CHAPTER XXIV.

A LOYAL TRAITOR.

"How many men have you?" inquired William, as he accompanied the black-bearded man down the road.

"About one hundred," he said; "but there are about twice as many good lads gathering to the southward who will be up in time to assist us. The English have taken possession of a brick house with a stone wall, and are afraid to leave it. They are waiting for re-enforcements."

To his astonishment, William saw that the company was composed, with the exception of the men who had met him in the road, of few whom he would consider fit to fight in the ranks--boys of fourteen and old gray-headed men that had been left at home, for the flower of New Jersey manhood was in the army.

Ralston had called a score or so about him. "Friends," he said, "this is an old comrade, now a Lieutenant in the army. Let us hold counsel. It is right that he should take command. We are quite well drilled but not equipped, sir," he said, turning to William.

The latter looked about. Some of the farmers were armed only with pitch-forks or rough pikes made from scythes. The Quaker with the pig had been greeted with the cry of "Fresh pork! Fresh pork!" and a rail fence was soon converted into fuel.

"I am on special duty," William said, after a thought. "I should not tarry long."

If he refused to accede to their wishes he would place himself in a dangerous position, and not only that, but would probably hurt most seriously the brother whom he was supposed to be. What would he not give for some news about George's condition? He had only gathered, from what Cato had told him, that his younger brother was not seriously wounded.

"Let's adjourn to the barn," suggested the sergeant, "and talk matters over."

All followed him, and seated themselves on the edge of a large bin. With ears of corn Ralston marked out the position that the English and Hessians held in the valley below. To save himself, William could not help but be interested.

"Keep them talking," he thought. "That's it; but propose great caution. It may give the others time to get away."

A freckle-faced red-eyed boy with a narrow-stocked rifle much taller than himself looked into the door.

"What is it, Tommy?" said one of the men, as the boy pulled off his coon-skin cap.

"Are we going to fight, sir?" asked the youth.

"Ay, you'll get your chance," was the answer.

The boy shouldered his musket and walked away.

"Did you mark the lad, Mr. Frothingham?" said Ralston, glancing up from his plan. "The Hessians two days ago killed his old grandfather and burnt his sick mother's house down about her head."

This recital started another of the group, and William listened in horror and amazement. In common with many other officers in the English service, he had deprecated the use of the German hirelings. His anger at their outrages overcame every other feeling in his breast.

"You say the Hessians are here," he said, pointing with his finger at a bunch of corn-cobs, "and that the hill is off here to the right?"

"Yes," answered Ralston, "and the swamp guards their retreat to the eastward."

Before he knew it, William found himself offering a plan of attack. The others listened with great attention.

"A true military eye," observed one old man, leaning over his neighbor's shoulder. "It is a young David come to lead us against the Philistines."

Suddenly William caught his breath. What was he doing? This was nice work for an officer in the service of the King. "How far off is this brick house you speak of?" he asked, hoping that even now he might escape the consequences of his impetuosity.

"Maybe a mile or so," was the response from the old man.

"Had we better not divide our forces, as you suggest, and prepare for an attack?" said Ralston.

"Yes, I have a thirsty sword." The man tapped an old Scotch claymore that hung by his side.

"Well said, McPherson," put in another, and William followed them as they went out through the barn door.

"Draw up in line, comrades, the older men to the top of the hill, and the younger take position at the edge of the swamp," Ralston spoke again.

It seemed impossible that such a mob could do anything against an organized resistance, but a surge of mingled admiration and pride swept over William. A great lump came into his throat. He glanced at the eager boys and the bent forms of the old men. Ye gods! These were his countrymen! Some one, he did not know who, shouted, "Forward!" and he found himself at the head of a shuffling, swaying company that straggled out across the road. He was leading as they silently went through the meadow and came to the crest of a hill where the stubble of the corn-stalks just showed above the snow. Below him he saw a large brick house, and about it a strong stone wall. Even from this distance he could make out the green uniforms of the Hessians and a few red coats dotted amongst them. William halted an instant.

