IN WHICH NATHAN'S MILITARY CAREER VERY NEARLY TERMINATES
Within a few days Nathan was thoroughly accustomed to his new life, and
though the weather turned bitter and freezing, giving him a taste of the
hardships the army had endured before his arrival, he felt no longing or
desire to return to the comfortable guardianship of Cornelius De Vries.
On the contrary, he took pride in showing that he could endure the
rigors and duties of camp-life as unflinchingly as the older and veteran
soldiers. His pluck and boyish good nature quickly made him a favorite
with officers and men alike. He was always ready to help a comrade, or
to assume tasks that did not properly belong to him. Without a murmur he
did picket-duty by day or night, in rain and snow and freezing cold. He
made light of the poor and scanty food that was served out to him, and
when he lay awake shivering for want of sufficient covering, his
bed-fellows heard never a word of complaint from his lips.
Thus a week passed, and the lad's heroic and steadfast performance of
duty was all the more praiseworthy because he was hourly tortured by
fears for his father's life. The result of Captain Stanbury's wound was
still uncertain. He was delirious and in a high fever, and none but the
hospital attendants and surgeons were permitted to see him. He was
receiving the best care and treatment possible under the circumstances,
and his vigorous constitution was a strong point in his favor; but until
the crisis was reached the issue could not be foretold. Not only the
Wyoming men, but many others as well, longed and prayed for the gallant
captain's recovery. Washington sent twice daily to inquire for him, and
on several occasions spoke a few words of comfort and hope to Nathan in
person.
In the meantime the lad had written to Cornelius De Vries, and the
letter, together with certain official dispatches to patriot friends in
Philadelphia, was delivered by a trusty messenger. The latter, on his
return to camp, brought papers for Washington and a reply to Nathan's
letter. Of necessity the worthy Hollander wrote briefly, yet what he had
to say was full of interest. He expressed deep sorrow for Captain
Stanbury's critical illness, and while he showed that he was sorry to
lose Nathan and missed him greatly, he took pains to give the lad some
good advice suitable for a soldier's career. Referring to the memorable
night at the Indian Queen, he stated that Anthony Benezet and Timothy
Matlack had escaped to the lower floor of the tavern in the darkness and
confusion that followed the pursuit of Nathan, and that Jenkins had
concealed them in the cellar until the danger was over. "Major Langdon
was slightly wounded in the arm," a postscript added, "by the bullet
that shattered his lantern."
A few words must be said here concerning Mr. Noah Waxpenny. That
peculiar individual did not appear again at the Indian Queen. Being
under the impression that the information given him was true, and that
Major Langdon was not in the town, he took up temporary quarters at the
Cross Keys Inn on Chestnut Street. For several days he was occupied in
making sly inquiries about Richard Stanbury and a certain other person,
with what success will appear further on in the story. Then, still
taking it for granted that Major Langdon was not in Philadelphia, he set
out for Long Island in search of him. But on reaching New York he was
prostrated by illness resulting from a heavy cold, and in that city he
lay on his back for weeks, unable to give any attention to the task that
had brought him to America.
A few days after the receipt of Cornelius De Vries's letter, and while
Captain Stanbury was still hovering between life and death, Nathan met
with an adventure which very nearly terminated fatally, but which raised
him even higher in the estimation of the commander-in-chief. To his own
quick wits and courage he owed his escape, but in after life he could
never recall that night without a shudder.
Driven by necessity to make use of a power granted him by Congress,
Washington had issued a proclamation to all the farmers within
seventy miles of Valley Forge--they were mostly Tories in their
sympathies--ordering them to thresh out as much grain as might be
demanded, and at short notice, under penalty of having their whole stock
seized as straw. Requisitions were first made on the farmers living at a
distance, while those in the vicinity of the camp were prudently left
till the last. Among the latter was a certain Jacob Troup, a man known
to be loyal to the Americans, and the owner of a large barn stocked with
the previous summer's crop of wheat and oats. His turn came during the
third week in February, and as the farm was close to camp, and Troup had
three or four hirelings in his employ, a lot of confiscated grain was
brought there to be threshed at the same time with his own.
