NEW VENTURES WITH OLD ACQUAINTANCES
What is more grateful to a weak, weary mortal on a hot morning than a
snug seat under the shade of a tree, stirred by a gentle breeze from
the river? Rodney Allison could think of nothing, and sank into the
seat with a sigh of relief.
This was his first attempt at walking abroad since his illness, during
which the British had left Philadelphia and returned to New York,
pursued and harassed by the Americans. That morning Captain Enderwood
had left him, and, when he had inquired for his bill, he was told that
it had been paid. He had been dimly conscious during his illness of
the presence of a nurse other than Enderwood, but when he had asked
about it the captain had ignored the question and talked about
something else. Surely he was indebted to some one for his life and
life was very sweet this July morning.
"When d'ye leave yer grave?"
"Hello, Zeb! I was thinking about you, and wondering if we'd ever meet
again."
"An' I was thinkin' the same thing when I got sight o' you an'
concluded we wouldn't."
"Concluded we wouldn't?"
"Ye see, I 'lowed 'twas only yer ghost I was lookin' at. Ye've either
had poor victuals or a poor appetite."
Rodney had the first hearty laugh he enjoyed for months and replied,
"I've been pretty sick and am lucky to have any sort of looks left.
But what are you doing in Philadelphia?"
"I'm hangin' around this town hopin' the schooner Betsy has escaped
the British and will bring my wife."
"Your wife?"
"All the result o' my furlough in Boston."
"So Melicite, of whom Donald Lovell told me so much, consented. Zeb,
you're a born conqueror. When you found you couldn't capture Canada
you won a wife."
"More to my likin' than the whole o' Canada. Now I'm wonderin' how I'm
goin' to support her. A soldier's pay for a month won't buy more'n a
pinch o' salt, an' salt ain't very fillin' 'thout somethin' to go
along with it."
"Well, I know where we can get a square meal, though it won't taste as
good as that roast pig down in Jersey. Will you go with me?"
"Certain sure I'll go. I reckon thar be no good o' my hangin' round
any longer to-day."
As they walked down Chestnut Street Rodney saw a familiar figure
approaching.
"Zeb, there comes one of the greatest men in the country, Thomas
Jefferson. Wonder if he'll remember me."
He was not left long in doubt. Mr. Jefferson's face was careworn and
noticeably older than when Rodney had last seen him, and the lad was
but a shadow of his former self, yet the man recognized him the moment
they met.
"How is my young friend this morning? You've had an illness."
"I am just up from a fever. Mr. Jefferson, I want you to know my
friend, one of Morgan's Rangers, Mr. Campbell, or Zeb, as we call him.
He's been to me almost as good a friend as you."
"I'm always glad to meet your friends, Rodney. What are you doing
here?"
"I'm waiting till I get strength enough to go back to Charlottesville.
I was taken prisoner and am on parole and I think home is the best
place for me."
"Charlottesville is a good place at all times, especially now that
Burgoyne's troops are imprisoned there. I should think you might also
find it profitable to return, for the prisoners kept there have put
money in circulation and made work. By the way, I haven't seen you
since you sold your horse to my overseer. I felt badly about that
because I knew you didn't let him go without a sacrifice. I will give
you a letter and when you get back you take it to Monticello and get
the colt. You can pay me at your convenience."
This was unexpected good fortune, and Rodney felt very grateful. "I
wish I had Nat here. I would start to-morrow," he remarked to Zeb as
they walked on.
"Thar seems to be no such thing as complete satisfaction in this
world. Now, if I had a home fer Melicite an' me to go to, well, I
reckon I'd be a little easier in mind."
"Come to Charlottesville with me. You heard what Mr. Jefferson said
about business being brisk there. It's only a little village, but
we'll find some way to turn a dollar. You've got to come, unless you
can find something better."
And so it happened that Rodney and his friend and Melicite, who
arrived in due time, all found their way to Charlottesville, and also
found home and opportunity.
