IN WHICH A BRITISH OFFICER LOSES A FINE HORSE
"I wish to learn the present whereabouts of Richard Stanbury," said Mr.
Waxpenny, slowly and deliberately. "Under that name he came from England
to America in 1760, and a year later he was known to be residing in
Philadelphia with a wife and infant son. Can you give me any information
about him?"
With a heightened color Jenkins stared first at the ceiling, and then
shot a glance of apprehension at the hall door. "Stanbury ain't a common
name," he replied, by way of gaining time, "but it seems like I've heard
it somewheres or other. It might'n be Stanwix, now?"
"No, Stanbury--Richard Stanbury."
The landlord propped his elbows on the counter and looked meditatively
into vacancy. "I've heard of Bow Street runners," he said to himself,
"and I misdoubt but this chap is one of the snaky varmints in disguise.
It ain't likely Dick Stanbury is wanted over in England, but there's no
telling. What am I going to do about it? I'll bet a ha'penny the lad's
listening out yonder with both ears. I'll just lie low till I get my
bearings--that's the safest plan."
During the course of this mental soliloquy he was cocking his head this
way and that, and now he shook it in a manner that indicated profound
and hopeless ignorance.
"If a golden guinea would jog your memory, why, here it is," suggested
Mr. Waxpenny, displaying the coin.
"The gold wouldn't come amiss," said Jenkins, with a sigh, "but it ain't
possible for me to earn it."
The law clerk pocketed the guinea. "It's unlikely that Richard Stanbury
was in your walk of life, my man," said he, with quiet scorn. "Your
ignorance is excusable."
"My what?"
"Your disability to remember," corrected Mr. Waxpenny. "And now we'll
try again. Can you tell me if Major Gerald Langdon, of the British
cavalry, is stationed in this town?"
"I seen by the 'Royal Gazette,' a fortnight ago, that he was in New
York," replied Jenkins, truthfully enough. "What on earth is the game?"
he asked himself in amazement.
Mr. Waxpenny nodded his satisfaction. "There is one more person I wish
to inquire about," he said. "Did you ever hear of--"
The rest of the sentence was drowned in a burst of noisy voices and
shuffling feet, as half a dozen tipsy soldiers and marines swung round
the corner and entered the tavern. The London law clerk looked
disdainfully at the company, and then made a hasty exit. Having served
his customers Jenkins left them with brimming mugs in hand, and darted
into the hall, slamming the door behind him.
"Where are you, lad?" he whispered.
"Here!" Nathan answered, hoarsely, from the darkness. "I have heard all,
Mr. Jenkins. What can it mean? Why did that man inquire for my father?"
"I haven't an idea," replied the landlord. "If he comes back I'll try to
pump him. Meanwhile, it won't be amiss to tell your father there's a
London chap seeking him."
"I'll do that," muttered Nathan. "But it's queer--"
"Don't bother about it," whispered Jenkins. "They're waiting for you up
above--in the little room on the right at the head of the stairs. You'll
see a light under the door. I must be off."
The landlord returned to his customers, and Nathan slowly ascended the
stairs, still puzzling over the strange inquiries of Mr. Waxpenny.
Guided by the glimmer of light, he entered a small bed-chamber--the
identical room, in fact, in which Jefferson had written the Declaration
of Independence two years before. Here the lad found Anthony Benezet and
Timothy Matlack, two elderly and highly respectable Quaker citizens. A
candle, standing on a small table between them, dimly revealed their
solemn faces and sober, gray garments.
"Thee is late to-night," said Timothy Matlack.
"I was detained at several places," explained Nathan. "I came as quickly
as I could."
"And is thee ready to serve us as before?"
"Ready and willing, sir."
"This is a task of greater peril and difficulty," said Anthony Benezet.
"We have tidings for General Washington which cannot be conveyed
verbally, and should reach him before morning. Here is the packet,"
drawing a sealed and folded paper from his bosom. "Thee must slip unseen
through the enemy's lines. It is the only way."
"I will do it," Nathan replied firmly. "There are many weak places, and
the night is dark. I am not afraid."
"Thou art a brave lad," said Anthony Benezet, "and God will protect
thee. So, now hasten on thy journey. When thou hast passed the sentries,
go to the house of Abel Sansom, on the Germantown Road. He will give
thee a horse for the ride to Valley Forge."
Nathan concealed the precious packet about his clothes, and turned
toward the door.
"Wait," said Timothy Matlack. "Did thee destroy the message I sent thee
by Jenkins' man?"
"I--I think I put it in my pocket," faltered Nathan, making a hasty
search. "But it is not here now, sir. I fear I have lost it."
"Where, lad? not on the street?"
"Yes," Nathan admitted huskily, "up near the barracks." He remembered
pulling out his handkerchief while talking to Godfrey. The note must
have fallen out then, and he shivered to think of the possible
consequences of the loss.
"What rashness and folly!" groaned Timothy Matlack. "We are ruined,
Anthony--"
"Do not blame the lad," said his companion. "It was but a pardonable
want of caution. All may be well if we can get safely out of the house.