For three days the work went on, the greater portion of the grain
accumulating in the loyal farmer's granary preparatory to being carted
to camp. But, late in the afternoon of the fourth day, Washington
received word that a force of British cavalry had been seen within
twenty miles of Valley Forge, and this news, considered in connection
with a well-founded rumor that spies were, or had been, within the
lines, led him to take prompt measures to secure the large store of
grain.
For this duty twenty men of the Wyoming Company were detailed, and
Barnabas Otter and Nathan were of the number. So many of the officers
were sick or disabled that the command of the little party fell to the
lot of Corporal Dubbs. Shortly after supper they formed in the company
street and marched quietly through the camp, heading southwest toward
Philadelphia. They passed out of the lines between Knox's batteries and
Woodford's redoubt, from which point the farmhouse of Jacob Troup was
rather more than a mile distant.
It was as bitter and stormy a night as the army at Valley Forge could
remember in all that winter. That morning a brief thaw had been
succeeded by a cold snap, which formed a hard crust on the snow that
thickly covered the ground. Since afternoon fresh snow had been falling,
and now the flakes were coming down in a dense, fine mass. Aided by a
cutting wind drifts were gathering here and there, and it was impossible
to see more than a few yards in any direction. The cold was still
intense.
Under these circumstances the thinly-clad and poorly-shod men suffered
greatly as they marched on in the teeth of the storm, leading with them
four horses that were to haul the grain to camp in the farmer's big
sledge. But not a word of complaint was uttered. The thought that the
success of their mission meant bread for the army kept their spirits up,
and like true heroes they faced the cold and snow. No doubt the brave
fellows longed for a fight to heat their blood, but there was little
chance that any of the British would be hovering near on such a night as
this.
On they went, holding their musket-stocks with numbed fingers. In a
black line they straggled through the storm, up hill and down, across
patches of timber and low scrub, now knee-deep in fresh snow-drifts, now
plodding over the wind-swept crust beneath. At last the leader gave the
word to halt. It was in a hollow partly sheltered from the wind, and
straight ahead, toward Philadelphia, the snowy landscape merged duskily
into the night. To the left a narrow lane led fifty yards to the farm
buildings of Jacob Troup. Word of the coming had been sent to him, and a
cheery light was flashing in house and barn.
"All's well," declared Corporal Dubbs. "I expected nothing else, for the
Britishers ain't the kind of chaps to stir from their warm fires in such
weather. But precautions won't go amiss, and I'm going to post half a
dozen pickets to watch while the rest of us load the grain."
Accordingly he selected two men, and gave them orders to advance to the
left and take their stand on a road that lay some distance to the rear
of the farm buildings. "Amos Brown," he said, "you and Tom Relyea march
in the opposite direction--off here to the right--and keep on till you
come to the road that leads to the Schuylkill beyond Valley Creek."
The corporal now turned to Barnabas Otter, pointing one numbed hand
straight ahead to the southwest, in a direction at right angles to those
indicated to the other sentries. "Comrade, you know who lives over
yonder?" he asked.
"Abner Wilkinson," replied Barnabas. "I've seen the place often. The
owner is a rank Tory."
"Ay, he's said to be," admitted the corporal, "and I reckon opinion is
right. He certainly looked mighty sour when we stript him of his grain
and stock. Well, to proceed, just back of Abner Wilkinson's barn is a
broad lane that connects further on with the main highway from
Philadelphia. It's bordered by woods, and if the enemy come at all,
they'll likely come that way. So you post yourself on that little hill
overlooking the road beyond the barn--it's not much over a quarter of a
mile from here. Nathan Stanbury will go with you as far as the orchard
this side of the house, and that's where I want him to stay. Do you
understand?"
"Ay, ay, sir," assented Barnabas.
"And you, lad?"
"Yes, I understand," said Nathan. "I'm to mount guard at the edge of the
orchard."
"Exactly; and keep an eye on the house. I'm telling you this because of
the rumors about spies being in camp. The family are living in
Philadelphia, and Abner Wilkinson is said to be there too. But I've my
doubts about that, and you and Barnabas may learn something to-night if
you're wide-awake."
The six pickets had stepped to the front as their names were called, and
Corporal Dubbs now addressed them collectively in a few brief words.
