CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE VOLUNTEERS

“Why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom; Frighting her pale-faced villages with war.” —Shakespeare.

“Front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword’s length set him.” —Shakespeare.

We must now return to Major Gordon and his companion, whom we left, long ago, proceeding to the Forks.

The Forks, as its name imported, was situated at the head of navigation, at the junction of two small branches of the river, on whose shores the events we have been narrating occurred. It was a settlement comprising about twenty-five houses, whose inhabitants were exclusively engaged in the trade, which the unloading of prizes at this point had created. Springing up in an incredibly short time, its prosperity was as evanescent as things of rapid growth often are; and long since every vestige of it has departed, except a solitary domicile, and a few grand old buttonwoods.

At the time of which we write, however, the Forks was in the full career of success. The western shore of the narrow but deep river in front, was lined for a considerable distance with vessels, which either had discharged valuable cargoes, or were about to do so. Many a fat merchantman, which had been originally laden with goods for the markets of Jamaica, was there contributing unwillingly to the wealth of the American patriots; and many a proud West Indiaman, which had been freighted at Kingston with sugar, rum, or molasses for London, was now unloading at the Forks for the benefit of Philadelphia. The place, in fact, was the head-quarters for the spoils, ravaged by American privateers from his Majesty’s mercantile marine.

As such it presented a scene of comparative liveliness. Teamsters were there, swearing at their horses, drinking in the tavern, or wrangling about their load; brokers were there, in behalf of the merchants of the capital, bartering for desirable goods; and sailors, watermen, laborers, and occasionally a small farmer or two were there also; while a few soldiers, constituting the small command of Major Gordon, lounged about and completed the diversity of the scene.

Scarcely had Major Gordon arrived at the Forks with his companion, when he was called aside, and informed that an express rider had just reached the place and was anxiously inquiring for him. It was added that the man, though he refused to divulge his errand, was evidently from Washington’s head-quarters.

“Send him in,” said the Major, leading the way to his bed-chamber, the only private apartment he could command. And turning to Uncle Lawrence, he asked the latter to excuse him for a few minutes.

The express rider was soon ushered into the presence of the young officer.

“His excellency, the commander-in-chief,” said the emissary, “has received news that the British are about fitting out an expedition against the lower settlements on this river, with the intention to burn the prizes collected below, and perhaps even to penetrate up to this point. So much I was told to carry by word of mouth, in case any accident happened to my despatches. But I was to preserve them, if possible, and hand them to you.” With these words he drew out a packet, which he delivered to Major Gordon.

The official document confirmed what the messenger had stated, but went much more into detail. It informed our hero that General Washington had ascertained, from reliable informants in New York, that the British commander-in-chief, enraged at the serious damage done by the privateers harboring in the river, had resolved to despatch the Vesta man-of-war, with a sufficient number of auxiliary vessels and a force of nearly a thousand men, to break up the American settlements, capture the armed ships, and burn or bring off the prizes. “In a word,” concluded the despatch, “it is the royal General’s intention to devastate the whole region. No hope is left for the inhabitants but in rallying promptly to resist the aggressors. Had the enemy been able to surprise the district, as he confidently expected, his bloody designs would incontestably have been carried out. But the commander-in-chief is in hopes that the timely warning he sends, will allow the inhabitants to make such preparations for defence, as will frustrate the plans of the invaders. He advises that all private armed vessels be conveyed immediately to a place of security; that defences be thrown up at the points most likely to become the objects of attack; and that those persons who are well affected to the Congress be summoned, from the surrounding neighborhoods, to defend the soil from aggression. He will despatch a body of dragoons, under the Count Pulaski, as soon as possible, to assist the militia; meantime, Major Gordon is instructed to hasten at once to the Neck, which is one of the spots certain to be assailed first, and remain in command there until relieved by the Count.”

Major Gordon, having hastily perused this missive, turned to the express rider.

“Are you too tired to go on with the news?” he said. “if not, you are the most suitable person.”

“I’m all ready,” answered the messenger. “I sort of thought you’d wish to send me forrard, and so I took a bite while waiting for you, not knowing,” and he touched his cap, and smiled, “when I’d get another.”

“You are a veteran already in one thing,” answered Major Gordon, gayly, “even though young in years. Mount then, at once, and make the best speed you can to the Neck. Once there, despatch messengers across the country and along shore to rouse the people. Let the rendezvous be at the Neck. I will march, with all the forces I can collect, within an hour or two; but as my progress will necessarily be slow, as compared with yours, I trust to find, by the time I arrive, a goodly number of armed citizens assembled to meet me.”