Go, Nathan--"
Too late! Just then came a clatter of feet from down-stairs, and a
couple of sharp words of command, a confused tumult arose and Jenkins
was heard expostulating in loud and indignant tones in the tap-room.
Next a door banged open, and the lower hall echoed to the tread of
booted feet.
For a few seconds after the disturbance began the occupants of the
little room stared at one another in dazed terror.
"The note has been found," gasped Timothy Matlack, "and British soldiers
have come to search the house. We will all be hanged!"
"They must catch us first," exclaimed Nathan, extinguishing the candle
with a puff, and darting to the window. "We are trapped," he added, with
a gloomy glance at the street below. "Two grenadiers are on the
pavement."
"Thee may get out by the rear of the house," hoarsely replied Anthony
Benezet. "Those papers will be our death-warrant if the enemy take them.
Thee must escape, lad--thee must. Quick! there is not an instant to
lose."
"But you?" demurred Nathan.
"Friend Matlack and myself will remain quietly here," replied the old
Quaker. "The note can but cause suspicion. There will be no proof
against us, with thee out of the way. Here, take this. I had forgotten
to give it to thee. Use it only in self-defense." In the darkness he
pressed a heavy, brass-barreled pistol into the lad's hands.
"I will do my best," muttered Nathan. "If I am shot tell my father--" A
lump rose in his throat, and without finishing the sentence he opened
the door and stepped into the hall. Fortunately the invading party had
halted below while Jenkins tardily fetched them a light, and now they
were but two-thirds the distance up the staircase. In the front was a
stern and handsome officer, with a naked sword in one hand and a glass
lantern held high in the other. The flashing light shone behind him on
the red coats and fierce countenances of half a dozen grenadiers.
Nathan saw all this at a brief glance, and recognized, with a thrill of
anger, the face of Godfrey Spencer among his foes. He was himself
instantly discovered as he turned and sped along the hall.
"Halt, in the King's name!" roared the officer. "Halt or die!"
On dashed Nathan, his heart thumping with terror as the din and clatter
of pursuit rang behind him. He knew all about the house and its
surroundings, and a dozen strides brought him to an angle of the hall.
He slipped round the corner, and dimly saw, twenty feet ahead, a small
window that opened from the rear of the house.
He was but half way to it when a bright light streamed over him, and
glancing backward he saw the officer turn the angle at the head of his
men. Eager shouts told that they believed their victim to be trapped.
It was a terrible crisis for the lad. Either he must check the enemy or
abandon hope of escape, and he realized this in the flash of a second.
He halted, faced about, and took quick aim with his pistol.
"Look out, Major Langdon," cried a warning voice. "He's going to shoot."
Bang! The thunderous report shook the building. The shattered lantern
crashed to the floor, followed by total darkness, a yell of pain, and a
volley of curses and threats.
Amid the drifting smoke Nathan darted on to the window, threw up the
sash, and let it fall with a clatter as he vaulted safely down upon the
low roof of a shed.
He was just in time. Crack! crack! crack!--bullets whistled overhead,
and broken glass and splinters showered about him as he half tumbled,
half climbed to the ground. In a trice he was through the stable-yard
and over a wall into Third Street, across that deserted thoroughfare,
and speeding through a dark and narrow lane in the direction of the
Delaware River.
There was dull shouting and outcry behind Nathan as he ran on, still
clutching the empty pistol, and keeping a keen watch right and left; but
he heard no close pursuit, and there were no dwelling-houses on the
lane to imperil his present safety.
"I'm going the wrong way," he said to himself, "but I daren't turn now.
I hope I didn't kill that British officer--I never shot at any one
before, and I hated to do it. One of the soldiers called him Major
Langdon--why, that's the man who is going to put Godfrey on his staff,
and the same that the London law clerk was inquiring about. Well, if I
killed him I'm not to blame. It was in self-defense, and for my
country's sake. If I'm caught they'll surely hang me--but I'm not going
to be caught. These dispatches," feeling to make sure he had the
precious packet, "must be saved from the enemy, and it won't be my fault
if I don't deliver them at Valley Forge before morning."
The plucky lad had now reached Second Street, and finding no one in
sight, he turned up-town on a rapid walk. He had passed Market Street
and was near Arch when he heard faint shouts, and looking back he saw a
group of dark figures in pursuit.
"They've tracked me clear from the tavern," he muttered, "and it won't
be easy to give them the slip."
He began to run now, with the hue and cry swelling behind him. He did
not dare to turn into Arch Street, seeing people moving here and there
in both directions; so he continued up Second, slinking along in the
shadow of the houses.
From a doorstep across the way some one shouted, and the human
blood-hounds down the street caught up the cry with hoarse energy. The
rush of many feet rang on the night air, and the tumult was rapidly
spreading to the more remote quarters of the town.
Nathan ran doggedly and swiftly on, looking in vain for a place of
hiding, and knowing that the occasional lamp-posts he passed revealed
his flying form to the enemy. Above Race Street a sour-visaged
man--evidently a Tory citizen--leapt forward from one side with a demand
to stop. "Get out of the way," the lad muttered fiercely, aiming his
empty weapon. The coward fell back with lusty shouting, which was heard
and understood by the approaching soldiers.