"These precautions are no more than my duty warrants," he said. "A
soldier never knows what's going to happen. As for the posts I've
assigned you to--why, I don't believe General Washington himself could
improve on 'em. If the enemy come they won't find us napping, and
there'll be plenty of time to save the grain. In case all goes well you
can leave your places in about half an hour from the time you get there.
Should one of you discover the British he will fire his musket, and then
you must all fall back. The report will reach us over here, and will
give us a chance to get the grain into the lines. Now off with you, and
be spry about it."
The corporal gave the word to march, and his fourteen men and four
horses followed him down the lane toward the farm-house. The six
pickets, trudging off by twos, quickly vanished in the darkness and the
storm. Side by side Nathan and Barnabas struck over the open field, and
a tramp of a quarter of a mile brought them to the crest of a slight
ridge, from whence they saw the Tory farmer's house and barn looming
mistily out of the snow at a distance of four hundred yards. The wind
now had a clean sweep at them, and the snow cut their faces like sleet
as they pushed on down the slope. They felt their limbs growing numb,
and half of the time they had to close their eyes. At length, panting
and exhausted, they reached the welcome shelter of the orchard, and were
out of the worst of the storm. For several minutes they crouched in a
snow-drift on the farther side of the fence to recover breath and to
reconnoiter. But there was no sign of danger--so far as they could see
or hear. The house, looming close by, had a dreary and desolate look
with its shuttered windows below and its black squares of glass above.
"I reckon there's nobody in yonder," said Barnabas, his teeth
chattering as he spoke. "I sort of agreed with the corporal that
Abner Wilkinson might be lurking about, but I daresay he's keeping
snug in Philadelphia."
"Yes, that's more likely," assented Nathan. "And I don't believe that
troop of cavalry is anywhere near."
"Perhaps not," replied Barnabas, "but if they are, it'll fall to my lot
to spy 'em. I must be going now, lad. Just you stay right here, and be
sure to keep moving a bit, else you'll get numbed and drop over asleep
in the snow. If you hear the crack of my weapon don't wait--cut and run
for Troup's place."
"And if I fire you'll hurry this way?" asked Nathan.
"Of course, lad; but there's no danger of you givin' an alarm. If the
British are prowlin' about I'll be the first to see 'em."
With this Barnabas shouldered his musket and trudged off. His tall
figure grew dimmer and dimmer amid the flurrying snow-flakes, and he was
out of sight before he had reached the farther end of the orchard.
A sudden feeling of loneliness now oppressed Nathan, and with it came an
unaccountable suspicion of danger. He looked warily up the bare, white
hillside toward the Troup farm, and then he trudged across the orchard
in the opposite direction. Looking from the fence past the end of the
barn, he could vaguely make out against the sky-line the rounded and
wooded little hill on top of which Barnabas was to mount guard. It was
very nearly a quarter of a mile distant. Coming back to his former
post, he riveted his eyes on the house. It faced toward the barn, and
the side wall was directly opposite him, separated by a thirty foot
strip of yard. He half expected to see one of the shutters thrown open,
or to hear the sound of voices from within.
But, as the minutes slipped by, and only the moaning of the wind broke
the silence of the night, the lad grew ashamed of his fears. The bitter
cold was the only enemy he had to contend with. His bare ears and hands
pained him terribly, and a slight sensation of drowsiness warned him
that he must keep moving. So he stood his musket against a big apple
tree, wrapping a rag around the flint and pan to protect them from the
damp, and began to pace up and down the narrow angle of the orchard. He
continued this for a quarter of an hour, stopping occasionally to look
and listen, until his feet had trodden a well-defined path between the
trees. Feeling the need of more violent exercise, he rapidly folded and
unfolded his arms for a few minutes, and then, fastening his hands on a
big limb overhead, he repeatedly drew his chin up to a level with it.
When he had warmed himself comfortably by these means he shouldered his
musket and stepped to the fence.
