RODNEY TO THE RESCUE
It would not be true to say that Rodney Allison was not nervous as he
gripped the handle of the big pistol he drew from its holster, and
cocked it.
Whether the men were armed he did not know. If they failed to meet the
two riders they sought they might conclude one horse would be better
than none and attack him. Indeed, this seemed very probable; besides,
if they should attack the other parties, the boy resolved he would
take a hand in the affair.
A little farther on, the road on which he was riding crossed the
highway leading to Roscome's. The men probably were waiting at the
corner. He decided to ride slowly and await developments.
In event of attack he would spur Nat directly against them and use the
pistol!
The frogs were croaking in the nearby meadow. The sound jarred on his
tense nerves.
"I say, sir, be this the road to Occoquan?"
They had met some one! Rodney stopped his horse and listened. A horse
whinnied, and Nat lifted his head to reply when a touch from the spur
changed his mind.
A clear voice rang out, "Back, you knaves! Take your hands off that
bridle!"
A girl's scream and sounds of a struggle came to the lad's ears, and
he spurred ahead.
Near the corners of the roads, though now dusk had fallen, he
discerned two riders on horses that were rearing and plunging. One of
the riders, a man, was plying his whip over the head of the fellow who
clung to his bridle; on the other horse was a girl struggling with a
rascal who was trying to pull her from the animal's back. Rodney
turned his attention to this one.
Not daring to fire, through fear of hitting the girl, he rode straight
at the miscreant and, clubbing his pistol, struck him over the head
what proved to be but a slight blow, for the man dodged, but his hold
was broken and he staggered back, and Nat trampled over him. His
accomplice, seeing this, fled. The girl hung by the side of her horse,
one foot in the stirrup and both hands clutching his mane. Thoroughly
frightened, he plunged ahead and ran wildly down the road.
"She will be dashed to death!" was the thought which flashed through
Rodney's mind and, wheeling his horse, he spurred after the fleeing
thoroughbred, the girl's companion galloping behind.
The spirit of a racing ancestry, and the cruel rowels, drove Nat close
on the flanks of the runaway. Could he overtake and pass him?
The girl was unable to regain her seat, and at every leap of her horse
was tossed, now almost touching the ground, and again almost as high
as the horse's back. Could she retain her grip until Rodney might
reach the bridle rein?
Every moment the boy expected to see her dashed to the ground and
trampled to death under the hoofs of the running horses. He shut his
eyes for an instant, and then urged faithful Nat to the utmost, and
could feel his muscles respond to the strain.
Inch by inch, Nat gained on the runaway. The boy leaned far out to
seize the loose bridle rein. He could not quite reach it; another foot
and he would have it within his grasp. Ah! Now he gripped it and
pulled both horses to a stop, crying, "Are you hurt?"
"I--I'm not--sure. Not seriously, I think; somewhat like Doctor
Atterbury's prescriptions, 'well shaken before taken.'"
It was Lisbeth's voice!
"Steady, Nat. Here, let me help. Isn't your ankle wrenched? If I'd
known who it was I'd been scared worse than I was."
"Why, Rodney Allison! Where in the world did you come from? I was
wishing some knight errant would happen along to stop Firefly; but I
never imagined you in that role. I--I think you'll have to help me up,
my ankle is beginning to complain at the rough treatment."
Rodney lifted Lisbeth into her saddle just as her escort and Black Tom
rode up.
"Mr. Enderwood, this is my old playmate, Rodney Allison. He and I
always were getting into scrapes. I'm going to ask him to sell Nat to
father so my escorts can have as good a horse as Firefly. The one you
have, Mr. Enderwood, has seen his best days and was no match for mine.
But for you, Nat, I should have had a longer ride than--would have
been agreeable." There was a little catch in her voice.
"So Nat gets all the glory and Enderwood is excused for being behind,"
thought Rodney, not altogether pleased, and he scarcely heard the old
darky saying by way of apology: "I suttinly hab no 'scuse on 'count o'
hoss. Don' put no nose front o' yo', Moleskin," he said, patting the
sleek neck of the fiery hunter he rode. "I'se 'lowin' Tom's room's
better'n his comp'ny, an' was sojerin' along. But I'se boun' ter say,
Marse Rodney, I couldn' done better myse'f."
