IN THE THICK OF IT
"Can ye shoot straight an' often, travel light, starve an' yet fight
on an empty stomach?"
"I've had some experience at that sort of thing, Colonel Morgan, and
think I can be of service in your command."
"Where have I seen you? Yer face looks familiar. I have it, your name
is Allison an' you were the little feller as showed me the way to the
rear of the redskins the day they ambushed Wood out in the Ohio
country. Want ye, I reckon I do! I want five hundred like ye."
And thus it was that Rodney found welcome when he presented himself to
Morgan at Winchester, and the welcome was so hearty that it helped put
the boy on friendly footing with his fellows at the start.
The march to Morristown was not very pleasant owing to the bad
condition of the roads. On the way recruits joined them so that on the
first of April, when they reached Washington's headquarters, they
numbered about one hundred and eighty men, considerably less than the
five hundred wanted.
One of the recruits who joined them on the march was a young man whose
reception by Morgan attracted general attention, it was so cordial.
He was a straight, sinewy fellow with shrewd, kindly gray eyes and
"sandy" hair. He was clad like a frontiersman and the moment the
colonel saw him he exclaimed, "By all that's good an' glorious, Zeb,
I've seen ye in my dreams followin' me up the ladder at the barrier,
but I never expected to see ye in the flesh again. Where's yer
Fidus--what's his name, that Lovell boy?"[1]
"I left him in Boston after the evacuation, an' haven't heard from him
since. How are you?"
"Never so well in my life. Prison fare up in old Quebec agreed with
me, I reckon. Boys," he said, turning to a knot of his men who had
gathered about, "this man Zeb, an' a Boston boy, brought up the rear
on that march to Quebec. It was the hardest thing I ever did when I
detailed 'em for the duty. How they got through alive I never could
understand. And young Allison, here, is a chap as was with me fightin'
Indians out in the Ohio country. I wish all the boys who've marched
with me could fall into the ranks to-day; we'd keep right on to New
York an' capture Howe, bag an' baggage."
"When we take New York," laughed Zeb, "we'll need more men than
Congress ever has got together, I'm thinkin'. I was there when
Washington tried to hold it, because Congress an' the country expected
him to do the impossible. But, Colonel, I will say as how if you led
the way, thar'd not be one of 'em, as ever marched with Morgan, who
wouldn't be at yer back."
"Good! I like that kind of talk. Meanwhile we'll get the kinks out of
our legs marching to Morristown."
"So you are an Injun fighter," remarked Zeb to Rodney, as they fell
into line side by side.
"Scarcely that," replied Rodney, flushing with pleasure as he thought
of the introduction by his colonel. "I've been made prisoner by them,
lived with them for a time and ran away from 'em, doing a little
fighting by the way."
"Anyhow, the colonel appears to like ye, an' that's a recommendation
not to be sneezed at."
"I hope I can keep his good will. I never saw a man whose men were
more loyal."
"He's a lion in a fight, asks no man to go whar he won't go himself.
And he knows what the boys are thinkin' about, an' just how to manage
'em."
"I was told that on the march to the Scioto one of his men disobeyed
orders, in fact had been disgruntled for some time, and that Morgan
walked up to him and said, 'Come with me a minute.' They went into the
woods together and, when they came back, the man had a black eye and
looked as though he'd stolen a sheep; but ever after he didn't have to
be told twice to do a thing."
Zeb laughed, saying, "That sort of treatment was what that kind of man
could understand. But Morgan never allowed one of his men to be
flogged."
"He was terribly flogged once himself."
"Yes, but he was too much of a man for that to break him, though the
ordinary man who's been whipped seems to lose his self respect and his
courage, an' Morgan won't allow it in his command."
By the time Morgan's men arrived at Morristown, Zeb and Rodney were
the best of friends, and the latter had heard the story of the
expedition to Quebec,[2] of Donald Lovell and what a fine lad he was,
until he hoped that Zeb's wish, that they meet him, might be granted.
