MORGAN MEETS HIS LADY AGAIN.
But Captain Dulaney did not die of the “lung fever,” as so many did.
He was made for a nobler end and had work yet to do.
The mutterings of war came ever nearer and nearer to Lake Champlain
and crowded out all other thoughts and interests.
Morgan waited two weeks for a sight of his Lady. Nobody came to tell
him the news, so he could only hope the Captain would recover and
need to go for an airing after a while.
One day the orderly, a mannerly youth whom horses liked, groomed him
so carefully that the old horse guessed the airing he had looked
forward to was about to take place.
He was scarcely able to control his impatience as he stood at the
step waiting. He was sure she would see him this time, and he
trembled with longing, and the hope that she had not forgotten him.
* * * * *
She came down the steps slowly, the Captain, a little weak still,
leaning on her arm, yet not entirely for support--a little for the
joy of laying his thin, white hand on her strong, steady one.
At last, as her husband spoke, she raised her eyes.
“This is the horse I’ve written you so much about, my Hollyhock!”
She knew him at once!
“Why, my dear! ’Tis the very horse that won you for me!” she cried,
joyfully; she might forget a person--his lady--but never a horse.
“Why did you not tell me so before? I have asked so often about him,
and ’twould have brought me to Vermont before this!”
The Captain smiled.
“I shall be jealous of my charger,” he said, tenderly.
Morgan rubbed his muzzle on Mistress Dulaney’s sleeve and in the
laces at her neck, thinking her soft Southern voice the sweetest he
had ever heard, even more sweet than when she was a maid.
“Ah, dear husband, but for this horse I should be the most unhappy
of women instead of the happiest! ’Twas he who won that race so many
years ago and gave you to me. I have ever wanted to call him my own!”
“Then you may call him so now, sweet Wife. From to-day Morgan is
yours.”
At last, at last! Oh, the years of waiting and longing. Oh, the weary
hopelessness of some of them at the plow-among men who could not
understand and did not try. At last! He arched his crest and pawed
the earth with joy.
“I shall lend him to you sometimes.” She looked at her lord, archly
lifting her sweet face to his as they stood very close together. At a
soft, sweet sound Morgan showed more spirit.
“‘He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength; he goeth
forth to meet the armed men,’” Mistress Dulaney quoted, mockingly,
her hand resting on the horse’s face, her cheek against his.
Presently the Captain mounted, lighter by several pounds than was his
wont, and Morgan glided off.
“Take good care of him, Little Horse,” were her parting words.
* * * * *
Early that summer, when the feeling of victory was running high,
the American Sloop of War, “Growler,” was captured by the British
gun-boats on the Upper Lake. The Americans equipped a small fleet and
drove the enemy back into Canada.
The State Militia, stationed at Plattsburg, was ordered home in
November, by Governor Chittenden, but most of the officers remained.
The privates--from the first, unwilling to enlist--were glad enough
to return to their families who needed them sorely. They would much
rather chop and dig at home, they said, having found nothing to do in
Plattsburg but repair the barracks.
Every day Captain or Mistress Dulaney rode Morgan out for exercise,
and he enjoyed the easy, pleasant life with its military atmosphere.
His lady visited him every morning early and gave him many delicious
morsels of food, and the old horse seemed to grow younger day by day.
She talked to him of all sorts of interesting things in tones, so
wonderfully sweet, the birds in the Green Mountains would have died
of envy, could they have heard them.
Sometimes errands with Captain Dulaney were of great secrecy and
importance. One night quite late they went away toward the North and
passed the night at a barn, watching a suspicious locality. As they
were about to start homeward, the Captain searched carefully and
found a furled flag, lying on a beam. He took it down and unrolled
it, looking for secret signs, but the flag was right enough. It was
made of the finest linen, home-spun, and was fifteen feet long by
four wide. In its centre was an eagle perched on a rock, bearing in
its talons a shield with thirteen stripes and some arrows. In his
beak was a pine sprig, and over the eagle was painted “Independence
Forever.” The word “Swanton” was painted on it in another hand.
As Captain Dulaney noticed the last word he said to himself, with
relief:
“’Tis well! We’ve nothing to fear. Lieutenant Van Sicklen was right.
The people in this locality are patriots. He will return this way,
perhaps, so I shall put the flag back with my private mark.”[13]
He made a certain distinguishing mark and laid the flag back on the
sill.
A strange event occurred on their way home through the darkness.
Suddenly there was a hissing, as of red hot iron thrust into water,
a familiar sound to Morgan who had lived so long near a forge, and
then there came a violent explosion. The earth fairly shook, and the
horse felt his rider start in the saddle. He himself was so taken by
surprise that he stopped so sharply his hoofs plowed great furrows in
the ground.
Then Captain Dulaney spoke, and the sound of his steady voice quieted
him.
“’Tis but a mass of iron fallen from space, old fellow--a meteor,
they call it--a rare and interesting sight if one happens to be far
enough away! Any nearer for us might have made Mistress Dulaney a
widow without a riding horse!” He laughed reassuringly. “We will show
the British a few stars like that at shorter range, pretty soon. What
say you?”
Morgan waved his tail.
