“And are there any outlying pickets above the upper ferry on the west
bank!”
I thought not, and went on to tell of the bridging of the river, of the
lines of forts, and of the positions held in the city by the Grenadiers
and the Highlanders. A large part of the army, I said, was being
withdrawn from Germantown, I supposed with a view to attack the forts
below the city.
“What you say is valuable, Mr. Wynne.” And he quickened the pace with an
order, and pushed on at speed.
It seemed to me time to know into whose company I had fallen, and who
was the hardy and decisive rider at my side.
“May I take the liberty to ask with what command I am?”
“Certainly. I am Allan McLane, at your service. I will talk to you
later; now I want to think over what you have told me. I tried to
get into the city last week, dressed as an old woman; they took my
eggs--Lord, they were aged!--but I got no farther than the middle ferry.
Are you sure that troops are being withdrawn from Germantown?”
I said I was, and in large numbers. After this we rode on in silence
through the twilight. I glanced now and then at my companion, the
boldest of our partisan leaders, and already a sharp thorn in the side
of General Howe’s extended line. He was slight, well made, and dark,
with some resemblance to Arthur Wynne, but with no weak lines about a
mouth which, if less handsome than my cousin’s, was far more resolute.
I was ready to drop from my rough steed when we began, about nine at
night, to see the camp-fires of our army on either side of Skippack
Creek. A halt at the pickets, and we rode on around the right flank
among rude huts, rare tents, rows of spancelled horses,--we call
it “hobbled” nowadays,--and so at last to a group of tents, the
headquarters of the small cavalry division.
“Halt!” I heard; and I literally almost tumbled off my horse, pleased to
see the last of him.
“This way, sir,” said McLane. “Here is my tent. There is a flask under
the pine-needles. I have no feather-bed to offer. Get an hour’s rest; it
is all you can have just now. When I find out the headquarters, you must
ride again.” And he was gone.
I found a jug of water and a towel; but my attempts to get the blood and
mud out of my hair and neck were quite vain. I gave it up at last. Then
I nearly emptied the flask which McLane had left me, set my sack under
my head, pulled up a blanket, and in a minute was out of the world of
war and sound asleep.
I do not know how long my slumber lasted on my fragrant bed of pine. I
heard a voice say, “Are you dead, man?” And shaken roughly, I sat up,
confused, and for a moment wondering where I was.
“Come,” said McLane. “Oh, leave your sack.”
“No,” I said, not caring to explain why.
In a moment I was in the saddle, as fresh as need be, the cool October
night-wind in my face.
“Where are we bound?” I asked.
“Headquarters. I want you to tell your own news. Hang the man!” We had
knocked down a lurching drunkard, but McLane stayed to ask no questions,
and in a half-hour we pulled up in the glare of a huge fire, around
which lay aides, some asleep and others smoking. A few yards away was a
row of tents.
McLane looked about him. “Holloa, Hamilton!” he cried to a slight young
man lying at the fire. “Tell his Excellency I am here. I have news of
importance.”
A moment after, the gentleman, who was to become so well known and to
die so needlessly, came back, and we followed him to the largest of
the tents. As he lifted the fly he said, “Captain McLane to see your
Excellency.”
On a plain farm-house table were four candles, dimly lighting piles of
neatly folded papers, a simple camp-bed, two or three wooden stools, and
a camp-chest. The officer who sat bareheaded at the table pushed aside
a map and looked up. I was once more in the presence of Washington. Both
McLane and I stood waiting--I a little behind.
“Whom have you here, sir?”
“Mr. Wynne, a gentleman who has escaped in disguise to join the army.
He has news which may interest your Excellency.” As he spoke I came
forward.
“Are you wounded, sir?”
“No,” said I; “it is another man’s blood, not mine.” He showed no
further curiosity, nor any sign of the amazement I had seen in the faces
of his aides-de-camp on my appearance at the camp-fire.
“Pray be seated, gentlemen. Do me the favour, Captain McLane, to ask
Colonel Hamilton to return. Mr. Wynne, you said?”
“Yes, your Excellency.”
Then, to set myself right, I told him that I had had the honour to have
met him at the house of my aunt, Mistress Wynne. “With permission,
sir,” I added, “I am charged to deliver to your Excellency eight hundred
pounds which Mistress Wynne humbly trusts may be of use to the cause of
liberty.” So saying, I pulled the English notes out of my long stockings
and laid them before him.
“I could desire many recruits like you,” he said. “Mr. Hamilton, I beg
to present Mr. Wynne. Have the kindness to make memoranda of what he may
tell us.” He spoke with deliberation, as one who had learned to weigh
his words, not omitting any of the usual courteous forms, more common
at that time than in our less formal day. General Knox came in as we sat
down.
He was a sturdy man with a slight stoop, and had left his book-shop in
Boston to become the trusted friend and artillery officer of the great
Virginian, who chose his men with slight regard to the tongues of the
Southern officers, for whom they were too often “shopkeepers” or “mere
traders.”
“Report of court martial on Daniel Plympton, deserter,” said Knox.
The general took the papers, and for ten minutes at least was intently
concerned with what he read. Then he took a pen and wrote a line and his
name, and, looking up, said, “Approved, of course. Parade his regiment
at daybreak for execution. Your pardon, gentlemen.” And at once he began
to put to me a series of questions rather slowly. The absence of hurry
surprised me, young as I was, and not yet apt to take in all I might
see. Every minute some one appeared. There were papers to sign, aides
coming and going, impatient sounds out, a man’s death decreed; but with
no sign of haste he went on to finish.
At last he rose to his feet, we also standing, of course. “Are you sure
that Sir William has recalled any large force from Grermantown?--any
large force?”