Having dismissed the express rider with these words, Major Gordon called Uncle Lawrence aside, and communicated the intelligence he had received. He concluded by saying, “So it will be impossible for me, as you see, to give you any assistance at present in tracking the refugees. The object of their return here, however, is now apparent. They all keep up communications with the royal forces, and having heard of this expedition, have swarmed here to plunder at will if the enemy should succeed. Under these circumstances, the shortest way to drive the vermin from the region, is to strike at the royal forces; for if we defeat them, the refugees can afterwards be easily mastered in detail. Even, however, if my judgment continued in favor of your proposal, my orders would forbid my entering on any such enterprise at this juncture.”

Uncle Lawrence answered promptly,

“You are right. My old blood warms, too, at the news of this expedition. What! the tories coming to attack us, in our own river, and to burn down our very houses. God helping me,” he said, glancing reverently upwards, and then striking his gun emphatically, “I’ll march myself against the invaders. You’ll take, me, Major, I spose?”

“Gladly,” replied our hero, seizing the old man’s hand, and shaking it warmly. “It is what I would have desired, above all things else; but could not have presumed to ask, considering your years. Your example will be worth fifty good men to me. When such as you march, who can hold back?”

“Strike while the iron’s hot, then,” pithily said Uncle Lawrence. “Call for volunteers right off, Major. There’s a dozen idle fellows here that might go as well as not; and will, maybe, if you tell the news straight out, and say, too, that every man’s wanted.”

Taking the old man’s hint, the Major stepped out in front of the house, just as everybody was crowding, full of curiosity, to see the express rider depart; and having waited till the messenger dashed off, he proceeded to impart the contents of the despatch, after which, in a short, but stirring speech, he called for volunteers.

No sooner had he finished than Uncle Lawrence, who had stood leaning on his gun, as if idly listening, stepped forward, and taking off his cap, remained a moment gazing at the crowd in silence, the wind waving his long, thin, silvery locks.

The action drew every eye upon him. All saw that he had something to say, and waited for it respectfully.

“Neighbors,” he said, looking around with simple dignity, “here stands the first volunteer.”

At this unexpected declaration—unexpected, however, only because of the veteran’s age, for otherwise it was in keeping with his whole life—the audience, after a pause of silent admiration, broke forth into an enthusiastic cheer.

The old man’s eyes brightened. “And now,” he continued, “who’ll go with me to fight for our homes, our wives, our darters, and our babies? Liberty or death!” And he waved his cap around his head. “Huzza!”

“I’ll go—and I—and I,” cried almost every voice, as the speakers rushing forward, grasped first his hand and then that of Major Gordon; for the effect of his appeal was electric. “Liberty or death! Liberty or death!” And the welkin rung with the reiterated shout.

“That’s what I expected,” said the Major, when silence had been procured again. “That’s what I expected—after such an example—from such brave fellows and such good friends to their country. The right way, my lads, when an enemy is about, is to march boldly to meet him, and not wait to be smoked out like a fox in his hole. One more huzza for liberty or death,” he continued, leading off the shout; “and now every man arm himself, taking plenty of powder and ball; and be ready to set out within an hour. We must reach the Neck by nightfall, or earlier, if we can.”

The crowd dispersed at this, though not till they had given nine cheers, three for Uncle Lawrence, three for Major Gordon, and three for General Washington.

In little more than an hour, nearly the whole available male population of the Forks had rendezvoused in front of Major Gordon’s lodgings; and boats having been provided, as affording the speediest method of reaching the Neck, they pushed off, with a round of huzzas to cheer the hearts of their wives and sweethearts left behind.

Uncle Lawrence had not even returned home to acquaint his family with his intentions. He had, however, despatched a lad to perform this duty, for which he had not time himself. The youngster passed directly in front of the mansion at Sweetwater, in the execution of this task; but as the inhabitants were regarded as being tories at heart, he forbore to communicate his news.

Meantime, Major Gordon, and his veteran companion, little imagined the peril that threatened Miss Aylesford. The idea of so daring an outrage as the abduction of Kate would never have suggested itself to them under any circumstances; but in fact, they were both so engrossed by the news of the threatened invasion, that they thought of nothing but repulsing it. It was long after the Forks had faded in the distance, before even Major Gordon, hero as he was, remembered our heroine; and though, after this, her image often recurred to him, it was with no suspicion that she was less secure from harm than the queen on her throne.

As they descended the river, the Americans stopped at the various farm-houses on the shore, to give notice of the British expedition. At the principal settlement, Major Gordon landed in person, and directed that sentinels should be posted to watch ascending and descending boats.

“There are more or less disaffected persons above,” he said, “who may seek to join the enemy or carry information to him, so that it is important that a strict watch be kept and every boat stopped. This is so necessary that we shall leave a few men with you till your neighbors can rally. If more than a dozen come in, however, send on the balance to the Neck, where every musket will be wanted.”