THE ROAD TO PHILADELPHIA
It must have been ten o'clock, and, if I had slept at all, I was scarcely
conscious of it. All about me the men lay outstretched upon the ground,
still in their shirt-sleeves, as they had fought, their guns beside them.
The night was clear and hot, scarcely a breath of air moving. Here and
there against the sky-line passed the dark silhouette of a sentinel.
There was no sound of firing, only an occasional footfall to break the
silence of the night. The wounded had been taken to the field hospitals
at the rear; down in our front lay the bodies of the dead, and among
these shone the dim lights of lanterns where the last searching parties
were yet busy at their grewsome task. I was weary enough to sleep, every
muscle of my body aching with fatigue, but the excitement of the day, the
possibility of the morrow, left me restless. I had received no wound,
other than a slight thrust with a bayonet, yet felt as though pummelled
from head to foot. The victory was ours--the army realized this truth
clearly enough; we had repulsed the Red-coats, driven them back with
terrible losses; we had seen their lines shrivel up under our fire,
officers and men falling, and the remnant fleeing in disorder. It meant
nothing now that a force outnumbering us yet remained intact, and in
strong position. Flushed with victory, knowing now we could meet the best
of them, we longed for the morrow to dawn so we might complete the task.
I reviewed the vivid incidents of the day, looking up at the stars, and
wondered who among those I knew were yet living, who were dead. I thought
of others in those lines of the enemy, whom I had known, speculating on
their fate. Then along our rear came a horseman or two, riding slowly. A
sentry halted them, and I arose on one elbow to listen.
"Lawrence? Yes, sir, Major Lawrence is lying over there by the scrub
oak."
I got to my feet, as the first rider approached.
"This you, Lawrence?" asked a voice I instantly recognized as Hamilton's.
"You fellows all look alike to-night. Where is your horse, Major?"
"I have been on foot all day, sir," I answered saluting.
"Ah, indeed; well, you will have need for a horse to-night. Wainwright,"
turning to the man with him, "is your mount fresh?"
"Appears to be, sir; belonged to a British Dragoon this morning."
"Let Major Lawrence have him. Major, ride with me."
We passed back slowly enough toward the rear of the troops, through the
field hospitals, and along the edge of a wood, where a battery of
artillery was encamped. We rode boot to boot, and Hamilton spoke
earnestly.
"The battle is practically won, Lawrence, in spite of Charles Lee," he
said soberly. "Of course there will be fighting to-morrow, but we shall
have the Red-coats well penned in before daybreak, and have already
captured ammunition enough to make us easy on that score. Poor, and the
Carolina men, are over yonder, while Woodford is moving his command to
the left. At dawn we'll crush Clinton into fragments. Washington wants to
send a despatch through to Arnold in Philadelphia, and I recommended you,
as you know the road. He remembered your service before, and was kind
enough to say you were the very man. You'll go gladly?"
"I should prefer to lead my own men to-morrow, sir."
"Pshaw! I doubt if we have more than a skirmish. Sir Henry will see his
predicament fast enough. Then there will be nothing left to do, but guard
prisoners."
"Very well, Colonel; I am ready to serve wherever needed."
"Of course you are, man. There should not be much danger connected with
this trip, although there will be stragglers in plenty. I'm told that
Clinton lost more than three hundred deserters crossing Camden."
Headquarters were in a single-roomed cabin at the edge of a ravine. A
squad of cavalrymen were in front, their horses tied to a rail fence, but
within Washington was alone, except for a single aide, writing at a rude
table in the light of a half-dozen candles. He glanced up, greeting us
with a slight inclination of the head.
"A moment, gentlemen."
He wrote slowly, as though framing his sentences with care, occasionally
questioning the aide. Once he paused, and glanced across at Hamilton.
"Colonel, do you know a Dragoon named Mortimer?"
"I have no recollection of ever having met the man, sir. I have written
him orders, however; he is a scout attached to General Lee's
headquarters."
"Yes; I recall the name. He is the one who brought us our first definite
information this morning of Clinton's position. I remember now, you were
not with me when he rode up--young, slender lad, with the face of a girl.
I could but notice his eyes; they were as soft and blue as violets! Well,
an hour ago he came here for a favor; it seems the boy is a son of
Colonel Mortimer, of the Queen's Rangers."
"Indeed; Wayne reported the Colonel killed in front of his lines."
"Not killed, but seriously wounded. The son asked permission to take him
home to a place called Elmhurst near Laurel Hill."
"I know the plantation, sir," I said, my interest causing me to
interrupt. "It is on the Medford road."
"Ah, you have met the lad, possibly, Major," and he turned his face
toward me. "The boy interested me greatly."
"No, sir; I endeavored to find him at Lee's headquarters, but failed. I
have met his father and sister."
"A lovely girl, no doubt."
"To my mind, yes, sir."
His grave face lighted with a sudden smile.
"I sometimes imagine, Colonel Hamilton," he said quietly, "that this
unhappy war might be very pleasantly concluded if we could only turn our
young officers over to the ladies of the enemy. Would such a plan meet
with your approval, Major?"
"I should prefer it to the present method."
"No doubt, and Mistress Mortimer?--But let that pass, until we hold
council of war upon the subject. Just now we shall have to be content
with the more ordinary plans of campaign. I gave the boy permission to
remove his father, and they are upon the road ere this. I would that all
the British wounded had homes close at hand. You have informed the Major
of his mission, I presume, Hamilton, and there is nothing I need add."