It was a very small army which Morgan found at Morristown. Of the
sixteen regiments Congress had requested the colonies to furnish
(Congress could do little but request), not over six hundred men had
arrived. The next two months were passed in recruiting the army and
getting it into condition, a very trying time to the many impatient
spirits in Morgan's command, and doubtless very trying also to their
commander, who always chafed under any sort of inaction. What with
target practice and drilling, all were kept out of mischief, however,
and Rodney found that as a marksman he could "hold his own" with the
best.
Zeb, who had become his daily companion, received in May a letter from
his old friend, Donald Lovell, who wrote that he had fully recovered
from a wound he had received in the battle on Long Island the year
before, and hoped soon to get back into the service.
A corps, called Morgan's Rangers, was made up of men picked from the
various regiments, five hundred in all. There were, among them,
Virginians, Pennsylvania "Dutchmen," men from the Carolinas, men from
the frontier and Yankees. Skill in the use of the rifle was a
necessary qualification for membership. They were a fine lot of men
for the perilous duties to which they were to be assigned.
The corps was divided into eight companies, the captains of which
were: Cobel, Posey, Knox, Long, Swearingen, Parr, Boone, and
Henderson, all men selected by Morgan.
The organization of this corps was completed on June 13th, on which
day it was ordered by Washington to watch for the approach of British
scouting parties, for it was learned that Howe was to begin active
operations. The American headquarters had now been changed to
Middlebrook. That very day two divisions of the British forces, one
under Cornwallis and the other under DeHeister, set out from New
Brunswick for the purpose of engaging Washington, confident that, with
a little more fighting, they would crush the revolution.
The Rangers had their first glimpse of the British under Cornwallis
when the latter reached Somerset Court House, and, for several days,
there was sharp skirmishing with scouting parties.
Rodney and Zeb were stationed one afternoon on one of the roads as
pickets, when a company of the British were discovered approaching.
The pickets' orders were to fire and fall back on the main body,
unless it should be thought possible, in case of a small number of the
enemy, to report their presence and secure force enough to cut them
off. This was the view taken both by Zeb and his companion, so they
ran back to report.
A squad of the Rangers was hurried forward to meet the enemy, with
instructions to get between them and their main army, and make them
prisoners. Before this could be accomplished the British came upon
them. The enemy outnumbered the Rangers two to one, yet the latter
would have charged them but for orders to halt and fire. So quickly
was the order obeyed that the crack of their rifles rang out together
with the British officer's command to fire. The British fired blindly
into the smoke, whereas the riflemen had taken quick, accurate aim.
But one among the Rangers was hit, and that was Rodney, he receiving a
slight flesh wound in the left arm.
"I thought a bee had stung me," he said, later, when Zeb discovered
the blood on his friend's sleeve.
The enemy, being uncertain as to the number of the Rangers, fell back
in good order, carrying their dead with them. They were pursued by the
Rangers until a larger body met them, when the Americans retreated.
Skirmishes like this were of daily occurrence, and Cornwallis, finding
that Washington was not disposed to accommodate him by rashly engaging
in battle under disadvantageous conditions, retreated to New
Brunswick, with the Rangers dogging his flanks.
Quite a number of deserters were picked up. Benjamin Franklin had
devised a shrewd scheme for encouraging desertions. Learning the brand
of tobacco specially liked by the Hessians, he had offers concealed in
packages of this tobacco, which was distributed where the Hessians
would get them. These hired troops had no love for the cause for which
they were fighting, and many of them had little for the tyranny with
which they were treated when at home in Germany. When they read these
offers, printed in German, of money and land, they were sorely tempted
to change masters, especially if they did not happen to be of those
who loved fighting for the privilege it gave them to loot and ravage.