I knew that the Grenadiers and many Hessians had come in, and a
considerable part of the artillery, but to what extent or precisely
in what numbers I could not be sure. He seemed to me to be intensely
considering what I told him.
At last he said, “You must be tired. You have brought much needed help,
and also good news.” Why good I did not then understand. “And now what
do you desire? How can I serve you, Mr. Wynne?”
I said I wished to be in the ranks for a time, until I learned a little
more of the duty.
He made no comment, but turning to McLane, said, “Captain McLane, you
will care for this gentleman. I trust occasion may serve, Mr. Wynne,
to enable me to offer Mistress Wynne my thanks. When you desire a
commission, Mr. Hamilton will kindly remind me of the service you have
done your country to-day. You have acted with your usual discretion,
Captain McLane. Good-night, gentlemen.” We bowed and went out.
On our way back we rode a footpace, while the captain, now ready enough
to talk, answered my many questions. “Yes; the general was a reserved,
tranquil man, with a chained-up devil inside of him; could lay a whip
over a black fellow’s back if a horse were ill groomed, or call a
man--and he a general--a d---- drunkard; but that would be in the heat
of a fight. An archbishop would learn to swear in the army, and the
general had no more piety than was good for men who were here to commit
murder.”
The next day I set out afoot, as I preferred, to look for Jack, and a
nice business I found it. The army was moving down the Skippack road
to Worcester township, and the whole march seemed, to me at least, one
great bewildering confusion of dust, artillery, or waggons stalled,
profane aides going hither and thither, broken fences, women standing at
farm-house doors, white and crying, as the long line of our foot passed;
and over all rang sharp the clink and rattle of flanking cavalry as the
horse streamed by, trampling the ruddy buckwheat-fields, and through
ravaged orchards and broken gardens. Overhead, in a great cloud high
in air, the fine dust was blown down the line by the east wind. It was
thick and oppressive, choking man and horse with an exacting thirst,
mocked by empty wells and defiled brooks. No one knew where any one else
was, and in all my life, save on one memorable evening, I never heard as
great a variety of abominable language.
I had done my best, by some change of underclothes and the industrious
use of soap and water, to make my appearance less noticeable; but it
was still bad enough, because I had no outer garments except those I
was wearing. Had I been better dressed, I had fared better; for in those
days clothes were considered, and you might easily tell by his costume
if a man were a mechanic, a farmer, a small trader, or a gentleman.
I fell at last upon an officer who was endeavouring to get his horse a
share of wayside ditch water. I said to him, seeing my chance, that his
horse had picked up a stone; if he would wait a moment I would knock
it out. On this, and upon his thanking me, I asked where I might find
Wayne’s brigade, for in it, as I knew, was my captain of the Third
Pennsylvania Continental foot. He told me it was a mile ahead. Comforted
by this news, I walked on, keeping chiefly in the fields, for there
alone was it possible to get past the marching columns.
About eleven there was a halt. I passed a lot of loose women in carts,
many canvas-covered commissary waggons, footsore men fallen out, and
some asleep in the fields,--all the scum and refuse of an army,--with
always dust, dust, so that man, beast, waggons, and every green thing
were of one dull yellow. Then there was shouting on the road; the
stragglers fled left and right, a waggon of swearing women turned over
into a great ditch, and with laughter, curses, and crack of whip, two
well-horsed cannon and caissons bounded over the field, crashing through
a remnant of snake fence, and so down the road at speed. I ran behind
them, glad of the gap they left. About a mile farther they pulled up,
and going by I saw with joy the red and buff of the Pennsylvania line.
Behind them there was an interval, and thus the last files were less
dusty. But for this I should have gone past them. A soldier told me that
this was the regiment I sought, and, searching the ranks eagerly as they
stood at ease, I walked swiftly along.
“Holloa!” I shouted. I saw Jack look about him. “Jack!” I cried. He ran
to me as I spoke. I think I should have kissed him but for the staring
soldiers. In all my life I never was so glad. There was brief time
allowed for greetings. “Fall in! fall in!” I heard. “March!”
“Come along,” he said. And walking beside him, I poured out news of
home, of my Aunt Gainor, and of myself.
A mile beyond we halted close to the road near to Methacton Hill, where,
I may add, we lay that night of October 2. Having no tents, Jack and I
slept on the ground rolled up in Holland blankets, and sheltered in part
by a wicky-up, which the men contrived cleverly enough.
I saw on our arrival how--automatically, as it seemed to me--the
regiments found camping-grounds, and how well the ragged men arranged
for shelters of boughs, or made tents with two rails and a blanket. The
confusion disappeared. Sentries and pickets were posted, fires were
lit, and food cooked. The order of it seemed to me as mysterious as the
seeming disorder of the march.
After some talk with Jack, I concluded to serve as a volunteer, at least
for a few weeks, and learn the business better before I should decide to
accept the general’s kindness. Accordingly I took my place in the ranks
of Jack’s company, and, confiding most of my gold to his care, kept in
a belt under my clothes not more than six guineas, as I remember. No
uniform was to be had at any price; but I was hardly worse off than half
of the men who made up our company. A musket, and what else was wanted,
I obtained without trouble, and as to the drill, I knew it well enough,
thanks to the Irish sergeant who had trained us at home.
Our duties, of course, kept us much apart--that is, Jack and myself;
but as he made use, or pretended to make use, of me as an orderly, I
was able to see more of him than otherwise would have been possible. My
pistols I asked him to use until I could reclaim them, and I made him
happy with the tobacco I brought, and which I soon saw him dividing
among other officers; for what was Jack’s was always everybody’s. And,
indeed, because of this generosity he has been much imposed upon by the
selfish.