"He understands clearly, sir."
"Then I will complete the letter. Be seated, gentlemen."
He wrote for several minutes steadily, once pausing to consult a map,
signed the paper, and enclosed it in another sheet, across which he
scratched a line of address.
"You will deliver this to General Arnold in person, Major; do not spare
horse-flesh. You were in the action to-day?"
"With Maxwell's Brigade."
"That was a hard fight along the stone wall; you came out unhurt?"
"A slight bayonet wound, sir; nothing to incapacitate me from duty."
"Very well; take ten dragoons as escort. Hamilton will write you an
order. I have told Arnold our victory is practically complete. Clinton
may slip away in the night, for he is a wily old fox, but he has lost his
power to injure us in the Jerseys. I hope to bottle him up before
morning, so that any retreat will be impossible, but even if he succeeds
in getting his army to the transports at Sandy Hook, he has lost
prestige, and the victory is ours. Good-bye, Major, and the Lord guard
you on your journey."
I felt the firm clasp of his hand, the calm, confident glance of his gray
eyes, and bowed low, as I left the room. I could scarcely realize that
this quiet, reserved man could be the raging tornado who that same
morning had ridden up to Lee, blazing with indignation. His very
presence, his evident trust in me, sent me forth upon my long ride
renewed in strength of body and purpose, the fatigue of the day
forgotten. Ten minutes later, mounted on a rangy sorrel, my dragoon
escort trotting behind, I rode south on the Plainsboro road, as swiftly
as its terrible condition would warrant.
The evidences of war, the wreckage of battle, were everywhere. Several
times we were compelled to leap the stone walls to permit the passage of
marching troops being hurried to some new position; several batteries
passed us, rumbling grimly through the night, and a squadron of horse
galloped by, the troopers greeting us with shouts of inquiry. The road
was deeply rutted by heavy wheels, and littered with all manner of
_débris_, broken-down wagons, dead horses, accoutrements thrown away, and
occasionally the body of a man, overlooked by the burial squad. Our
horses plunged from side to side in fright at the dim objects, snorting
wildly, and we were obliged to ride with care, and a tight rein, under
the faint guidance of the stars. For two miles the varied, ceaseless
noises of a huge camp echoed from either side--the cries of men, the
hammering of iron, the neighing of horses. Over there to the east, beyond
that gloomy fringe of woods, were the masses of the enemy. Between where
he rode, skirting their rear, lay our own battle-line, waiting daybreak,
and out yonder, protected by the trees, extended the picket posts. From
these would occasionally come a red spit of fire, and the dull bark of a
musket.
We passed all this at last, only to discover the narrow road congested by
long trains of commissary and ammunition wagons, every sort of vehicle
one could imagine pressed hastily into service--huge Conestogas, great
farm wagons, creaking horribly, light carts, even family carriages loaded
to their tops, drawn by straining horses, mules, or oxen, their drivers
swearing fiercely. We again took to the fields, but, as there seemed no
end to the procession, I turned my horse's head eastward, confident we
were already beyond the British rear-guard, and struck out across country
for another north and south road. We advanced now at a swift trot, the
sound of our horses' hoofs on the soft turf almost the only noise, and,
within an hour, came again to parallel fences, and a well travelled road.
It was a turnpike, the dust so thick that it rose about us in clouds,
and, as we proceeded, we discovered many evidences along the way of a
passing army. I reined back my horse to speak with the non-commissioned
officer in charge of the escort, not entirely certain as to my
whereabouts.
"Do you know this country, sergeant?"
"A little, sir; we scouted through here last summer, but I'm not a Jersey
man."
"There have been troops marched along here by all the signs."
"Yes, sir," respectfully. "The Red-coats, probably on their way to
Monmouth; this is the Mount Holly pike."
As he spoke the map of the region unrolled before my memory. This was the
road running a mile, or so, to the west of Elmhurst. It led as straight
as any, toward Philadelphia, but whatever stragglers the British army had
left behind would be found along here. However, they would probably be
scattered fugitives, unwilling to interfere with as strong an armed party
as this of mine. If I was alone it would be safer to turn aside. Then, it
was a strong temptation to me to pass thus close to Elmhurst. It would be
after daylight when we reached there; I might even get a glimpse across
the apple orchard of the great white house. Would Claire be there? It
seemed to me quite probable, as Eric was taking the wounded Colonel home
for nursing. The girl's face rose before me against the black night, and
my heart beat fast. When I came back, I would ride to Elmhurst--surely
she would be there then.
The sergeant touched my arm.
"Pardon me, sir, but there are horsemen ahead."
"Indeed? I was lost in thought, Conroy. Coming this way?"
"No, sir, they seem to be travelling south slowly. I noticed them first
as we turned the corner back there; I could see outlines against the
sky."
"How large a party? They form merely a lumping shadow to my eyes."
"Not more than three or four, sir, with a covered rig of some kind.
They're halted, now; heard us coming, I reckon."
I could perceive the little group, but merely as a black smudge. Then a
mounted figure seemed to detach itself from the darkness, and advance
toward us.
"Halt your men, sergeant," I said quietly. "I'll ride forward and learn
what the fellow wants."