How the country people, all the Americans, indeed, except the Tories,
despised and dreaded the Hessian! In fact he was no more brutal than
many of the British, but he was trained to loot and thus was held in
disrepute. On several occasions he had bayoneted the American soldier
after the latter had surrendered.
"Why didn't our men serve 'em a like turn at Trenton?" was a question
some had asked.
Zeb well expressed the matter once when the subject was being
discussed around the camp-fire.
"I reckon that job at Trenton was most complete. Thar's nothing about
it to be ashamed of, an' everything to be proud of. If we'd butchered
the pig-stickers when they were whinin' on their knees it wouldn't hev
looked well in history."
"There comes a detachment of 'em now!" exclaimed Rodney, the
following morning. He and Zeb were doing picket duty. The latter gave
the call, and several Rangers ran up. A half mile down the road the
Hessians came marching on in close order till they arrived at some
farm buildings when they were seen to break ranks.
"Let 'em have it!" cried Zeb, bringing his long rifle to his shoulder.
Then, loading as he ran, he called, "Come on, boys, let's get to
closer range."
Other Rangers, hearing the firing, came running after them. In doing
this they not only obeyed orders, but most of them gratified their own
desire to get into a skirmish with the enemy at every opportunity.
Soon the bullets were singing anything but a cheerful song about the
ears of the Hessians, who began to reform their ranks and returned the
fire. After several of them had fallen in their tracks, the remainder
retreated, bearing off their dead and wounded, pursued by the Rangers
clear to the enemy's lines, when they, too, were compelled by
overwhelming numbers to retreat.
As they passed the farm on the way back, "Do-as-much Bunster," a
Pennsylvania Dutchman, exclaimed, "Dey vas not alretty till Christmas
for roast pig to vait, I tink."
"Reckon your thinker is workin' this mornin'," was Zeb's reply as he
turned aside to look over into a pen beside the road where a fine
litter of white pigs lay cuddled about the old sow.
"You fellers hev earned one o' them beauties," said the farmer,
coming out of his barn and proceeding to slaughter one of the
innocents without evident compunction.
"Do as much for you zumtime," said Bunster, whereat all laughed. That
was what the Dutchman always said when any one did him a favour. He
was as good as his word, too, which not only gave him his nickname but
made him one of the most popular men in his company.
He was both fat and jolly, as Dutchmen should be, but not always are.
His blue eyes twinkled with good humour and shrewdness, and his
eagerness showed that he was fond of roast pig.
How good it tasted though cooked, as it had to be, under unfavourable
conditions over a camp-fire, and without proper utensils. There was,
however, a look of contentment on the faces of those who partook of
the feast that afternoon, and sat around on the warm ground licking
their fingers.
"Let's see," said Zeb, "Bunster and I and Rodney are off duty
to-night."
"Yah, and I tink I zum sleep get."
"One of those Hesse-Cassel ruffians swaps even for one good American,
and there's a lot of our boys rottin' in the prison hulks in New York
harbour to-night."
"Which is one way of saying we should capture a few Hessians for a
pastime; hey, Do-as-much Bunster?" and Rodney thrust a forefinger into
Bunster's fat ribs. The Dutchman squealed and leaped to his feet, for
he was so ticklish that one, wishing to see him squirm, only had to
point a finger at him.
"That farmer is certain sure a good one, though he is too lazy to take
his pigs in out of danger. I hate to see him lose 'em. Besides he has
a big rick o' hay right nigh that pig pen an' it looked like a good
place to sleep. What d'ye say, boys, if we tote ourselves down thar
this evenin'?"
"Zum place to sleep, yah?"
"I'm not sleepy yet, but I am ready to go," replied Rodney, so they
set out.
They crossed the fields, some of which were new mown and fragrant. The
sun was setting after a hot day. The swallows skimmed over the field.
"Swallers flyin' low, sign o' rain," said Zeb.
"Needn't lay it on the swallows when the clouds are piling up as they
are this evening. We'll want a roof to the hay rick before morning, I
think," was Rodney's reply.