Next day folk went from everywhere to see the “fallen star,” and wise
old women--who infested every community at that time--said it was an
ill-omen, and meant victory for the British!
In the spring of 1814, the American Squadron lay in Otter Creek,
which, flowing gently toward the lake, afforded safe anchorage for
the vessels. In May as they were about to quit port, the enemy
approached off the mouth of the creek with a well-matured plan to
“bottle them up” by sinking two sloops filled with stones in the
channel. But the Americans fired and frightened them off before they
had played their clever trick.
In the middle of August the “Eagle” was launched and the murmur
arose, “the British are gathering on the frontier.”
On September third began the real excitement. Before cock-crow the
whole place was astir. Morgan, feeling the influence, was scarcely
able to eat his breakfast. But when he finally finished, and was
led out, the barracks were alive with soldiers and officers. Morgan
champed his bit--ready to be gone on any errand that was needed.
Seconds passed slowly, he was so eager to be off! In a few moments
Lieutenant Van Sicklen sprang out of a near-by door, and gathering
the reins in his hands swung himself into the saddle.
The old horse was off like a shot toward the goal, wherever it was,
his rider close to his neck, talking to him as a lady-love might,
whispering words of encouragement and affection.
They dashed down the hill at such speed that an old cow, lying
comfortably in the road, chewing her morning cud, had the experience
of acting as a hurdle. Seeing she could not possibly rise in time,
the young officer gave Morgan the signal and over her they went!
When she had recovered her stupid senses they were out of sight.
At last the hopes of the old horse were realized. He was serving
his country and very soon understood the errand on which they were
bent. He spurned the earth; stone fences stretched across his way;
streams had to be forded; now and then a steep declivity appeared,
but he was a “Bay,” and he remembered what they say of a bay in the
Desert; rough fields, retarding forests, and wide stretches of valley
did not discourage him. Hurrying on he found naught but broad, fine
happiness. He was serving his country!
White with foam he reached Hinesburg and Lieut. Van Sicklen shouted:
“The British are coming!”
Then over his shoulder:
“They have invaded Plattsburg and volunteers are wanted! On to
Burlington!”
Every mouth took up the cry.
“On to Burlington, the British are coming!”
Morgan’s nostrils showed red--but he was just beginning this
wonderful experience, for which he had waited so long. On, on, to
serve his country!
They left the people hurrying into their houses for their muskets.
Men snatched them from the high mantel-shelves and started out
leaving their plows stuck in the earth. The women did not weep--they,
too, set out, some doggedly, some eager; they begged extra guns and
went along leaving their kitchen doors open and their pots hanging
from the cranes; they had not forgotten the Indians--and that other
cry: “The British are coming!”
These were living memories to many. Even the children pleaded to go
along, for was not the American spirit born in them?
And on Morgan and his rider went.
“The British are coming!”
The cry rose and fell and echoed through the mountains and valleys of
Vermont.
At last they reached Montpelier where they were to rest the night at
the Farmer’s Inn, where Morgan used to live. But he was so tired he
could not revive memories of his youth, and lay down on the clean
straw to rest, almost at once.
He did not know how long he had been sleeping when his keen ears were
penetrated by the whisper of men outside the stable door. He sprang
to his four feet, suspiciously.
“’Tis the fleetest horse in the state,” said one voice. “Have him out
and you will signal General Prevost from the Upper Lake to-morrow
night!”
“Prevost! a Red-Coat General!” thought Morgan. “They must be spies!”
The door was opened softly a moment later, and a man crept in.
On the instant a rush of air from without swept into Morgan’s
nostrils the unforgotten odor of the Tory Boy whose dog had killed
Black Baby, the lamb. No longer a boy, he no doubt deserved the kick
in accordance with his increased age and wickedness.
Here surely was the opportunity Allah had been preparing all these
years.
Morgan had been standing with his face to the door, but, on
recognizing the intruder, he wheeled suddenly, and with a cry, almost
human, he delivered the kick of a lifetime!
Lieutenant Van Sicklen, sleeping near at hand and ever on the alert,
had been roused by Morgan’s first movement and rushed out with drawn
sword. He reached the open door just in time to receive in his arms
the limp form of the Tory spy.
The American officer was not too surprised to grasp him by the collar:
“How, now, sirrah! You would steal my horse, would you? We will soon
quiet you and your kind!” Still holding him firmly--though the man
was unconscious and unable to stand--he called, “What, ho! Within! I
have no time to deal with spies or horse thieves! Come out and punish
this fellow, if he is alive, according to your Vermont laws before
you go to fight his peers!”
Nor did he and Morgan remain to see the fate of the Tory spy. It
sufficed them to know he was to be dealt with according to his
deserts.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] In December, 1907, a furled flag, covered with
dust and dirt, and exactly answering the description
of the flag examined by Captain Dulaney, was
discovered on the sill of an old barn on what is now
known as the _Jed Mack Farm_, at Swanton Junction,
Vermont. The flag was old--even in 1814--for there
were but thirteen stripes on it, and had been made
before Vermont was admitted to the Union.
The finding of the flag nearly a century later proves
that Lieut. Van Sicklen did not return that way
and accounts for the discovery of the flag so long
afterwards.