THE CAPTURE OF THE WAGON TRAIN
We could see them quite clearly, as they topped the crest, the moonlight
revealing men and horses so distinctly I could even guess at their
uniform. Those in advance rode slowly, four abreast, down into the black
shadows, lolling in their saddles, voices murmuring, seemingly
unconscious of any danger. It was easy to comprehend their state of mind.
Delavan had been left alone for a week, permitted to sweep the
countryside unmolested. He and his command had naturally grown careless,
never suspecting their every move had been watched by keen-eyed scouts.
Now, guarded by Grant's troop, they believed themselves sufficiently
strong for any emergency; that no force the scattered enemy could gather
would venture upon attack. By daylight they would be within sight of the
Philadelphia outposts, and serenely confident in their numbers, the night
march had therefore become a mere routine. I heard Farrell chuckle grimly
to himself as he observed the careless approach of those advance riders.
They were Queen's Rangers, the white facings of their coats conspicuous,
their guns swung at the shoulder in reckless confidence. A slim young
lieutenant appeared to be in command, and we counted twenty in the
advance body as they slowly passed and disappeared into the denser gloom
below. Following them appeared the wagons, huge Conestogas, heavily
laden, creaking dismally in the night silence, and lurching along the
rutty road. These were dragged by mules, horses, and oxen, the drivers
blocking the wheels as they struck the sharp descent, a thin guard of
Hessians, on foot, streaming along either side, but offering no
assistance. We could hear them growling to each other in German,
punctuated by an occasional English oath, as they stumbled forward in the
dark. Ten wagons passed thus, without a movement or sound from the men
lying concealed almost within arm's reach of the unconscious guards.
Farrell never stirred, and I scarcely ventured to breathe. Then there
came another squadron of Rangers, an officer riding alone in front, the
black shadow of another section of the wagon train looming over the ridge
behind them. The horsemen passed us, the officer turning in his saddle
with an order to close up their ranks. I recognized Grant's voice, and
then, sharp as a blow, rang out Farrell's whistle at my very ear.
There was a leap of flame from both sides the road, lighting up that gash
in the clay bank as though it was an inferno, the red and yellow glow
cleaving the night asunder, with ear-splitting roar. I was on my feet, my
rifle spitting, yet hardly conscious of any act, stunned by the
suddenness of the reports, confused by those black figures leaping
forward through the weird glare. I saw and heard, and yet it was all a
confused medley, in which I bore active part while scarcely realizing its
significance. I saw men reel stumbling back, some falling heavily; I
heard shouts, oaths, cries of pain, the piercing shrieks of stricken
animals; there was the crunch of blows, a wild, inhuman cheer, a gruff
order yelled above the uproar, the rush of bodies hardly distinguishable.
The thin line of Hessians were flung aside as though they were paper men;
eager hands gripped the astounded Rangers, and dragged them from their
saddles. It was a fierce hand-to-hand _mêlée_ so swiftly fought as to be
over with almost in a minute, and yet so desperate the narrow roadway was
strewn with bodies. Frightened horses whirled and ran; wagons were
overturned; hemmed in against the high walls, Germans and British made
one mad effort to extricate themselves; the advance guard came spurring
back, pushing blindly into the ruck, the boyish voice of their young
lieutenant sounding above the uproar. But our men were between the two, a
compact body, each borderman fighting independently, but knowing the
game. I heard no word of command, no shout of direction from either
Farrell or Duval, yet we ripped them asunder with sweeping rifle butts,
and, almost before I could catch a second breath, the few who remained on
their feet were helplessly trapped. Farrell saw it was all over, and his
whistle sounded again, stilling the uproar. Up to that moment he was
beside me; with the echoing of the shrill blast he had disappeared.
It was Duval who emerged from the wreck of the train, demanding
surrender.
"Who commands here?" he shouted. "Speak up quick."
There was hesitancy, and then out of the black mass huddled against the
bank I recognized Grant's voice.
"I suppose I do; has any one seen Captain Delavan?"
"He fell at the first fire, sir," answered some one huskily.
Grant stepped forth into the moonlight, bareheaded, his sword in hand.
"Then I am the senior officer," he announced, his voice shaking slightly.
"Who are you?"
"Camden minute men. Do you surrender?"
He took a long breath, glancing about at the dark shadows. Some one held
up a lighted torch, the red flame casting a sudden gleam over the
surrounding faces. It was clear that further resistance was useless, yet
Grant temporized.
"Are you in command?"
"No," said Duval; "but I represent the commander."
"I deal with the one responsible in this affair and demand terms. Who is
your leader?"
Duval smiled, turning his head inquiringly.
"I don't think you have much choice," he commented dryly. "However,
perhaps you are not too proud to talk to a regular who outranks you--I
present Major Lawrence, of the Continental Line."
Surprised as I was by being thus suddenly thrust forward into supreme
authority, I as instantly understood the purpose, and stepped to the
front. Grant stared at my face in the gleam of the smoking torch, almost
as though he looked upon a ghost.
"You!"
"Certainly, Captain. It is a pleasure to meet with you again, especially
under such happy circumstances. But my men are becoming impatient. Do you
surrender?"
"Under what terms?" he parleyed.
"None, but we are not savages. You will be treated as prisoners of war."
His hatred of me made him obstinate, but the utter helplessness of their
position was too apparent to be ignored. A Hessian muttered something in
German, and Grant dropped the point of his sword with an oath.
"Good," I said promptly. "Lieutenant, have your men disarm the
prisoners."
