BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY
It was already growing dusk when I rode into our lines at Valley Forge. A
brief interview with Colonel Hamilton revealed his appreciation of my
work, and that my hastily made notes of the Philadelphia defences had
been received twenty-four hours earlier. They had been delivered at
headquarters by an officer of Lee's staff; no, not a boyish-looking
fellow, but a black-bearded captain whose name had been forgotten. All
Hamilton could remember was that the notes had been originally brought in
by an Indian scout. Eager to discover Eric Mortimer I asked a week's
release from duty, but there was so much sickness in the camp, that this
request was refused, and I was ordered to my regiment.
Busy days and nights of fatigue followed. Washington, watching like a
hawk every movement of Sir Henry Clinton in Philadelphia, convinced by
every report received that he was about to evacuate the city, bent all
his energies toward placing his little army in fit condition for battle.
Some recruits were received, the neighboring militia were drawn upon, and
men were taken from the hospitals, and put back into the ranks as soon as
strong enough to bear arms. Inspired by the indomitable spirit of our
commander the line officers worked incessantly in the welding together of
their commands. I scarcely knew what sleep was, yet the importance of the
coming movement of troops held me steadfast to duty. Word came to us
early in June that Count d'Estaing, with a powerful French fleet, was
approaching the coast. This surely meant that Clinton would be compelled
to retreat across the Jerseys, and a portion of our troops were advanced
so as to be within easy striking distance of the city the moment the
evacuation took place. The remaining commands pressed farther north, near
convenient crossings of the Delaware, prepared for a forced march across
the British line of retreat. Maxwell's brigade, with which I was
connected, even crossed the river in advance, coöperating with General
Dickinson and his New Jersey militia. All was excitement, commotion,
apparently disorder, yet, even amid that turmoil of approaching battle,
Hamilton recalled my request, and granted me two days' leave. His brief
note reached me at Coryell's Ferry, and, an hour later, I was riding
swiftly across the country to where Lee had headquarters.
Not once during all those days and nights had the memory of Claire left
me. Over and over in my mind I had reviewed all that had ever occurred
between us, striving in vain to guess the riddle. Now I would see and
talk with her brother, and perhaps obtain the explanation needed. Yet I
have gone into battle with less trepidation than when I rode into Lee's
headquarters, and asked his chief-of-staff for Eric Mortimer. He looked
at me strangely, as I put the question.
"I should be very glad to oblige you, Major Lawrence," he replied
gravely, "but unfortunately I have no present knowledge of the young
man."
"But he was attached to General Lee's staff?"
"Only in a way--he was useful to us as a scout because of his intimate
knowledge of the Jerseys. His home, I understand, was near Mount Holly."
"What has become of him?"
"All I know is, he was sent out on a special mission, by Washington's own
orders, nearly a month ago. We have not directly heard from him since. An
Indian brought us a partial report of his operations up to that time;
since then we have received nothing."
"An Indian!" I exclaimed. "The same who brought in my notes?"
"I believe so; yes, now that I recall the matter. I had no opportunity to
question the fellow; he simply left the papers with the orderly, and
disappeared."
"And you have heard nothing from young Mortimer since?"
"Not a word."
"He must be dead, or a prisoner."
The chief smiled rather grimly.
"Or deserted," he added sharply. "I am more inclined toward that theory.
He was a reckless young devil, attracted to our service more, it seemed
to me, by a spirit of dare-deviltry than patriotism. Lee thought well of
him, but I was always suspicious. He belonged to a family of loyalists,
his father a Colonel of Queen's Rangers. Did you know him, Lawrence?"
"The father, not the son. But I am not willing to believe evil of the
boy. I cannot conceive that treachery is in the Mortimer blood, sir, and
shall have to be convinced before I condemn the lad. When did he leave
here last?"
"About the middle of May."
"Would you mind telling me his mission? Where he was sent?"
The officer glanced keenly into my face; then ran hastily over a package
of papers taken from an open trunk.
"I can see no harm in doing so now, Major. He was sent to communicate
with a British officer--a prominent Tory--who has associations with 'Red'
Fagin, and others in Monmouth County. This officer has in the past, for a
consideration, furnished us with valuable information, generally through
young Mortimer who knew him. He had written us that he had more to sell."
"Where were they to meet?"
"At a rendezvous known as the Lone Tree, not far from Medford."
