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[Illustration: "THAT MORNING, A CANOE CONTAINING TWO SAVAGES CAME UP PAST
HIM." (See page 119)]
RODNEY, THE RANGER
WITH DANIEL MORGAN ON
TRAIL AND BATTLEFIELD
By
John V. Lane
Author of "Marching with Morgan," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
John Goss
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1911
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
All rights reserved
Made in U. S. A.
New Edition, May, 1925
Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. "You--You Simpleton!" 1
II. Several People Have Troubles 12
III. How Rodney and Angus Became Friends 19
IV. Rodney's Visit to Monticello 26
V. A Plunge Into the Forest 36
VI. A Wild Flight 48
VII. Lisbeth Writes from London 57
VIII. The Chief Who Demanded the Truth 64
IX. A White Boy Adopted by the Indians 74
X. Hating, but Waiting 80
XI. Father Mourning for Son 89
XII. In the Midst of Increasing Perils 95
XIII. The Beginning of War 104
XIV. Hornets With and Without Wings 112
XV. A Welcome Voice 119
XVI. Rodney Meets With Reverses 130
XVII. Somewhat of a Mystery 142
XVIII. Rodney Rides With Dispatches 153
XIX. Rodney to the Rescue 165
XX. Rallying Virginia's Minute Men 176
XXI. Virginians Learning to Shoot British Troops 184
XXII. Rodney's Sacrifice and His Mother's 195
XXIII. In the Thick of It 205
XXIV. The Rangers Sent Against Burgoyne 218
XXV. Put to the Test 228
XXVI. Tricked, and by His Friend 240
XXVII. A Blended Rose 249
XXVIII. New Ventures With Old Acquaintances 256
XXIX. What the Package Contained 271
XXX. Rodney Rides With the Dragoons 280
XXXI. Home Again 288
XXXII. A Reward Greater Than Promotion 294
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"That morning, a canoe containing two savages came up
past him." _Frontispiece_
"He rolled the dazed man on to his face and bound his
arms behind his back." 88
"He seized the money and threw it in the Chevalier's
face." 140
"'Say, you fellers as hev breeches ought ter bring us
in a bite ter eat.'" 244
RODNEY, THE RANGER
CHAPTER I
"YOU--YOU SIMPLETON!"
A sturdy boy in homespun, a lad of nearly fourteen years, whose eyes
were clear and gray and whose face was resolute and honest, led his
little sister by the hand, for she was small and the road was rough.
"We'll rest, 'Omi, when we come to the big tree. Are you cold?" he
asked, for there was the chill of March in the wind, though the sun
lay very warm in the sheltered places.
"No. Who?" she asked, pointing a tiny hand at two riders turning the
corner, a youth of about seventeen and a young girl. Their horses were
spirited and the black groom following urged his horse.
The youth was not attractive, though his riding habit was the
fashionable product of a London tailor in the style of 1772. His hair
was dark, his eyes steely blue and set close to a long nose; his mouth
was ill adapted to a pleasant smile.
The girl was attractive, a fact people were quick to recognize, and
she was so accustomed to seeing them turn and look after her that she
would have been piqued had they not done so. Her ways were wilful but
there was a grace in them all. Mischief lurked in the dark blue eyes,
which now lighted with genuine pleasure. She fluttered from her horse
as a bird alights and threw her arms around the child, exclaiming,
"And how is little Naomi?" Then, holding the child from her, she
looked in her face and said, "You are a dear. Aren't you proud of her,
Rodney?"
"She's just as good as she looks," the boy replied, blushing with
pleasure, and then glanced at the youth, who did not appear to notice
him but slyly spurred his horse, so that the animal in swerving would
have knocked Rodney into the ditch had the lad not been nimble.
"Nith; red," said the child, clutching the girl's scarlet cloak.
"Yes, and you like my poor, old red hat, too, don't you? though Cousin
Mogridge says it ill becomes me."
"Eth, pretty too," and the child pouted her lips for a kiss.
Not one, but several, were most graciously given her with the
admonition: "Next time you be sure and remember me and my name. Say
Lisbeth Danesford."
"Lithbeth Danethford," repeated the child, looking up into the face
of the girl, her big, brown eyes full of seriousness. "I like 'oo."
"Have a care, 'Omi, for once Lisbeth knows that she'll treat you as
she does her other admirers."
This remark was surprisingly impolite for Master Rodney Allison, but
he was offended that Lisbeth had not introduced him to her London
cousin, whom he was itching to thump. Moreover he had experienced
Lisbeth's fickleness.
She ignored him and said: "'Omi, where did you find such eyes? They
are like stars with dew on them," but suddenly she broke off and, with
a bound, snatched from her cousin's hand the whip with which he was
about to lash Rodney.
