his last farewell.
When the troops took up their march and left the dead man there, as they had left many another in those bleak wilds, Dick had a moment of heart-sickness, when all seemed dark before him, and when he wished that he and M'Cleland might be back in their Pennsylvania valley, and that there had never been a war.
"Heart up, lad!" came over his shoulder, softly, the voice of old Tom. "It's mony a friend ye'll leave cauld by the wayside ere ye come to lie there cauld yoursel'. Ye'll learn to keep looking forward, as ye gang over the hills and far away. Sae hauld up your head, and swallow your Adam's apple, and fasten your mind's eye on Quebec!"
And Dick braced himself and did so.
By the 29th of October the last mouthful of meat was eaten and the last biscuit gone. A little flour remained, and this was divided equally, each man receiving five pounds. This they boiled in kettles of water, without salt, into what they called a bleary, subsequently eating it out of the wooden bowls around each one of which several half-numb fellows sat or lay at meals. At such times, those who were not reduced to a state of wretched apathy or speechless despair, discussed the probabilities of their ever receiving food from Colonel Arnold's advance party, or of their perishing in the chill wilderness. Many were the growlers and foreboders of evil.
"Bedad," said Tom MacAlister, after two or three of these had been having their say, "ye put me in mind of the complaining children of Israel, though it's far waur than them ye be, for they had forty years in the wilderness afore ivver they set sight on the Promised Land."
"Ay," replied one of the malcontents, "but the Lord sent them manna from heaven, whereas he sends us only rain and snow and wind. And who can say for certain when we shall catch sight of our Moses again, eh, boys?"
Suspicions like this, real or pretended, that their leader had deserted or even betrayed them, were plentiful among these troops, as they were, indeed, throughout the American armies during most of the war for independence. It was by making men forget these thoughts, or ashamed of them, that the example of uncomplaining endurance set by Dick, and the soldierly conduct and musical performances of old Tom, were of great use to the officers in holding the troops to their weary task. At night an immense fire was made, and, while the men lay around it to warm their bodies, MacAlister fiddled and Lieutenant Simpson sang for them. The lieutenant had a rich, manly voice, and as many songs at command as Tom had tunes,—songs of war, comic songs, songs of love,—and his voice and that of Tom's fiddle, rising above the crackling of the fire, made sounds unwonted in that wintry wilderness accustomed only to the murmur of waters and the howling of winds.
The last pinch of flour found its way into the pot and thence into some half famished stomach. The men's lives now depended entirely on the arrival of supplies from Colonel Arnold's foraging party before starvation could complete its work. After going a day unfed, MacAlister and Dick boiled their leather cartouch-boxes in the pot, drank the broth, and afterward chewed up the leather. The next day they discussed the advisability of following the example of some of the other riflemen, who had boiled their moccasins and leggings. Wandering through the camp, while off duty, they came to a startled halt, at sight of a number of men actually eating some roasted meat. Partaking speedily of this feast, on invitation, Dick, not recognizing the flavor of the flesh, asked what it was.
"Whist, lad," said old Tom, tearing the meat from a bone with his teeth, "be content with what Providence sends, and discipline your curiosity. Ye'll no relish your supper the better for speering."