THE QUEEN'S RANGERS
A bullet had struck the hand rail, shattering one of the supports, and
the broad steps were scarred and splintered. The man lay face upward, his
feet inside the hallway, one side of his head crushed in. He was roughly
dressed in woolen shirt and patched smallclothes, and wore gold hoops in
his ears, his complexion dark enough for a mulatto, with hands seared and
twisted. Surely the fellow was no soldier; he appeared more to me like
one who had followed the sea. I stepped over his body, and glanced the
length of the hall. The chandelier was shattered, the glass gleaming
underfoot; the stair rail broken into a jagged splinter, and a second
man, shot through the eye, rested half upright propped against the lower
step. He was a sandy-bearded fellow, no better dressed than the one
without, but with a belt about him, containing pistol and knife. His
yellow teeth protruding gave his ghastly features a fiendish look. Beyond
him a pair of legs stuck out from behind the staircase, clad in long
cavalry boots, and above these, barely showing, the green cloth of the
Queen's Rangers. Then Grant had not gone when this attack was made, or
else he had left some men behind? I dragged the body out into the light
so I might see the face--it was the Irishman who had helped in my
capture.
I stood staring down at him, and about me into the dismantled room,
endeavoring to clear my brain and figure all this out. It was not so
difficult to conceive what had occurred, every bit of evidence pointing
to a single conclusion. Grant had searched the house for Eric, and
discovered no signs of his presence; whatever had subsequently happened
between the girl and himself, she had not felt justified in releasing me
while he and his men remained. They must have departed soon after dark,
well provisioned, upon their long march toward the Delaware, leaving
Elmhurst unoccupied except for its mistress and her servants. The fact
that neither the lady nor Peter had opened the entrance to the secret
staircase would seem to show that the attack on the house must have
followed swiftly. It had been a surprise, giving those within no chance
to seek refuge. There had been a struggle at the front door; some of the
assailants had achieved entrance through the window, and that had
practically ended the affair.
But what had become of Peter? Of the girl? Who composed the attacking
party? The Indian had been despatched to Valley Forge with my memoranda;
probably Peter, the Irishman, and a negro or two were alone left to
defend the house. As to the identity of the marauders, I had small doubt;
their handiwork was too plainly revealed, and those two dead men remained
as evidence. Rough as were British and Hessian foragers, they were seldom
guilty of such wanton destruction as this. Besides this was the home of a
prominent loyalist, protected from despoliation by high authority. The
hellish work must have been accomplished by one or more bands of those
"Pine Robbers" who infested Monmouth County, infamous devils, hiding in
caves among sand hills, and coming forth to plunder and rob. Pretending
to be Tories their only purpose of organization was pillage. Even in the
army the names of their more prominent leaders were known, such as Red
Fagin, Debow, West, and Carter, and many a tale of horror regarding their
depredations had I heard told around the camp fire. These came back to
memory as I gazed about those lower rooms, dreading my next discovery,
half crazed to think that Claire Mortimer might be helpless in their
ruthless grasp. Better death a thousand times than such a fate.
I pushed forward into the rooms of the lower floor, more than ever
impressed by their original magnificence. Now, however, they were all
confusion, furniture broken and flung aside, walls hacked, dishes smashed
into fragments. The scene was sickening in its evidence of wanton hate.
Yet I found no more bodies, or proof of further resistance. Apparently
the only serious fighting had occurred when the front door was burst
open. Had the other occupants of the house fled--up the stairs? Or even
out some back way? I climbed the steps only to discover similar scenes
above; every room had been ransacked, beds pulled apart, drawers opened,
and the contents scattered about promiscuously. In what must have been
Mistress Claire's private apartment I stood with beating heart staring
about at the ruin disclosed. The large closet had been swept clean,
garments slashed with knives, and left in rags; drawers turned upside
down in search after jewels; the very curtains torn from the windows. It
was a scene of vandalism of which vagabonds alone would be guilty.
I stepped across the pile of things to the window, glancing out at the
still smouldering ruins of the stable. Whatever had occurred, neither the
lady nor Peter remained in or about the house. Of this I was satisfied,
yet with the realization there came a sudden comprehension of my own
helplessness to be of any aid. I was alone, unmounted, and with no weapon
but an old pistol. There might be other weapons on those dead men below,
but I could conceive of no effective way of making them useful. The
raiders were doubtless on horseback; they would have added to their
possessions such animals as might have remained on the place, and most
likely had departed not later than midnight with their booty and
prisoners. The hopelessness of the situation left me almost paralyzed. I
possessed no means of reaching Farrell, no knowledge of the nearest
minute man who could act as courier. From the window where I stood not a
house was visible. Just beyond the orchard the roads forked, a
well-travelled branch circling to the left, and disappearing over the
edge of a hill. As I traced it with my eyes a considerable body of
mounted men suddenly appeared on the summit. Without fear that they could
see me at that distance I watched eagerly as they trotted down the long
slope. They were plainly a squadron of British Dragoons, their arms and
cross-belts shining in the sun, in spite of the dust kicked up by their
horses' hoofs.
I waited until convinced they were coming to the house, before drawing
back out of sight. It was difficult to decide what was best for me to do.
Should I wait, trusting to my rough clothing, and pass myself off as a
countryman, or take advantage of the brief time left in which to escape?
