CHAPTER V.

AN ADVENTURE WITH THE REDCOATS.

Dicky was sent to bed early that night, so he could have a good sleep before his journey. But he was so excited over the prospect of his coming adventures that he scarcely closed his eyes. He was up and dressed by daybreak, and his mother had hard work holding him until sunrise before starting off.

As it was, he arrived at the Squire’s fine house in the town, before the Squire was up. When the horse was led out for him to mount, Dicky made a rush at him and scrambled up, beaming with delight. It was quite a sober old cart horse, named Blackberry—but had he been the finest thoroughbred in the world he could not have given Dicky more pleasure.

The Squire gave him the letter before several of the servants, without any extraordinary charges of carefulness, merely telling him to deliver it with his own hands to Mr. Josiah Barton, of Tiverton, and to return as soon as possible, when he would receive two shillings—and not to ride Blackberry too hard.

Dicky listened very respectfully, put the letter in the bosom of his jacket and pinned it, and started off. He rode very slowly as long as he was in sight of the Squire’s house, but it must be admitted that as soon as he turned the first corner he gave old Blackberry a cut that started him on a sharp trot. Blackberry, however, like the Squire himself, was well fed, his load was light, the day was pleasant, and he was quite willing to play the colt for a while, so he and Dicky got on beautifully.

The morning was deliciously fresh, and Dicky, who had never been ten miles from Newport in his life, except when he had run away on the Betsey, was as happy as a bird and felt himself quite as much of a man as Jack Bell. He was so happy that when he had gone two or three miles he could not forbear breaking into song—and as galloping and singing are somewhat incongruous he brought Blackberry down to a leisurely walk. Then with his knee crossed on the saddle he began to sing some of his favorite songs.

Unluckily though, he chose one of his rebel songs as they were called, and he was trolling it out in his sweetest voice when presently looking up, he found himself almost riding over a squad of redcoats marching along the road with a sergeant at their head.

“Look out, you young rebel!” called out the sergeant, catching Blackberry’s bridle; “what are you up to?”

“Nothing wrong,” answered Dicky boldly although he felt a slight tremor at heart—but he knew the necessity of keeping a cool exterior. “I am on my way to Tiverton on an errand for Squire Stavers.”

“And do you know this is the King’s highway, and you were singing a song about,

‘At Bunker Hill, that glorious day, The time the redcoats ran away.’”

Dicky remained prudently silent and wished he had not sung his Bunker Hill song.

The sergeant, who was a powerful fellow with a good-natured face in spite of his bluff words, reached up, and lifting Dicky off the horse as if he were a baby, set him down on the ground and proceeded to search him. The first thing he ran across was the letter. “Come now,” said the sergeant, “the lieutenant must see this. From Squire Stavers to Josiah Barton of Tiverton. Both of them out-and-out rebels. Young man, will you please to ’bout face and march along, while I’ll ride your battle horse?”

This was an unkind slur on Blackberry, who was unmistakably a horse who had spent his life in civil pursuits. The sergeant mounted him, and the old horse, out of whom Dicky had taken most of the spirit, struck into a slow and dejected trot.

Dicky went along silently, and appeared to be neither frightened or discomposed. Indeed after a while he rather relished his adventure, and anticipated the telling of it with the keenest pleasure, in which he meant to do full justice to his own calmness under trying circumstances. The whole party walked down the road about half a mile, when they came to a deserted farmhouse. The sergeant, then dismounting, took Dicky by the shoulder and shoved him into a room where a young officer sat at a table writing. “If you please, sir,” said the sergeant, touching his cap, “I found this boy riding along the road, singing rebel songs. I thought I’d examine him to see if there was anything suspicious about him, and I found this letter directed to Josiah Barton of Tiverton,—a rank rebel,—and the boy says it is from Squire Stavers of Newport, who is another rank rebel. So I thought it would be safer to bring him and the letter to you.”

“Quite right,” said the young officer, and taking the letter he coolly broke the seal. Both he and the sergeant were keeping half an eye on Dicky, who was perfectly quiet and composed, and gave no indications of fear.

“Do you know what is in this letter?” asked the lieutenant of Dicky after glancing at it.

“Sir!” answered Dicky, suddenly recalled from a contemplation of old Blackberry through the window.

“Do you know what is in this letter?” repeated the lieutenant sharply.

“Something about beef cattle, I believe, sir,” answered Dicky, returning to the contemplation of his steed.

It was an ordinary letter enough, but still the lieutenant did not seem able to persuade himself that it was exactly what it appeared to be. He could scarcely imagine, though, that a compromising letter would be sent by a boy, and, moreover, a boy who loitered by the road-side singing songs. It occurred to him that he could find out something of the value of the letter by the price that was paid Dicky for taking it.