Rodney was surprised on his first visit to the quarters of the
"Convention troops," as they were called. On Colonel Harvey's estate,
about five miles distant from the Court House at Charlottesville,
barracks and camps had been erected for the prisoners, who were
constructing a building to be used as a theatre. Many of them had
vegetable gardens, one officer, it was said, having spent nearly five
hundred dollars for seed to be planted by his men.
When these prisoners had arrived there the previous winter, after a
march of over seven hundred miles from Massachusetts, the hillside,
which now bloomed, was desolate and bleak. But few buildings had been
erected, and about the only provisions obtainable were corn meal and
water. All that had been changed as by magic, and many of the poor
fellows had not known such comfort since leaving their homes in
England, while most of the Hessians were faring better than they ever
had done at home.
It will be recalled that Gates had weakly consented to terms which
allowed Burgoyne's soldiers to be transported to England on condition
they should not fight against America. He was so eager to secure a
surrender, that he evidently did not stop to consider that these
soldiers could be used in England to replace those stationed there,
who in turn could be sent to America. Shrewder men were quick to see
the mistake and to take advantage of any circumstance to prevent it.
Such a circumstance was afforded by Burgoyne himself, who, not liking
the quarters assigned to him in Massachusetts, had declared the terms
of the surrender had been broken. Moreover, when the Americans were
ready to let the troops go on their arrival in Massachusetts, the
British would not provide transportation, and by the time they were
ready the Americans had various pretexts for not complying with the
terms of the surrender. The British declared their opponents acted in
bad faith. Undoubtedly many Americans believed England would act in
bad faith if she could get the troops back.
Zeb's attitude on this question was that of many Americans. "I don't
care to argue the matter," he said. "I can if necessary; the argyments
been't all on one side."
Zeb would always be lame from his wound, in fact this had forced him
to leave the army. "The Rangers aren't what they were," he told
Rodney, "since Morgan was given another command. He was the king pin.
He had a way o' seein' the Rangers got what belonged to 'em. They knew
it, an' thar was nothin' they wouldn't do for him. I mind one day he
was ridin' past whar some o' the men were at work clearin' a road. Two
of 'em were tryin' to roll out a big rock an' a little squirt of a
sergeant was bossin'. 'Why don't ye help the men?' Morgan shouted at
him. 'I'm an officer, sir,' says the sergeant. 'Oh yes,' says Morgan.
'I didn't think o' that,' an' he jumped off his horse an' helped the
men roll out the rock."
Rodney's work that fall often required him to visit the prisoners'
encampment. One day, as he was passing a cabin, he heard some one call
in a faint voice for help. He rushed in and found a man lying on the
floor. He helped the man to his bed and as he did so saw that he was
none other than his old acquaintance, the "Chevalier."
While Allison did not feel so bitter against this man as formerly, for
the reason that his recent experiences had brought him knowledge of
bigger rascals than he had ever supposed this man to be, yet his
feelings were far from being friendly. He nevertheless ran for the
camp doctor and waited until he had declared the man out of danger for
the present. Rodney heard his advice to the patient, that he keep very
quiet and free from excitement, as otherwise his next attack might
prove fatal.
Rodney turned back into the cabin to ask if there were anything he
might do, and the look in the face of the "Chevalier" startled the
lad. It quickly passed, however, and the man quietly said: "Why, this
is Rodney Allison, who saved my miserable existence out on the
Scioto."
"Not much of an exploit to be remembered by. You'd have shot him if I
hadn't."
"Why, you shot the redskin in the heel and, if I correctly recall my
mythology, Paris required the assistance of the god, Apollo, before he
was able to hit Achilles in a like spot."
"He only had a bow and arrow while I had one of the finest rifles in
the country."
"Anyhow, it was an act worthy of a better return, as you no doubt
concluded later."
This allusion to the gaming incident annoyed Rodney. He thought the
least the fellow might do was to make no mention of that rascally
affair.
"If I don't refer to that matter I see no reason for you to do so. Of
late I've been associated with men who think that, after you've rolled
a man in the dirt, it isn't necessary to rub it in."
The "Chevalier" whistled and then smilingly quoted:
"'The duke, he drew out half his sword--
The guard drew out the rest.'"