"Was the Tory officer named Grant?"
He stared at me in surprise.
"I am not at liberty to answer."
"Oh, very well; however, I understand the situation even better than you
do probably. Only I advise you one thing--don't condemn that boy until
you learn the truth. Grant is an unmitigated, cold-blooded scoundrel, and
the treachery is his. You'll learn that, if you wait long enough.
Mortimer is either dead, or in Fagin's hands. Good-night."
I passed out, and was beyond the guard, before he could recall me, even
had he desired to do so. I had no wish to talk with him longer. I felt
disappointed, sick at heart, and realized this staff-officer was strongly
prejudiced against young Mortimer. It seemed to me I saw a little light,
although not much. Eric had been at Elmhurst, and Claire was not innocent
of his presence in that neighborhood. She was shielding him, and it was
through her help that his first report to Lee had been sent back by the
Indian. Then Eric must have been in the house while I was there. Indeed
it must have been Eric who made me prisoner. And to protect him she had
told me a deliberate falsehood. Well, I could not blame the girl--after
Grant's open treachery (and doubtless she must have known something of
his double-dealing) she would scarcely trust any one, especially a
comparative stranger. It hurt me a little to realize this lack of faith
on her part, and yet it was not strange after all. Her brother's life
could not be put to the hazard of betrayal; perhaps she overestimated his
peril, and the importance of his mission.
As I rode back through the night, finding a path almost by instinct
through the maze of military encampments, I thought of all these things,
exonerating her from wrong, and yet wondering more and more at her real
connection with the various events. The chief had not stated what
information of value Grant had promised to reveal; nor what Eric's first
report had contained. In my sudden disappointment I had forgotten to
inquire. And where could the boy be? What could have happened to him?
Something serious surely to keep him thus hidden for nearly a month.
Claire would know, but she was probably long ago back in Philadelphia in
the heart of the British garrison. And I? Well, I was tied hand and foot
by discipline; helpless to turn aside from duty now in the face of this
new campaign. Every man was needed, and no personal consideration would
excuse my leaving the ranks even for a day. It was with heavy heart I
rode into the camp of my regiment, and lay down on the bare ground, with
head pillowed upon the saddle, knowing the drums would sound in a few
short hours.
It was hard to work through the routine of the next few days, although
some excitement was given us of Maxwell's brigade by scouting details
sent across the valley to observe the movements of the British patrols.
On such duty I passed the greater portion of two days in the saddle, and,
by chance, met both Farrell and Duval, who were with the Jersey
militiamen, now rapidly coming in to aid us, as the rumors of an
impending battle spread across country. Farrell came at the head of fifty
men, rough looking, raggedly dressed fellows, but well armed, and I had a
word with him while pointing out where Dickinson's troops were camped.
Unfortunately he knew little of value to me. Mortimer's column of Queen's
Rangers had passed his place on their return to Philadelphia two days
after my escape. Grant was not with them, but Claire was, while Peter had
been left behind at Elmhurst. Fagin had not been overtaken, although the
Rangers had engaged in a skirmish with some of his followers, losing two
men. Colonel Mortimer had been wounded slightly. As to Eric he knew
nothing--no one had even mentioned the lad's name.
It was thus clearly evident I could do nothing, although I now possessed
a well defined theory of just what had occurred. To my mind Eric was in
the hands of Fagin, either hidden securely away among the sand caves for
some purpose connected with Grant's treachery, or else with the intention
of claiming the reward for his capture offered by Howe. The former
probably seemed most likely in view of Grant's failure to return to
Philadelphia with Colonel Mortimer, yet there was no reason why the
conspirators should not wreak vengeance, and win the reward also. But did
Claire know, or suspect the predicament of her brother? If she did, then
she was seeking to conceal the truth from her father, but would never
remain long inactive in the city. I knew the girl's real spirit far too
well to believe she would fail for long in learning the boy's fate. And
when she did she would act quickly. Perhaps even now she was back at
Elmhurst, facing peril in the track of the contending armies, striving to
give the lad refuge.
In an agony of apprehension I asked for a scouting detail in that
direction, but was sternly refused. Word had come that Clinton was
evacuating Philadelphia; that his advance was already across the
Delaware. Any moment might bring to our little army orders to press
forward to intercept him. I was a soldier, compelled to remain.