"Why don't Barnabas come?" he said half aloud. "I've surely been here
half an hour, and that was the limit. By this time the grain ought to be
all loaded and on the way to camp. I wouldn't mind the cold if there was
any fighting going on, but this sentry duty in winter is the worst part
of a soldier's life. And I am anxious to get back to see how my father
is--"
The sentence was stifled on the lad's lips, and he very nearly uttered a
sharp cry. For just then, under one of the shuttered windows of the
house, he saw a flash of yellow light. It was visible for a few seconds,
and then it vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared.
Nathan felt a cold shiver run down his back. "Did I imagine that light?"
he asked himself, "or is there some one in the house?"
The next instant he was crouching low behind the fence, every nerve
quivering with excitement, and his musket trembling in his hands. He had
made another startling discovery, and one that was too real to be
doubted. The dark figure of a man was approaching the rear of the house
from the direction of the American lines, and it was only too evident
that he was not one of Corporal Dubbs's sentries. On he came through the
drifted snow, stepping quickly but stealthily, and turning his head from
right to left.
Nathan aimed his musket through the fence. "A spy!" he muttered. "He's
just been to the camp! Shall I shoot?" putting his finger to the
trigger. "No, I have a better plan. He's going to the house, and there
he'll be trapped."
The lad was right. A moment later the crouching figure had gained the
rear wall and was lost to sight. A door was heard to softly open and
close.
Nathan watched and listened in vain. For half a minute he hesitated.
Should he hurry off to bring Barnabas, or should he first endeavor to
learn who was in the house? The thought that he might, after all, be
mistaken decided him. Holding his musket ready for instant use he
lightly scaled the fence, and waded through the snow to the side wall of
the house. He crept to the rear angle, cautiously peeped around, and
then boldly turned it. A few steps brought him to the door, and he
discovered it was open a few inches. The wind had evidently done this,
the latch having failed to drop into its socket.
Nathan stood at attention, outwardly cool and alert in spite of his
inward excitement. All was black behind the crevice, but he could hear
faint voices at a distance. The temptation was too strong to be
resisted, and with a sudden impulse he carefully pushed the door farther
open and stepped into what seemed to be a wide hall. Looking to the left
he saw another door. This also was open an inch or two, and in the
lighted room to which it led two persons were talking in low and eager
tones.
"I've got to find out who's in there," the lad resolved. Holding his
gun in front of him he advanced with a cat-like tread. Happily the bare
floor did not creak under him, and his ragged shoes were so full of snow
that they made no noise. He reached the door, halted, and peered
anxiously through the crack.
What he saw was a small room, scantily furnished with a bed, two chairs,
and a table. A lamp was burning dimly on a shelf, and every crevice of
the one window was stuffed with rags to keep the light from showing
outside--a precaution that had not been entirely successful.
In the chair beside the table sat a bearded, harsh-looking man, who
could be none other than Abner Wilkinson himself; he was wrapped in a
heavy cloak and held a hat in his hand. Near by stood the man who had
just entered the house. He was young and smooth-shaven, with a handsome
but sinister countenance. He was hurriedly exchanging his snowy and wet
garments for a uniform of green faced with white--the uniform, as Nathan
well knew, of the Tory soldiers of the British army.
The lad saw all this at a brief glance, and then he listened keenly to
the conversation. "I wouldn't have done what you did for a king's
ransom," Abner Wilkinson was saying. "Man, you took your life in your
hands--"
"But I got what I wanted," the other interrupted, calmly, "and now that
I have them safe we had better be off at once. There's no telling what
will happen if the loss is discovered, as it may be at any moment."
"It's a bad night to travel on foot," said Abner Wilkinson. "Don't you
think we might wait till morning? There's no danger of your being traced
here, for the snow will cover your footsteps--"
"But not right away. I tell you we're in danger, and the sooner we start
the better. Have you got those other papers ready?"
"Yes, Captain," the Tory farmer answered; and he stepped toward a closet
at the end of the room.
Out in the dark hall Nathan trembled with excitement. "They have
papers," he said to himself, "and the one in uniform has been spying in
our lines. They mustn't get away."
Just then Abner Wilkinson turned around from the closet, holding a
packet in his hand. "Here they are, Captain," he said.
"Put them in your pocket," replied the officer. "They may be as
important as those I have. Are you ready to start? We'll go as soon as
Mawhood comes back. I'm beginning to feel worried about him."
