“Thee is not of these parts.”
“No.”
He was speaking the vile tongue which now all but educated Friends
speak, and even some of these; but at that time it was spoken only by
the vulgar.
“It will cost thee two shillings.”
“Too much,” said I; “but thou hast me caught I must over, and that
soon.”
He was long about getting ready, and now and then looked steadily across
the stream; but as to this I was not troubled, as I knew that, once
beyond it, I was out of danger.
I paid my fare, and left him looking after me up the deep cut which led
to the more level uplands. Whistling gaily, and without suspicion, I won
the hilltop by what I think they called Ship Lane.
Glad to be over Schuylkill and out of the way of risks, I sat down
by the roadside at the top of the ascent. The forest was dense with
underbrush on either side, and the hickories, and below them the
sumachs, were already rich with the red and gold of autumn. Being rather
tired, I remained at rest at least for a half-hour in much comfort of
body and mind. I had been strongly urged by my love for Darthea to await
her coming; but decisions are and were with me despotic, and, once I was
of a mind to go, not even Darthea could keep me. Yet to leave her to my
cousin and his wiles I hated. The more I discussed him in the council of
my own thoughts, the more I was at a loss. His evident jealousy of one
so much younger did seem to me, as it did to my aunt, singular. And why
should he wish me to be away, as clearly he did? and why also malign me
to my father I I smiled to think I was where his malice could do me no
harm, and, rising, pulled my snapsack straps up on my shoulders, and set
my face to the east.
Of a sudden I heard to left, “Halt, there!” I saw a long rifle covering
me, and above the brush a man’s face. Then stepped out to right, as
I obeyed the order, a fellow in buckskin shirt and leggings, with a
pistol. I cried out, “I surrender;” for what else could I do? Instantly
a dozen men, all armed, were in the road, and an ill-looking lot they
were. The leader, a coarse fellow, was short and red of face, and much
pimpled. He had hair half a foot long, and a beard such as none wore in
those days.
I had but time to say meekly, “Why dost thou stop me, friend?” when he
jerked off my sack and, plunging a hand inside, pulled out a pistol.
“A pretty Quaker! Here,” and he put back the pistol, crying, as the
men laughed, “sergeant, strap this on your back. Quick! fetch out the
horses; we will look him over later. Up with him behind Joe! Quick--a
girth! We have no time to waste. A darned rebel spy! No doubt Sir
William may like to have him.”
In truth, no time was lost nor any ceremony used, and here was I
strapped to the waist of a sturdy trooper, behind whom I was set on a
big-boned roan horse, and on my way home again.
“Which way, Captain Fitz?” said the sergeant. “The ford is high.” In a
moment we were away, in all, as I noted, about a score.
The famous Tory chief--he was no better than a bold thief--made no
reply, but rode northwest with his following for a lower ford, as I
fancied. He went at speed through the open pine forest, I, my hands
being free, holding on to my man as well as I could, and, as you may
suppose, not very happy, A mile away we came out on a broad road. Here
the captain hesitated, and of a sudden turned to left toward the river,
crying loudly, with an oath, “Follow me!” The cause was plain.
Some twenty troopers came out into the road not a hundred yards distant,
and instantly rode down on us at a run. Before we could get as swift a
pace, they were close upon us; and then it was a wild and perilous race
downhill for the river, with yells, curses, and pistol-balls flying,
I as helpless, meanwhile, as a child. The big roan kept well up to the
front near the captain. Looking back, through dust and smoke, I saw our
pursuers were better horsed and were gaining. A man near me dropped, and
a horse went down. With my left hand I caught hold of the strap which
fastened me to the rascal in the saddle. He was riding for life, and too
scared to take note of the act. I gave the buckle a quick jerk, and it
came loose, and the strap fell. I clutched the man by the throat with my
right hand, and squeezed his gullet with a death-grip. He made with his
right hand for a holster pistol, losing his stirrups, and kicking as if
in a fit. I only tightened my grip, and fetched him a crack under the
left ear with my unengaged hand. He was reeling in the saddle when, at
this instant, I was aware of a horseman on my right. I saw a sabre gleam
in air above us, and, letting go my scamp’s throat, I ducked quickly
below his left shoulder as I swung him to left, meaning to chance a
fall. He had, I fancy, some notion of his peril, for he put up his hand
and bent forward, I saw the flash of a blade, and, my captor’s head
falling forward, a great spout of blood shot back into my face, as
the pair of us tumbled together headlong from his horse. I was dimly
conscious of yells, oaths, a horse leaping over me, and for a few
seconds knew no more. Then I sat up, wiped the blood away, and saw what
had happened.
The trooper lay across me dead, his head nearly severed from the trunk,
and spouting great jets of blood. A half-dozen dead or wounded were
scattered along the road. Not a rod away was the sergeant who had my
sack pinned under his horse, and far ahead, in a cloud of dust, that
terrible swordsman riding hard after the bandit. Fitz, well mounted, got
off, I may add, and, with three or four, swam the river, living to be
hanged, as he well deserved.
By the time I was up and staggering forward, bent on recovering my sack,
the leader, who had given up the chase, rode toward me. I must have been
a queer and horrid figure. I was literally covered with blood and
mud. The blood was everywhere,--in my hair, over my face, and down my
neck,--but I wanted my precious sack.
“Halt!” he cried out. “Here, corporal, tie this fellow.”
“Pardon me,” said I, now quite myself. “I was the prisoner of these
rascals.”
“Indeed? Your name?”
“Hugh Wynne.”
“Where from?”
“From the city.”
“Where to?”
“To join the army.”
“Your business? What are you?”
“Gentleman.”
“Good heavens! you are a queer one! We shall see. Are you hurt! No!
Great Caesar! you are an awful sight!”
“I was tied to that fellow you disposed of, and with your permission I
will get my snapsack yonder.”
“Good; get it. Go with him, corporal, and keep an eye on him.”
In a half-hour the dead were stripped and pitched aside, the wounded
cared for in haste, and the horses caught.
“Can you ride?” said my captor. “By George, you must!”
“Yes, I can ride.”
“Then up with you. Give him a leg.”
I wanted none, and was up in a moment on the bare back of a big farm
mare; their errand had been, I learned, the purchase of horses. The
captain bade me ride with him, and, turning north, we rode away, while
the big brute under me jolted my sore bones.
“And now,” said the captain, “let me hear, Mr. Wynne, what you have to
say. Take a pull at my flask.”
I did so, and went on to relate my adventures briefly--the
duck-shooting, which much amused him, the escape at the forge, and what
else seemed to be needed to set myself right. He looked me over again
keenly.
“You had a close thing of it.”
“Yes,” said I; “you are a terrible swordsman, and a good one, if you
will pardon me.”
“I meant to cut him on the head, but he put his neck where his head
should have been. There is one rascal the less; but I missed the leader.
Hang him!”
“He will take care of that,” said I.
Then my companion said I must join his troop, and would I excuse his
rough dealing with me?
I declared myself well content, and explained as to his offer that I was
much obliged, and would think it over; but that I desired first to see
the army, and to find my friend, Captain Warder, of the Pennsylvania
line.
“Yes; a stout man and dark?”
“No; slight, well built, a blond.”
“Good; I know him. I was testing your tale, Mr. Wynne. One has need to
be careful in these times.” For a few moments he was silent, and then
asked sharply, “Where did you cross?”