The weak point of the defence he observed at once. From behind the rocks on the hill-side the interior of the yard could be commanded. There were few windows in the house facing the westward, and a large hay-cock stretched up almost to the second story. He could not help it! The tales he had heard made him hate the mercenary green coats that had brought disgrace upon warfare, if such could be. He was in command. He could not back out, but hesitated to give the word. Another mind, however, had seen the same opportunity that had struck William so forcibly. As the men stopped on the hill-side there was a rattling volley below them. A body of ragged men in homespun much like those grouped about him appeared on the edge of the alders in the swamp. Others swarmed out from the woods. The party from the southward had decided to wait no longer for assistance from the forces under Ralston. Captain Littel, of New Jersey, was in command of this attack. So well feared and hated had he been that there was a reward upon his head. William was surprised at the intrepid charge that these farmer soldiers made upon the wall. A handful ran out across the meadow, and despite the fact that three fell before they had gone one hundred yards, they reached the side of the house. One of the men was carrying a flaming torch. In an instant the hay-cock roared up in flames, and now the men about him could stand it no longer, but with a shout they dashed down the hill-side with no more order than a herd of charging cattle. Spurts of smoke sprang from the windows of the farm-house. The Waldeckers and the British were driven from behind the wall, but the house had now caught fire from the burning hay. The Americans swarmed about it. A man with an axe burst the door. There were some more shots, but soon the white flag was extended from one of the windows. This recalled William to his senses, and then he noticed that he was not alone. Ralston stood beside him.

"Hasten!" he said. "They have surrendered; but so great is their rage that I am afraid if we do not interfere our people will take no prisoners. Their blood is hot, they seek revenge!"

Holding his lame arm closely to his side, William ran down the hill, and was soon at the house. Captain Littel, who had led the first attack, had been wounded.

"Is any one in command here?" shouted a voice from the window.

Looking up, a British officer was seen standing there. One of the countrymen levelled a rifle at him, taking aim.

William knocked the piece aside. "Teach them a lesson. Behave like men. You are not murdering Indians!"

"But those green-coated devils are," said the man, "which is just as bad." Again he rested his rifle.

William drew back his hand as if to fell the man.

"Hold! You are right," said the latter; "but if you had seen what I have--" He stopped.

In a minute William found himself haranguing the angry crowd about him. The fearless ring of his voice and his soldierly bearing had its effect.

The men grew calmer. The fire had now eaten its way into the interior of the house, and the roof was blazing.

"We surrender," said the officer at the window. "Is there any one here to whom I can give my sword? For God's sake, don't burn us all to death!"

Ralston, standing at William's side, shouted back, "Come down, then, all of you."

He pushed the men hither and thither with his strong arms, and formed a lane for them to pass through. Again he needed strong efforts to restrain the feelings of the victors as the frightened Hessians and a few English hurried out of the burning house. The officer was carrying his sword by the blade. He approached and extended it toward Ralston, but the latter waved him to where William was standing, pale and torn with conflicting emotions. As the man in the red coat approached he started, and almost dropped his sword. It was Captain Markham, who only a few days ago William had left in the coffee-room at the tavern in New York.

"Do I give my sword to you?" he said.

"Keep it," said William.

"I will not," said the officer, and he dashed it to the ground at the latter's feet. "So you are in your true colors at last," he said; "but let me tell you, sir, it was lucky that you left just when you did. You were seen talking in a doorway with a man who is now known to be a spy, and, worse luck, he escaped us also. You know whom I mean?"

"I do not," was William's reply.

"That old man Norton."

William said nothing. He remembered the incident now in the snow-storm.

"Your name is stricken from your regiment, and you are posted for what you are, you rebel!"

William had no reply to this long speech, and his attention was now called to a different direction. One of the attacking party had recognized a low-visaged German who had been prominent in the outrages at the village. They were for hanging him at once. The band of English were outnumbered now three to one. They had piled their arms in a heap as they left the doorway of the house, and were huddled together in an angle of the wall. Once more William's calm words and appearance had their effect, and there was a lull. Quickly he told off the most prominent leaders of the guerilla forces and divided the prisoners into squads. Once started on the march, it would be easier to keep order. When this was accomplished he spoke to Captain Markham.