"Oh, he'll be in presently," said Wilkinson, "unless he's lost his
bearings in the storm--"
Nathan trembled with sudden fear, missing the rest of the sentence.
"There's another spy," he reflected, "and he's outside somewhere. These
two are waiting for him. Whew! what a scrape I'm in! There's no time to
lose if I want to get away."
He turned cautiously around to retreat, and even as he did so the floor
creaked and he saw a dark object between himself and the outer door. The
next instant, as he made a headlong dash for liberty, a strong arm
encircled him and a hand clutched his throat. The lad's musket fell
with a crash, and he struggled hard to break loose. But his efforts were
futile. In less time than it takes to tell he was dragged, bruised and
half-choked, into the room. Abner Wilkinson was trembling with fright in
a far corner, and the officer had drawn a sword and a pistol. With an
oath he reached for the lamp, evidently intending to blow it out.
"Stop, sir; you needn't do that," cried Nathan's captor, who was a burly
Britisher in plain dress. "There's only one of 'em, and I've got him
safe. He must have crept into the house a bit ago, for he was listening
at yonder door when I spied him." He released the lad's throat, and held
him out at arm's length.
The officer glared at Nathan. "Are you sure there are no more, Mawhood?"
he demanded hoarsely.
"Quite sure, Captain," the man replied. "There's a party of rebels
removing the grain from Troup's farm back across the hill, and this chap
was posted here as an advance picket. There are no others in the
neighborhood, for I've been all around the house. But I would advise
getting away just as quick as possible--"
"Yes, yes, let's start at once!" interrupted Abner Wilkinson, who was
pale with fright. "We will be hung if we are caught."
"We must attend to the prisoner first," said the officer. "Who are you?"
he added to the lad. "Why did you come in here?"
Nathan tightened his lips and made no reply.
"Do you hear?" thundered the officer. "Answer my questions! Were you
listening at the door while we talked? Are any more of your rebel
friends posted in the neighborhood?"
"I won't tell you, sir," the lad replied firmly.
"You won't?" cried the officer. "Well, if you did it wouldn't help you
any now. I'm going to hang you, my fine fellow."
"Yes, hang the dog," exclaimed the Tory farmer. "I'll show you how." He
darted to the closet and produced a coil of heavy rope. The soldier
quickly seized this in obedience to a signal from his officer, threw one
end over a thick beam of the ceiling, and deftly looped the other end.
Swish! the fatal noose settled on Nathan's neck, and was tightened by a
jerk.
The lad stood firm, but in a few seconds a thousand thoughts seemed to
flit through his throbbing brain. He thought of Philadelphia, of
Cornelius De Vries, of his father lying sick in the hospital--of all his
past life. He realized that there was no hope for him. Even should he
shout, Barnabas and the other sentries were too far away to hear him.
Mawhood stood face to face with Nathan at a distance of a couple of
feet. The end of the rope was twisted in both his hands, and the officer
was close alongside of him. The latter pulled out a watch. "I'll give
you twenty seconds to pray," he said, "and then up you go."
"Don't murder me," Nathan begged hoarsely. "I've done nothing to deserve
death."
"You're a dog of a rebel," was the brutal answer, "and that's enough.
Ten seconds gone."
The lad glanced at the mocking and merciless faces of his enemies,
hardly realizing his doom, and then a ray of hope flashed suddenly to
his bewildered brain. His hands had fortunately been left untied, and as
he saw a huge pistol protruding from the soldier's belt decision and
action were almost simultaneous. A rapid snatch, and the barrel of the
weapon was between his fingers. As quickly the butt crushed with
stunning force on Mawhood's temple, and over he went like a log, the
rope slipping from his nerveless fingers.
Back Nathan sprang with a shout, and reversing and cocking the pistol he
turned it on the officer. The latter already had his own pistol out and
leveled, but when the hammer fell only a sharp click followed. With an
oath he dodged to one side, and his agility saved his life. The lad's
bullet barely grazed him, and struck Abner Wilkinson, who was directly
in range. With a shrill cry the Tory farmer fell to his knees and then
toppled over on his back.