The youth, evidently not liking the conversation, had again spurred
his horse against young Allison, who without ceremony had seized the
bit and set the animal on his haunches, nearly upsetting the rider.
Lisbeth had seen enough to know what had caused the trouble. "Boys are
bullies," she cried. "Here's a test for your valour. Who'll rescue my
abused hat from the dragon?" saying which she sent it spinning over
the fence.
Now the dragon was nothing less than a full grown and surly bull
grazing in the pasture.
Rodney, enraged at Mogridge's insolence and taunted by her words and
the sight of the hat scaling like a low-flying swallow, yielded to the
mad impulse to follow it. He would show the arrogant London youth what
a Virginia boy dared do!
The bull had lifted his head in amazement, which gave place to rage at
the red thing flashing before his sullen eyes. Snorting, he charged
just as the lad snatched the hat from the ground and, turning, ran
toward the fence.
It was a foolhardy deed, and the boy's chance of escape seemed
hopeless,--when the unexpected happened.
A little figure climbed the fence and with a shrill cry ran to meet
him, waving her red cloak to distract the brute's attention.
The boy started to run between the bull and the girl, but she
shrieked, "I'm all right. Run for your life!"
Had not the beast hesitated, uncertain which of the two was his
tormenter, this story would be brief indeed. Before Mogridge had
dismounted the two had reached safety.
The girl, almost breathless, turned to Rodney, stamped her foot and
between her gasps cried: "You--you--simpleton!"
Rodney Allison, being now in his right mind and a sensible lad,
realized the merited rebuke, though scarcely from the girl who had
dared him to make the venture.
"I fancy Squire Danesford will think you one too, Bess, when he hears
of you facing charging bulls like a Spanish picador, all to save
churlish fools from their folly," said her cousin, sneeringly.
"Don't you dare tell him! If you do I'll never speak to you again."
There was a tearful note in the girl's voice and a disagreeable one in
the youth's laugh.
Again he laughed and with flaming face she cried, "Perhaps you had
better tell him all while you're about it; how you sat your horse like
a pat of dough and watched me do it."
It was Rodney's turn to laugh, which he did most heartily, and
Mogridge, his face redder than his fancy waistcoat, wheeled his horse
and rode after the girl who was spurring ahead.
"I'd like to roll him in the mud and you'd like to have me do it,
wouldn't you, 'Omi?"
Naomi, trudging confidingly by his side, looked inquiringly out of her
big eyes, stars with plenty of dew on them now, for during the
excitement she had lifted up her voice in wailing and the tears had
flowed freely.
Not until the riders drew rein at "The Hall" did Henry Mogridge
overtake his cousin in the headlong race home. As it was, she
dismounted before he could offer assistance and ran up the steps and
across the white pillared veranda into the great wainscoted hall. An
instant she paused, looking up at the portrait of a beautiful woman
hanging there, and then went to her room.
The flickering light from the logs in the big fireplace relieved the
shadows on the face in the frame, a face so like that of the girl's as
to leave no doubt whence she had inherited her charms.
The colour of hair and eyes, the poise of head, all were strikingly
like, but in the girl's face was a wilful recklessness, perhaps due to
lack of a mother's care, the mother she had never known, but more than
probable an inheritance from her father, the reckless, hot-headed,
sporting squire.
At table that evening the girl said little and made an excuse to leave
before the last course.
Would her cousin tell her father? At the thought a look of defiance
was in the girl's face, a look not pleasant to see there.
As for the youth with the long nose and the narrow eyes, he had other
plans for the present. Just now he was making himself as companionable
as possible to his uncle, and it must be admitted he knew somewhat of
the ways in which to do this. He told of the latest plays and
scandals, to all of which the squire listened with occasional
interruptions and allusions to what he knew of the London of the
Fifties.
"Jupiter!" cried Mogridge, "but I'd think you'd find the Old Dominion
mighty tame after the pleasures and associations you enjoyed in that
good old town."
"It's all in adapting one's self, my boy. I'm a bit old and Lisbeth is
too young to show you what pleasures the Old Dominion really can
afford. I'll have to turn you over to the Reverend Pothero. He's a
rare blade and sure cure for ennui."
"We hear tales of some of your Virginia parsons, and the joke of it is
the stories, many of them at least, come from churchmen."
"Oh, well, some things might be better, I suppose, but what can you
expect when so few desire to take up the work in this country? To tell
the truth, it sometimes was confoundly lonely at The Hall before
Pothero came. But you haven't told me anything of the government's
latest policy with respect to these colonies. Will Lord North's hand
be strong on the helm and what have we to fear from that arch
demagogue, Pitt?"