"I cannot reply at length to what you say. All I can do is to save your lives. Maybe fortune has granted me that power. I am not a traitor by intent."

The company moved out across the fields, taking up their wounded, and leaving the dead Hessians where they were.

Captain Markham marched silently along, paying no attention to the looks that were thrown at him by the angry victors. He admired William's bearing, despite the standpoint from which he looked upon him. "I understand now," he said, "why it was you never took the oath of allegiance to the King."

It was William's turn to start. It was a fact. The ceremony, owing to the haste in the purchasing of his command and of the departure of Colonel Forsyth from England, had been omitted.

"What are you going to do with us?" asked the Captain. "How did you come to be in command?"

"Through fate, perhaps," responded William; "it has decided many things. I am going to take you to Morristown, if I can; and as for myself, I shall turn myself in as a prisoner of war with the rest of you. I cannot explain. Some day you will understand."

It was necessary to hasten the march now, for a messenger had arrived, stating that re-enforcements of the British were approaching from Elizabethtown. They marched ahead at a faster pace.

It was a strange tale that William Frothingham related when he brought his command to the American lines. The idea of an English officer leading an American attack, and after victory convoying his prisoners to his enemy's lines, and there insisting upon giving himself up also as a prisoner of war--this was something new in the annals of history. He found himself in the most remarkable position that probably a man had ever been placed in before.

After hearing his tale and recovering from the astonishment of finding that it was not the Lieutenant Frothingham they knew, the Americans would not accept him as a prisoner. The Commander-in-Chief expressed the sentiment of the meeting in these words:

"You are free to return, sir, without exchange; but it is my advice that you do not do so. What you can explain to us you could never explain to the gentlemen who are temporarily in New York city."

Colonel Roberts, of Washington's staff, here whispered a suggestion. It was taken up at once, and the sentence of the court to which William had presented his remarkable petition was as follows:

"Lieutenant William Frothingham, late of his Majesty King George's service, is hereby ordered to free confinement at the Manor House of Stanham Mills, to be paroled there on honor not to escape or desert a country that has profited by his free service."

* * * * *

It was at Stanham Mills.

"Yes, I knowed it all de time," said old Cato to the group in the kitchen. The old man was breathless from reiterating this statement.

In the big hall a strange meeting was taking place. So many explanations had to be made; so many questions asked and answered; so many stops and pauses for Aunt Clarissa to overcome her tears and bursts of self-deprecation, that it was a long time before quiet and calm could be restored; but when this had happened, the impossible seemed to have been accomplished, for there sat the twins as they had years and years before, hand in hand, and grouped around them were Aunt Clarissa, Colonel Hewes, Grace, and Carter, for the young Captain had considerately been given charge of the remarkable prisoner, and many a long chat and silent hand-grasp had they indulged in between Morristown and Stanham. William's depression was rolling off him. Somehow it seemed very natural to be here with his own people again, so much happier than being with the roistering, swaggering officers that he had so long been thrown in with.

At last good-nights were said, and Aunt Clarissa, with a final burst of weeping, had gone up stairs on the arm of her tall young niece. George and William stepped to the door as they watched Carter and his father mount their horses, for the latter was now living in a small house with the troops at the foundry.

A figure was standing leaning against one of the pillars. It advanced as the twins came out upon the piazza.

"How!" was the greeting in a deep chest tone.

"How, Adam!" William responded, taking the old Indian's extended hand. Again the latter repeated this exclamation, and turning, shuffled off. In his belt shone a great horse-pistol. It had once belonged to Cloud, the Renegade.

"Brother mine," said George, placing his arm across William's shoulder, "it has been the finger of the Lord."

William rested his head on his arm. "But they say I am a traitor," he replied.

George laughed. "You are a patriot, then," he said. "You could not help what grew up in your heart. It is for King or country."

"For country, then," said William, firmly.

"God prosper us," said George, "we will help deliver it together."

[THE END.]

RICK DALE.

BY KIRK MUNROE.