Breathless and panting, Nathan turned west into Vine Street. With
flagging strength and courage he kept on in his flight, realizing that
unless some unforeseen help intervened he must soon be caught. Louder
and nearer rang the roar of the pursuit, and a glance behind showed him
the eager mob, led by red-coated grenadiers, within a hundred yards.
With a desperate spurt the lad pushed on. Up the street beyond him he
heard cries and saw people running excitedly. "It's no use; I'm
trapped," he muttered, and just then he made a discovery that sent a
thrill of hope to his heart.
On Vine Street, a few yards from Cable Lane, was the house of Mr.
Whitehead. Here Colonel Abercrombie was quartered, and a horse belonging
to that officer, or to a visitor of rank, was standing before the door
in care of a small boy. It was a large and handsome bay, and from each
saddle-bag peeped the shiny butt of a pistol.
"What's the fuss about?" asked the small boy--who was Mr. Whitehead's
son Jonas--as the fugitive pulled up breathlessly in front of him. "All
that mob ain't chasing you, are they? Did you steal something?"
"No, but I'm going to," panted Nathan, with make-believe ferocity. He
lifted the empty pistol. "Give me that horse. Don't make a whimper. I'll
shoot you."
Terrified by the threat and weapon, Jonas let go the bridle and fled to
the pavement. Nathan swung himself into the saddle, clapped feet in the
stirrups, and gave the bridle a tug that swung the horse around and
started it across the street. The rush and roar of the pursuers rang in
his ears, blending with a shrill cry from Jonas. He heard the house door
fly open, and the voices of Colonel Abercrombie and other officers
raised in a profane howl. Then he was clattering madly up the dark
roadway of Cable Lane, with the din and tumult ebbing fainter and
fainter behind him.
On his stolen steed the lad cleared street after street at a gallop,
making turns here and there, but trending mainly in the direction he
wanted to go. Men and women in night-caps flung shutters open to look
out, and called to people in the street as he whirled by. He had thrown
his empty pistol away, and had taken from the holster a fresh one, which
he held ready for use in his left hand.
Soon vacant lots began to take the place of houses, and lighted windows
and startled citizens were seen less frequently. Nathan ventured to
check his horse and listen. Far behind he heard the dull pounding of
hoofs, telling him that some of his pursuers had found mounts and were
on the track again. With a glance around to get his bearings he pushed
on at a rapid trot to the open country, thinking this gait more proper
for the half-formed plan he had against the coming and unavoidable
emergency. He knew the locality, but not so well as he could have
desired.
"The lines are some place about here," he muttered half aloud, "what
shall I do? Trust to a dash to take me through, or abandon the horse
and try it on foot? I must decide before the pickets--"
"Halt! who comes?" The gruff command rang out from ten feet ahead, where
a shadowy form had suddenly risen from the darkness of the open field.
"Friend!" called Nathan, and with that he drove the stirrups so hard
that his horse bounded forward on a gallop--straight for the dumfounded
sentinel. There was a futile shot in air, a yell of pain, and then the
Britisher was down under the cruel hoofs.
Nathan and his galloping steed swept on, while behind them the night
blazed with red flashes, and echoed to musket shots, oaths, and
scurrying feet.
"Safe at last!" the lad cried exultantly, and even as he spoke a jangle
of equipments and a patter of hoofs on the turf gave the lie to his
words. He had stumbled not on one or two pickets, but on a dismounted
patroling party watching for deserters, who had been stepping off
rather frequently of late through this weak part of the lines--mostly
Hessians who had taken a fancy to the country.
Nathan did not lose heart, black as his chances seemed. He urged his
horse to its top speed, and the noble animal did gallantly. For five
minutes the chase thundered on, the enemy slowly but surely gaining. A
glance showed the lad that his pursuers were less than two hundred yards
behind, and when he looked forward again it was to see the river
Schuylkill looming dark and quiet under the canopy of stars.
No time to hesitate. Over and down the bluff plunged horse and rider,
their disappearance being the signal for a rain of bullets. Splash!
splash! they were in the water now, and the gallant steed was breasting
waves and current and slush ice as he swam toward the opposite bank and
safety, with the lad out of the saddle and clinging to the flowing mane.
Now they were at mid-stream--the river was narrower--and from the rear
bank the halted dragoons opened fire. Crack, crack, crack!--the balls
whistled and sputtered harmlessly. It was too dark for good aim, and
there was little in sight to aim at.
But keen eyes spied a boat moored in the bushes, and two soldiers were
quickly in it and paddling after the fugitive. They were gaining
rapidly, as Nathan saw by turning his head. Clinging to the horse's mane
with one hand he snapped the pistol that he still held in the other. It
was wet, and would not go off. He snatched the second from the
unsubmerged saddle-bag, aimed and fired. With the report, the soldier
who was paddling tossed up his arms and fell back with a hoarse cry. His
comrade rose to his feet in the swaying boat, now but six yards away,
and leveled his musket with a terrible oath.
Flash! bang! the gallant horse quivered, whinnied with pain, and swung
helplessly around with the current. Nathan's hand let go the bridle, and
the black waters closed over the lad's head.