"North's hand will be as firm as the king's and no firmer. Pitt will
be dead when he has ceased to be a demagogue. The king speaks of him
as 'That Trumpet of Sedition,'" replied Mogridge with an air of
sagacity.
"I fear you are right. His words have afforded the would-be traitors
in this land their chief encouragement."
"And from what I hear they seem to be having their way in Virginia."
"Yes, there's the very old Harry to pay here. Men whose position and
interests lie in retaining the old order of things are catering to the
rabble for a little temporary advantage. You see, the past few years,
the Scotch-Irish immigrants have been pouring into the northwestern
part of the colony. By nature and education they are hostile to
rightful authority, are Dissenters and opposed to contributing in the
way of taxes for the support of the established order."
"I understand that the other side, the men who are using these
ignorant people for their purposes, have control of the House of
Burgesses."
"Fools! to think they can scare England by refusing to buy goods of
her just because she wishes them to pay a small tax. I've just heard
that Colonel Washington met Richard and Francis Lee at the Raleigh
Tavern in Williamsburg the other night after the governor, God bless
him! had dissolved the Burgesses; that with Tom Jefferson and Patrick
Henry they laid their plans for uniting with the rebels in the other
colonies. I can't understand of what such men as Washington are
thinking. Treason, _pur et simple_, that's what 'twill come to."
"Henry is a wonderful orator, they say."
"Words, words, and more words. Where he learns 'em all is a mystery,
for he'd much rather talk than study. He's infatuated young Jefferson,
who's yeoman on his father's side, but who's as smart as he is
conceited. What do you suppose that young scamp is trying to
accomplish? Nothing less than the ruin of the old families of this
Dominion, sir. He would so change our laws that, instead of our
estates descending to the eldest son and thus being kept up, they
would be divided among the children, as is done in Massachusetts. And
he would disestablish the church, he would, by gad, sir!"
The squire's face, always florid from high living, was now so purple
with passion that his wily nephew, fearing apoplexy, changed the
subject.
"By the way, uncle, why don't you send Lisbeth to England to finish
her education? She's growing to be a handsome woman and surely, if
you'll pardon me, your broad acres can yield sufficient to fit her for
the high position she'll be called to occupy."
"She's but a girl, all I have. She's like her dead mother and I--I
can't let her go."
"But think what her mother would wish. Go over with her."
"I can't leave the estate. The slaves are only to be depended on when
they have a capable overseer. Mine is not altogether trustworthy."
"Excuse me but I don't think it right for her to associate with
servants and people like the Allisons. By the way, who are these
Allisons? When riding this afternoon we met the boy and child, and
Lisbeth made much of them. Surely they are not of our class."
"Allison is a Scotchman. I happened to be at Norfolk when he landed
from the old country. The captain told me the fellow had been brought
on board unconscious and with a bad wound in his head. I liked the
man's face, and asked no questions. He never spoke of the matter. I
paid the cost of his passage and let him work it out. He's a good
accountant."
"An objectionable person, probably an escaped convict," remarked
Mogridge with the air of a judge.
"On the contrary he seems a most respectable man. To be sure he's a
Dissenter, but one has to expect that. I've always found him
trustworthy. He has taught a field school for years and the children
make good progress under his instruction."
"You can't mean that you allow Lisbeth to go to such a school?"
"Well, you see," replied the squire as if in excuse, "the school is a
small one, confined to my neighbours' children, otherwise I wouldn't
allow it."
"So she associates with such boys as that Allison."
"He's a fine lad. His mother was a Tawbee, old Squire Tawbee's
daughter. She was a playmate of mine and lived at Greenwood till it
had to be sold, after the squire's death, to pay the debts."
"But you don't know about the father?"
"I said," replied the squire, rather testily, "that he's a decent man
except for his revolutionary notions. He wants to say 'amen' every
time Patrick Henry opens his mouth. That, I have no patience with.
England has helped us fight our foes. This hullabaloo about no
taxation without representation fills the ears of the ignorant. Why,
fifty years ago the chronic growlers opposed the establishment of a
postal service because the government, without consulting the
colonies, charged postage on the letters."
"It seems, however, that you are providing a living for a man who is a
chronic growler and opposed to you." There was the evident suggestion
of a sneer in Mogridge's voice.
"Well, I suppose I might look at it that way. I took him up when he
hadn't a friend."
"Pardon me, but I do not see how one might look at it in any other
way. A fellow who will do as you say he is doing, is an ingrate."
The squire frowned, but made no reply, and Henry Mogridge smiled
unpleasantly, for he saw that his words were surely poisoning his
uncle's thoughts respecting the Allisons.