"Can I do any more for you, sir?" Rodney spoke impatiently.
"You might tell me how are the mother and the little sister and about
the home you feared the miser would get. You see I have a good memory
for some things."
"They are well. They yet have the home, though I did my best to
sacrifice it. If there's nothing I may do I will be going."
"You are kind, and I wish you would call again. I expected you would
be in the army. As I remember, you were a lusty young rebel when I
knew you."
"I served with Colonel Morgan's Rangers at the capture of Burgoyne."
It must be admitted there was a touch of malice in these words and the
tone in which the lad spoke them.
"So I'm still further indebted to you. Well, as you are responsible
for my being here, I hope you will feel under obligations to call
again when I am better able to entertain company. By the way, did you
ever know a man by the name of David Cameron? Why I ask is because you
resemble a man by that name, whom I once knew."
"That was my father's name," replied Rodney, and the next instant he
could have bitten his tongue. He quickly added: "My father, after
coming to this country, had good reasons for taking the name of his
mother's people, the Allisons, not that he had any occasion to be
ashamed of the name of Cameron. Now that he is dead we shall retain
the name of Allison."
"As I remember your father, he had no occasion to be ashamed of
anything, except, possibly, some of his acquaintances. So David is
dead."
"My father was a man who kept good company to the day of his death."
"He was a very kind-hearted man, and such cannot always keep what you
term 'good company.' May I ask you to send here some worthy lawyer or
trustworthy justice of the peace? I have some transactions which I
wish to discuss with such a person. You, being the son of your father,
I know will do that for me."
"Where and when did you know my father?"
"More than twenty years ago in London. When did he die, Rodney?"
"He was killed at the battle of Point Pleasant at the time we were out
in the Ohio country."
"Four years ago. Do you come often to the camp?"
"Frequently."
"Will it be asking too much for you to look in on me, as they say?"
"I will do as you wish."
As Rodney rode away he thought much upon the strange man he had left.
Evidently he was one whom his father had befriended. And the rascal
had tried to rob his benefactor's son. Probably, what with the illness
and all, the fellow's conscience twinged a little. Anyhow, he should
have the lawyer though it were better he should have the clergyman,
thought the lad.
That night Rodney found it difficult to put thoughts of the sick man
out of his mind and, when a few days later he again had occasion to
visit the camp, he took along with him some delicacies which he
thought might tempt the patient's appetite.
"So you didn't forget me. What's this? Something besides camp fare?
Oh, yes, you are David Cameron's son, but you've got a life work ahead
if you live up to his standard."
"I believe you, sir."
"Would you be willing to send this letter? I suppose it will reach
Philadelphia in a few days. By the way, did your father come to
Charlottesville from London?"
"No. He lived nearly eighteen years down in Prince William County. He
was employed there much of the time by Squire Danesford."
"Danesford! Did he have a daughter about your own age?"
"Yes. Lisbeth. She was in Philadelphia the last I knew of her. I heard
the other day that the state had seized their estate. Danesford is a
bitter Tory, you know."
"Danesford died a poor man in London last April. His daughter, I
understand, died about three months later. At least the person to whom
that letter is addressed wrote me she couldn't live."
"Are--are you sure? I didn't even know she was sick."
The man looked keenly at his caller. "I have no reason to doubt the
report. It was said she took her father's death very much to heart,
and, what with not being well,--she had nursed a friend, I think,--she
was taken down with a fever. You must have known her?
"Why, she was my playmate. I--I can't realize she's dead." Then
hurriedly saying good-bye he went away, seeing little and thinking
much, and the "Chevalier" lay looking at the blank wall.
On arriving home Rodney went directly to his room. He shrank from
telling the news to his mother. He must first think it over. The girl
in the red cloak who had stamped her foot and called him a simpleton,
ah, she was the one he missed, and not her who had laughed in his face
that winter night and wheedled him as she laughed.
Mrs. Allison was greatly shocked. Rodney had been ashamed to tell his
mother of the time Lisbeth had tricked him, and now it somehow seemed
disloyal to the girl to speak of it. Well, he would forget it, and so
resolving he worked as never before. There was work to do, both for
himself and Zeb; moreover, it was profitable.