"That's Rodney's way of doing things, you know, Tom," said Lisbeth,
and the boy's feelings were somewhat soothed by the balm in her words.
"Having rescued the maid," she said, turning to him, "it's now your
duty to return with her to the castle, and explain to her papa that it
was none of her fault, and afford us all opportunity to thank you
properly, while Aunt Betty gets out her bandages."
"I thank you, but, you see, I've made arrangements to stay over the
night at Roscomes' and they are expecting me. I supped there and then
thought I wanted to see the view from the hill, once more. Now I must
return."
"So you were going through Pryndale without calling on your old
friends."
"I shall be most happy to call on the morrow if I may be permitted,"
was Rodney's response, and he was really surprised at his ready
reply.
"We ought to ride as far as Roscomes' with him," said Lisbeth, and,
because of the dusk, they could not see how pale and drawn was her
face.
"Those villains will have no stomach for further trouble, I reckon,
and I'm sure you need Aunt Betty and the bandages more than I do the
escort. I hope to see you in the morning, none the worse for
to-night's experience. Good night," saying which, he rode on to
Roscome's. His mind was in a whirl and, now the danger and excitement
were past, he felt very weak, and trembled when he thought of
Lisbeth's peril; yet he was conscious that he had borne himself well.
Then he fell to wondering who young Enderwood might be. Rodney had
only seen in the dim light that he was young, not much older than
himself, and apparently a gentleman. Enderwood? Why, he must be Squire
Enderwood's son, from Norfolk. If so, he had both family and fortune,
and somehow the idea didn't please Rodney, though why should he
begrudge young Enderwood such an inheritance?
The following morning Rodney set out for "The Hall." He felt he could
ill spare the time but nevertheless was glad of the opportunity,
though he dreaded the meeting with the squire. His father might be
alive at that moment but for the injustice of Lisbeth's father.
The sun shone brightly but the air was clear and cold. From a light
rain of the previous night icicles had formed on the trees and gleamed
like so many jewels. It seemed to the boy as though he had dreamed a
long dream of wild forests, peopled with Indians, and was now awake
and at home.
When Rodney arrived at "The Hall" he was met by the squire, who came
to him with outstretched hands, saying, "My boy, you are a brave lad,
and have placed me under greater obligations than I can ever hope to
repay. I will write your father and tell him how grateful I am, and
how proud he should be of you."
"My father is dead, sir; he was killed in the battle at Point
Pleasant."
"You--you--er--I'm astounded! I hadn't heard a word. Why, only the
other day I was thinking of him."
The unmistakable signs of grief in the squire's face somewhat softened
Rodney's feelings. "You know Charlottesville did not afford father the
opportunity to provide for his family as he wished and so he went over
the mountains to take up land. When I was on my way to him I was
captured by the Indians and held for a year. Meanwhile father,
thinking I was dead, joined the army under General Lewis."
"I never should have let him go away. I've wished him back every day
since he went away," and then the squire turned and walked to the
window, where Mogridge had watched the effect of his plot and seen
David Allison turn his back and walk away never to return.
At this moment Enderwood came into the room. He was a fine looking
fellow of nearly twenty, straight and rather tall, with dark hair and
eyes, and had an air of breeding. Greeting Rodney cordially, as he
looked at him keenly, he said, "Aunt Betty requested me to tell you
that Lisbeth cannot leave her room. I fear her ankle is badly sprained
and she was much shaken. She will regret not seeing you this
morning."
"Yes," said the squire, turning from the window, "my little girl
suffered more than was thought at the time, but I hope she will be up
in a few days. Meanwhile you are to make 'The Hall' your home. I'm
sure that you and Lawrence will find plenty with which to amuse
yourselves."
"Thank you, Squire Danesford; but I must go on. I came out of my way
for the sake of riding through Pryndale and have already lost a day. I
feared your daughter was hurt more than she would admit. She had an
awful experience. I thought she would be dashed to pieces before her
horse could be stopped."
"Don't speak of it, please. I haven't slept for the night. But,
surely, your business isn't so urgent that you must away at once. I
want to hear about your mother. You know she and I lived on adjoining
plantations when we were children and were playmates. Now, my boy, I
want you to bring your mother back to Pryndale. You should never have
left it."