If I essayed the first choice I could explain the situation, and start
these troopers on the trail; if not they might fail to understand and
ride on thoughtlessly. What such a body of mounted men were doing in the
neighborhood I could merely guess at--either they were riding through to
New York on some matter of importance, or else had been sent out
hurriedly to discover what had become of Delavan's foragers. This
supposition was the more likely, and they had taken the wrong road, thus
missing Grant and his men in the darkness.
They must have cut through the orchard, leaping the low fence, for I
heard the thud of hoofs even as I drew back into the upper hall. Then a
voice gave a sharp command.
"Circle the men about the house, Simmons. There is something wrong here,
and I saw a fellow at that upper window as we came down the hill. Move
quick, now!"
I must face them, and went forward to the head of the stairs,
anticipating an easy explanation of my presence within. Already quite a
squad was inside the front door bending over the bodies and staring about
curiously.
"Pine Robbers, eh, Colonel?" said one contemptuously. "That fellow has
cutthroat written all over him. Don't see any signs of our men here."
"Queen Ranger lying back of the stairs, sir," reported a soldier briefly;
"Irish lookin' mug."
The man addressed as Colonel, a Ranger himself from his green uniform,
looked up quickly and saw me. He called out an order, and three or four
men sprang up the stairs, grasping and leading me down. I made no
resistance, not realizing I was in any danger. The Colonel, a tall man
with gray moustache and goatee, and dark, searching eyes, faced me
sternly.
"What are you doing here, sir? Come, speak up! What does all this mean?"
and he swept his hand about in gesture.
"I came along about thirty minutes ago," I explained, beginning to
appreciate my situation, from the suspicious glances cast at me, and
recalling how disreputable my appearance must be. "I found things just as
they are now, sir. There's been a fight and robbery."
"That's plain to be seen; are these all the bodies?"
"Yes, sir, but the house is upside down from end to end."
"You saw no one? No British soldiers?"
I shook my head, conscious of the fierce grip with which I was being
held. A couple of the men dragged out the body from behind the stairs,
and as the face came into the light, the Colonel's eyes saw it. I heard
the sharp breath expelled through his lips, as he stared down into those
ghastly features.
"Good Lord! Mike! What in the name of heaven does this mean? He was
supposed to be with Claire!"
"There must be some mistake, Colonel Mortimer," insisted the other
officer gravely. "Perhaps we can get the truth out of this bumpkin, if we
take the lash to him."
I understood in a flash, and as swiftly chose a course of action. This
gray-headed Colonel was her father, and I would serve her in this
emergency without thought of my own danger. No threat of a whip would
open my lips, but memory would.
"Come, you dog!" burst out the Colonel fiercely. "You know more than you
have told. Speak up, or we'll skin you alive."
"I will, Colonel Mortimer," I said, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Not because of your threats, but because I wish to serve you. Now I know
who you are, and I will tell you all I know about this whole affair."
"Was--was my daughter here?" he interrupted.
"Yes, sir."
"My God! and Eric?"
"Not to my knowledge--there was a man called Peter, this fellow, and a
black slave or two. They were all I saw."
"But why should Claire have been here," he asked, as though dazed,
"unless she came to meet her brother? I supposed her safe in the city."
"I do not pretend to understand the cause of her presence. But if you
listen to my story you may know what to do." I paused an instant to get a
grip on my thoughts. I need not tell all, confess my identity, or mention
my personal relations with the daughter. "I am a soldier, Colonel
Mortimer, in Maxwell's Brigade, of Washington's army. What brought me
here has nothing to do with the present story. I was in the fight over
yonder near Mount Laurel night before last when we captured Delavan's
forage train--"
"What!" burst in the dragoon officer. "Was Delavan defeated, then? Hadn't
Grant joined him?"
"Yes to both questions, sir. Delavan was killed, and Grant surrendered.
He and his men were paroled, and started for Philadelphia last evening
from here."
"From here!" incredulously. "That must be a lie, Colonel, for Mount
Laurel is between here and the city."
"Nevertheless, it is no lie," I retorted promptly, looking the young fool
in the eyes. "I was hiding here for reasons of my own when they came
tramping in along that road about the middle of the forenoon yesterday.
There was near a hundred Hessians and Rangers, with two German officers,
and Grant. I heard them tell Mistress Mortimer this was the nearest place
where they were sure of finding provisions, and that they intended to
remain until night. I don't know what happened after that, except that
the officers went inside, and the men marched around to the back to eat
their breakfast."
"What became of you?"
"Oh, I had other business, and never got back along here until just at
daylight this morning. Then I found things this way."
"You don't know what occurred, then?"
"No more than you do. But I've got my opinion. It's this--Grant and his
fellows must have left as soon as it was dark, taking the west road,
which was the cause of your missing them. It is likely from this man
Mike's body, that your daughter and her party were still in the house. It
couldn't have been much later when these others got here and made the
attack. Mike must have fought them at the front door, but that was all
the fight made; there's no sign of any struggle inside."
"Then they never got Claire," declared Mortimer positively. "That's a
certainty, Seldon."
"She would have fought, sir?"
"Like a tiger. I know my little girl. And, besides, Peter would have died
before the hand of one of those villains was ever laid upon her."
"But," I protested, "I have searched the house, Colonel."
"I imagine your acquaintance with the house is somewhat limited," he
replied coldly, turning away. "Seldon, place this fellow under guard in
the library here. We will learn later what his business might be in the
Jerseys."