The report was terrific and seemed to shake the very house. The powder
smoke hid the scene for a moment, and then it cleared sufficiently to
reveal the officer in the act of drawing his sword. There was no time to
hesitate, and Nathan dashed at him before he could lift the weapon for a
thrust. The two grappled, swayed fiercely for a few moments, and then
came heavily to the floor. Over and over they rolled in a tight embrace,
the officer cursing most savagely, and Nathan shouting at the top of his
voice.
The struggle lasted but a short time, though to the combatants it seemed
a long while. The lad was the weaker of the two, and he realized that he
must soon succumb. But he fought on, gasping hard for breath, and just
when his hold was relaxing there came a rush of feet and a loud shout.
The faithful Barnabas had arrived, and without an instant's delay he
hauled the officer away from his intended victim. Nathan was able to
assist, and between the two the desperate Britisher was overpowered and
his arms were bound behind him with the rope that had so nearly ended
the plucky lad's life. Abner Wilkinson was just breathing his last, and
the soldier Mawhood was beginning to show signs of returning
consciousness.
"The shot brought me here in time," exclaimed Barnabas. "But what does
it all mean, lad?"
Before Nathan could reply a muffled clatter of hoofs was heard from the
rear of the house, followed by the shrill whinny of a horse. Barnabas
and the lad exchanged startled glances, but they quickly discovered that
they had no cause for alarm. The next instant half a dozen soldiers in
the uniform of Washington's bodyguard surged into the room, and with
them, muffled in a heavy cloak, was General Washington himself.
"Gentlemen, we appear to have come too late," remarked the
commander-in-chief. "I think that is the spy yonder." Then he asked for
explanations, and Nathan briefly and clearly told the whole story.
"You have done well," said Washington. "Search that man at once," he
added, pointing to the prisoner.
Barnabas did so, and speedily produced a thick bundle of papers.
Washington took them eagerly, glanced over them, and then thrust them
into his bosom.
"These were stolen from a chest in my private room but half an hour
ago," he said. "The thief entered the window by means of a tree, and I
suppose the storm enabled him to pass the sentries. Fortunately the loss
was discovered a few moments afterward, and before the snow had covered
the man's tracks sufficiently to prevent us from following him. The
importance and value of the papers cannot be exaggerated, and I am
indeed fortunate to recover them."
Washington now ordered Abner Wilkinson to be searched. The Tory was
quite dead, having been shot through the heart, and in his pocket were
found minute plans and data relating to the camp, showing that the man
must have made numerous excursions within the lines.
As there was possible danger of a surprise by British cavalry, the
whole party speedily left the house, taking the two prisoners with them,
but leaving the body of the Tory behind. Mawhood and the officer refused
to speak, and they sullenly submitted to be mounted behind a couple of
the troopers. Barnabas and Nathan trudged behind the little procession
to the house of Jacob Troup, where they found Corporal Dubbs and his men
in a state of excitement induced by the pistol shot. The other sentries
had come in, and the grain was already far on its way to camp. An hour
later all who had participated in the night's adventure were sleeping
soundly in their quarters, and the two prisoners were pacing restlessly
up and down the narrow confines of the guard-house, with the spectre of
the hangman's noose dangling over them.
The following day Nathan was summoned to headquarters, where Washington
thanked him for the great service he had performed and complimented him
highly on his pluck and bravery. This gave the lad keen pleasure, but it
was as nothing compared to the joy he felt a week later, when his
father passed the crisis and began to recover. His convalescence lasted
a long time, and during that period Nathan did not venture to excite or
worry his father by telling him of the visit of Mr. Noah Waxpenny to the
Indian Queen. And when at last Captain Stanbury had entirely recovered,
the lad had come to regard the affair as hardly worth speaking of.
Brief mention must be made of the two men captured in the farm-house of
Abner Wilkinson. The officer turned out to be Captain Conway, of the
Tory troop of horse known as the Queen's Rangers, and Mawhood was a
private of the same force. Death by hanging would certainly have been
their punishment had they not made a desperate attempt to escape shortly
before being brought to trial. Mawhood did succeed in eluding the guards
and getting out of the camp, but Captain Conway was riddled with
musket-balls and killed instantly.