When he next had occasion to visit the encampment he called on the
"Chevalier" as soon as he arrived. All the way to the camp the
question had been in his mind: How did it happen that the man knew the
Danesfords, spoke of them as persons with whom he was quite familiar?
He met Angus, who said, "Ridin' back along soon?" and, on being told,
replied, "I reckon I'll wait fer ye."
Rodney found the "Chevalier" unusually bright and nimble of wit. "I
suppose, Allison, you think the war is over with the surrender of
Burgoyne? Most of your people lose no opportunity to express that
opinion. I notice, however, that the British army marches about the
country pretty much as it pleases. Why, my lad, the war is just
begun."
"Certainly it's a good beginning," was the lad's rather dry response.
The "Chevalier" appreciated it. There was a twinkle in his eyes. It
was evident he liked to draw Rodney out. He said: "What would you
people do if by some accident, for you can never hope to win unless
some other powerful nation helps you, what would you do if you should
win? All the colonies would be by the ears in less than a year."
"Perhaps you never heard what 'Sam' Adams told the Quakers who said
they wished to obey such government as the Lord placed over them."
"What did he say?"
"He told them the Lord was providing a government."
"Don't you think this so-called government, where Congress may only
humbly ask the several colonies, each to do its part, a pretty poor
sort of government to lay at the Lord's door? Why, once these colonies
get clear of England, they'll fight among themselves. But, even if
they didn't, the country would have a patchwork of little petty
governments and nothing in common to make them strong."
"Do you remember what Gadsden said at New York at the meeting held in
protest against the Stamp Act?"
"No; what was it?"
"He said: 'There ought to be no New England man, no New Yorker known
on the continent; but all of us, Americans.' I well remember father
speaking of that. There was a queer codger who joined the Rangers. The
men, because of his long legs, named him 'Lopin' Luther,' and he once
said: 'We're fightin' fer free Englishmen as well as Americans, only
the darn fools don't know it.'"
"You mean, or rather he meant, the principle involved. But, from what
I have learned, the more of what the people term freedom they have,
the more they want."
"And why not? Whoever called you the 'Cavalier,' evidently knew why he
did so."
The man's face became grave. He said: "I am not worthy of the name. I
have great respect for those who were known as Cavaliers. Some of your
best blood in the Old Dominion descended from them. I believe it isn't
so much what people have as the way they use it. I've seen those who
were getting along finely until something more was added to them, then
make a failure of it. Take your hero, Morgan; what did he have but his
own courage and brains and powerful body? He's made the most of what
he had. Had he been born a duke he might not have done so well."
"Could he have done what he has in your country, where your dukes are
born with the privilege of lording it over the Morgans?"
"Rodney, you argue well. Where did you learn? I forget your father.
You are indeed his son. Must you go? Well, here is a packet, of which
I wish you to take charge. When you learn that I am dead, and the
doctor tells me my heart is about worn out, you are to open the packet
and I am sure will do right with what you find there."
Rodney hesitated, and the man, noticing his hesitation, said, "You
will not regret it. You believe me, don't you?"
Looking into the face of the man, Rodney had it not in his heart to
say no. Somehow, and he was almost ashamed to admit it to himself, he
did believe. This man, who, under the guise of friendliness, once had
robbed him, this gambler, literally compelled his liking.
When Allison had finished the business for which he had come, and was
about to leave, he noticed the camp doctor hurrying to the Chevalier's
cabin. With fear in his heart he followed. The fear was realized. The
man who had been known to him as the "Chevalier" was dead. Rodney
helped prepare the body. He had performed similar services for friends
who had died in camp. It was not a duty from which he would flinch.
Yet he started back, his face was pale. The doctor noticed the
agitation and sought the cause. Young Allison was staring at tattoo
marks on the right arm of the body. These represented a closed hand
gripping a sword. Rodney had seen the exact counterpart of that on the
right arm of little Louis, who had told him, "Papa put it there!"