There was no resistance, and the militiamen herded them against the bank,
encircled by a heavy guard. Duval singled out the officers from among the
others, and brought them forward to where I stood. There were but
three--Grant and two Hessians. I looked at them keenly, recalling the
slight figure of the young lieutenant with the boy's voice. Could the lad
have been shot, or what had become of him?
"Are you three all that are left?" I questioned bluntly. "Who commanded
the vanguard?"
The two Hessians looked at each other stupidly, and I asked the question
again before Grant saw fit to reply. His manner was excessively insolent.
"That is more than I know. We joined after dark, and I did not meet
Delavan's officers."
"He vas vat you call maype a volunteer leftentant," added one of the
Germans brokenly. "At Mount Holly we met, yah, and from there he joined."
"Not one of Delavan's men then?"
"I dink not; he vas Light Dragoon. I haf the vagon guard--the first
vagons--an' see him there. Mine Gott! he come pack vid his mens all
right--slash, shoot--his horse rear up; that vas the last I see already."
"The lad got away, with three others, sir," broke in a new voice at my
back. "They wheeled and rode through us, across the water. We thought the
horse guard would get them over there, but I guess they didn't; anyhow
there was no firing. The fellows must have turned in under the bank, and
rode like hell."
Satisfied as to this incident, and not altogether regretful that the boy
had thus escaped, I held a short consultation with Duval, seeking
explanation as to why the command had been so unceremoniously thrust upon
me. A few words only were required to make the situation clear. Farrell's
ability to injure and annoy the enemy largely depended on his leadership
not being known. While taking part in every engagement, he always
required his lieutenants to represent him in negotiations, so that up to
this time, whatever the British might suspect, they had no positive proof
that he was openly in arms against them. Duval, in turn, taking advantage
of my presence, had shifted the responsibility to my shoulders.
"But what do you people do with your prisoners?" I asked.
"Send 'em to the Continental lines when we can," he explained, "and if we
can't then turn 'em loose. No use paroling 'em, as they consider us
guerillas. If I was you I'd run 'em back to the farmhouse across the
creek, an' hold 'em there till we get rid of this stuff. Maybe it'll take
twenty-four hours to hide it all, and burn the wagons. Then the boys can
turn 'em loose, an' there's no harm done. I'd like to take that fellow
Grant into our lines--he's a mean pillaging devil--but it's too big a
risk; Bristol is about the nearest picket post, and the Red-coats have
got cavalry patrols all along in back of the river."
"But I cannot wait here," I answered, impatiently. "Farrell understood
that. I have important information for Washington, and only came with you
to-night because you were following along my route. I've got to go on."
"That's all right; just give your orders, and we'll attend to the rest.
What we want is for these lads to go back to Philadelphia saying they
were attacked by a force of militia under command of an officer of the
Continental line. That will give Clinton a scare, and turn suspicion away
from us. Grant knows you, I understand, so he'll report the affair that
way. You can be off within thirty minutes."
It was easy to grasp the point of view, and I saw no reason for refusing
assistance. I gave the necessary orders, standing under the torchlight in
full view, and waited while a squad of partisans rounded up the disarmed
prisoners, and guarded them down the slope to the edge of the stream.
This was accomplished quietly and expeditiously, Duval whispering to me
as to whom to put in command of the guard. The others gathered about the
wagons, deciding on what was worth saving, and what had better be
destroyed. Teams were doubled up, and several of the heavy Conestogas
rumbled away into the darkness. Two, too badly injured to be repaired,
were fired where they lay, the bright flames lighting up the high banks
on either side the road. I watched this work impatiently, although it
required but a few moments, and finally turned aside in search of a good
mount. I found a big black, with British arms on the bridle, and a pair
of loaded pistols in the holsters, a fine-looking animal, and came back
into the fire glow, determined to lose no more time. Duval had
disappeared, but, as I stood there looking about for him to say good-bye,
a young country fellow came up hurriedly from out the darkness.
"You're wanted down thar," he said, with the jerk of a thumb over his
shoulder. "The Tory officer wants to see ye."
"What officer? Captain Grant?"
"I reckon that's the one," indifferently; "anyhow I was told to fetch ye
down thar. Bannister sent me."
I went as he directed down the rutty road, my newly appropriated horse
trailing along behind. The prisoners were in an open space near the bank
of the stream, where a fire had been built. They were mostly lying down,
the guard forming an outside circle. Grant was pacing back and forth
restlessly, but, as soon as I appeared within the fire radius, he came
toward me.
"Can I see you alone?" he asked brusquely.
"If there is any reason for privacy, certainly," I answered in surprise.
"What do you wish to say?"
"This is a matter strictly between us," evasively. "I prefer not to
discuss it publicly here."
I had a suspicion of treachery, yet was not willing to exhibit any
reluctance. The fellow was no better man than I when it came to a
struggle, and was unarmed. Besides he had succeeded in arousing my
curiosity.
"Very good. Bannister," to the partisan in charge, "I want a word with
Captain Grant, and will be responsible for his safe return."
The man looked after us doubtfully, yet permitted us to pass beyond the
guard-lines. There was a stump beside the ford, barely within the flicker
of the distant fire, and there I stopped, leaning against my horse, and
turned so as to look into the man's face.
"Well, Grant," I said, rather sternly. "We are alone now; what is it?"
He cleared his throat, evidently uncertain how best to express himself.
"Why did you ask so many questions about Delavan's lieutenant?" he began
sullenly. "What were you trying to find out?"