They found the farmer doing his chores. His smile was a trifle
apprehensive as he said, "That pig tasted so good ye come back fer
more?"
"We be no hogs. We reckoned as how the fellers as didn't git roast pig
might come back and try it this evenin'."
"Hope ye don't intend fightin' round here. My wife Nancy is dretful
nervous."
"My kind and tremulous friend, do ye want the pig-stickers ter git yer
pigs? We 'lowed as how we might stay here an' save yer next winter's
pork. 'Sposin' you explain it to Nancy. We'll not allow any one to
hurt her, if we can help it."
This seemed to satisfy the farmer; but he took fresh alarm when Zeb
went along to a two-wheeled ox-cart, piled high with hay and backed
against the pen. As Zeb raised the tongue, and told Bunster to put a
stick under it, the farmer called excitedly, "Look out! Ye'll tip it
into the pig pen; that load is too heavy behind, anyhow."
"Hay mought be good fer some kind o' hogs," which enigmatic remark by
Zeb called forth no response from the farmer, who bade them good night
and went into the house.
"I'll stand guard the first part or we'll draw lots, as you wish,"
said Rodney.
It was decided to draw lots, but Rodney, drawing the shortest straw,
had his wish to stand guard the first part of the night for, though
tired, he was not sleepy.
His companions threw themselves down on the hay at the foot of the
rick and soon, by their regular breathing, he knew they slept. Sleep
was a luxury with the Rangers in those days of continuous scout duty.
Rodney's nerves were high strung and no sound escaped him. He heard
the rustle of a toad in the grass at his feet. An occasional mosquito
hummed about his ears. His mind wandered away to that little Indian
village he had known. In his imagination he could hear the crooning
song of the squaws about the camp-fires, the shrill cries of the
whip-poor-will. He thought of the old Indian chief, whose savage
hands had so often grasped the rifle the boy now held. Had Ahneota
lived he doubtless would be encouraging the red men in aid of the
British, and would not hesitate to torture women and children as well
as men. How he hated the whites!
Hark! What was that sound? Surely the clink of the iron shoe of a
horse on a stone in the road!
The boy waked his sleeping companions. They seized their rifles and
all went nearer the road.
Out of the darkness misshapen objects could just be discerned, and the
guttural voices of several Hessians could be heard. Then a light
glimmered as one of the approaching party drew an old horn lantern
from under his cloak. Two others, by aid of the light, clambered into
the pen, leaving outside the one with the lantern and the fourth
holding the horse.
The next moment a pig squealed. The vandals were sticking them with
their bayonets.
"Follow me," whispered Zeb, running forward and tilting the cart
tongue in the air, dumping the load of hay into the pen, and burying
human and other hogs in the mire underneath.
"Surrender!" Zeb cried, thrusting the muzzle of his rifle under the
nose of the fellow holding the lantern, while Rodney and Bunster
disarmed the Hessian with the horse. Then Zeb quickly tied their hands
behind their backs, and, telling Rodney to guard them and shoot them
down if they moved hand or foot, he and Bunster turned their
attention to the commotion in the pig pen.
From under the hay there issued grunts and squeals and German oaths.
Sorry looking hirelings were those two Hessians when they crawled out
into the light. Wisps of hay clung to their well greased pigtail
queues and their hated uniforms, blue coats and yellow waistcoats,
were daubed with muck.
"Pass out yer guns, an' take this fork an' pitch out the hay," was
Zeb's order, which the dazed prisoners attempted to obey, when the
farmer, calling out the window, said, "I'll look out fer that."
"Better let him, Zeb," said Rodney. "If we stay here too long we may
have more Hessians than we need."
"Good advice, ye townsman of the immortal Jefferson. Forward march."
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[1] See "Marching with Morgan."
[2] The chief incident in "Marching with Morgan," in which Zeb and
young Donald Lovell are the leading characters.