"It was leave or starve," were the words on Rodney's tongue; but he
did not speak them, and ever after was glad that he hadn't. Instead he
said, "I will tell her of your kind invitation. She was very fond of
her home here. You are very kind. Please give my regards to Lisbeth
and say that I regret not seeing her and hope for her speedy
recovery."
And so, despite the squire's urging that he remain, Rodney set out on
his journey home, less satisfied with himself and the promises for his
future than he had been the night before.
The lad was, however, to have little time in the succeeding months for
reflections, pleasant or otherwise. No sooner had he delivered the
dispatches he was carrying to Mr. Jefferson than he was off again on
similar missions.
In that early spring of 1775 Virginia was in a ferment. Most of the
leading men believed that war was coming, and bent their energies to
planning and so shaping affairs that the colony might be ready for it.
Of this Rodney learned enough in his travels to appreciate the gravity
of the situation, and the importance of vigilance and faithfulness on
his part. He received many compliments from his employer and deserved
them.
The position of those who favoured the king became daily more
unpleasant. Not only had they lost influence, but were made to feel
that they were marked men, looked on by even their old neighbours with
suspicion. Soon they were to be called traitors to their faces and to
know that their lives were in peril, for always those may be found in
times of excitement to seek excuse for wreaking vengeance on enemies,
doing it in the name of the cause that is popular.
When the choleric royal governor, Lord Dunmore, dissolved the House of
Burgesses he accomplished nothing save to increase the bitterness
already existing. The Virginia representatives met and chose delegates
to the General Congress to meet in Philadelphia, and now Virginia was
to have a convention of its own, and hold it at Richmond, then a
village of not more than nine hundred white inhabitants, and there, in
the fire of his eloquence, Patrick Henry was to fuse the differing
views into one grand purpose and arouse the people to the fact that
war was indeed approaching.
Rodney Allison, whose duties, much to his delight, had taken him to
the convention, was one of the spectators of that memorable scene when
Patrick Henry spoke. Ten years before, in the House of Burgesses,
Henry had told the awestruck delegates what he thought of the infamous
Stamp Act, and that, if what he said were treason, they could make the
most of it. Now, he favoured raising volunteer soldiers in each
county, such as the Minute Men who had done such valiant work in
Massachusetts.
The opposition to these resolutions aroused him, and he rose to reply,
and his words seared his views upon the minds of the delegates, who
sat motionless like men in a trance. It seemed to Rodney, when the
last word was spoken, as though he had not breathed from the moment
the orator began. The speaker's face seemed to become luminous and his
eyes blazed and the boy shivered as though with a chill. Certain of
the immortal sentences he never forgot and as they were spoken he saw
them in his excited imagination as though written in letters of fire:
"Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss," referring to the
king's promises. "In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond
hope of reconciliation." "There is no longer any room for hope." "The
war is inevitable! and let it come!" "The next gale that sweeps from
the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms!" At the
close came those words as from a prophet with a face of flame: "Give
me liberty or give me death!" and when he sat down his listeners were
ready to rise and declare war on the instant.
Not all, for among those who heard were some who, while they sat as
though under a spell, nevertheless were resolved past conversion to
stand by their king. Among them Rodney saw Squire Danesford elbowing
his way through the door, his face purple with rage, and, once
outside, he mounted his horse and rode away at a mad gallop, followed
by Black Tom.
The convention over, the delegates went to their homes to make ready
for the impending conflict. The war spirit was abroad throughout the
Old Dominion, and young Allison found Nat unequal to the riding he was
required to do and was furnished with another horse. Volunteers, with
such arms as they could procure, drilled daily and some among them
were eager for the fray to begin; but, when once it was begun, not a
few lost much of their ardour.
As Patrick Henry had predicted, the next gale sweeping from the North
was to bring to the waiting ears of the Virginians the clash of
resounding arms, of the shots fired by the farmers in homespun from
behind stone walls and fences, all the way from Lexington to Boston,
into the ranks of panic-stricken British soldiers. The day after that
event, April 20th, though before the news of Lexington reached
Virginia, the minute men of the Old Dominion were to shoulder their
guns in defiance of British authority.