“Look here, my lad,” he said suddenly; “how much are you to get if you deliver this letter and bring a reply?”

“Two shillings, sir,” promptly replied Dicky; “but if I don’t deliver it, I ain’t to get anything.”

“That settles it,” said the young officer more to himself than to Dicky. “A two-shilling messenger is not likely to be charged with serious undertakings. You may go, youngster.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And the next minute Dicky had darted out of the door and, seizing old Blackberry, was off at a smarter trot than Blackberry had known for a good many years.

Dicky arrived at Tiverton about nine o’clock and easily found the solid, substantial Barton mansion.

Mr. Barton was standing on the broad brick porch when Dicky swung himself off Blackberry and, holding his shabby cap in his hand, presented the letter.

“The seal, sir, was broken by a redcoat officer a little way out from Newport; but he didn’t understand the letter,” Dicky added significantly.

“It is easily understood,” said Mr. Barton, looking up after he got to the end.

Boylike, Dicky was charmed at being able to show the extent of his knowledge and responsibilities. Coming up close to Mr. Barton, he pointed out the third line from the bottom. Mr. Barton’s eyes followed Dicky’s finger as it traveled upward over the page, and he grasped the meaning immediately.

“Boy,” said he after a pause, “there are some things I want to ask you. Come in the house with me and do exactly what I tell you.”

Dicky followed him in a small, dark room on the first floor, fitted up as a library. Mr. Barton directed him to take a chair and then disappeared behind him for a few moments. When he came back he said:—

“Now answer freely and to the best of your ability all the questions I shall ask you, but remember not to turn your head to look on either side or behind you.”

Dicky thought this strange, but he obeyed implicitly. Mr. Barton, then taking out a quill pen and paper, began to ask him a series of questions respecting the Overing House—its distance from the shore, the lay of the land, and many other things of information. Dicky, not being one of those boys who can spend a lifetime in a place without knowing anything about it, was able to give a pretty accurate description of things in and around Newport. Especially did he know where the British ships were moored, the hours for the boats, and many other particulars about them.

While looking in front of him, as Mr. Barton carefully wrote down what he said, Dicky observed a round mirror, and what he saw in it almost made him drop off his chair in surprise. For there was a door behind him slightly ajar, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of a young man wearing a Continental uniform and listening intently to what was said.

Dicky felt an intense curiosity to know who it was, and, while describing as well as he could a tortuous path that he knew leading from the shore to a clump of woods behind the Overing House, he happened to glance up at the mirror. The soldier behind him had become so interested that he had poked his head completely outside the door.

One glance in the mirror showed Dicky that the young man was the son of Mr. Barton, and he surmised shrewdly that it was the young Captain Barton of the Continental Army who was his unseen listener. He was plainly in hiding, and Dicky understood very well why the elder Barton imposed cautions upon him.

Mr. Barton was very well pleased with Dicky’s sensible and well-considered answers, and when he had got through he folded up the memorandum he had made, wrote a few lines to Squire Stavers about the beeves, and then handed Dicky two new shillings.

“Money is a scarce commodity about here,” he said, smiling, “but I think you have earned this.”

Mr. Barton then asked him to stay until dinner was ready, but this Dicky declined to do. He was very proud of the success of his errand so far and wanted to return promptly, so that in a little while he was on his way back to Newport.

Squire Stavers was not without his doubts concerning the time Dicky would return. A boy trusted with a horse is extremely liable to overstay his time; but before twelve o’clock Dicky turned up. The Squire looked sharply at Blackberry, but, although the old horse had had a pretty good morning’s work, he seemed to realize that he was bent upon a patriotic errand and was as lively as a colt.

Dicky did not fail to do ample justice to his own coolness and composure when nabbed by the redcoats, and his prompt surrendering of the letter. The Squire chuckled when Dicky described how the young lieutenant puzzled over it and handed Dicky out two shillings with great readiness, saying,—

“And as you are such a good hand in the transaction of business, I will employ you again.”

Dicky ran home as fast as his legs could carry him with his four shillings clutched in his hands, and, throwing three of them in his mother’s lap, held up the fourth, bawling,—

“I’m going to give Mr. Bell and me a treat with this, mammy, because I’m a very bright boy, I am,—the Squire said so,—and a reliable one, too. There’s a show in town of dancing bears and monkeys, and Mr. Bell and me are going sure.”

When Jack came in that night Dicky recounted all of his adventures, even to the seeing the officer behind him in the glass, which he had not mentioned to Squire Stavers. The widow was immensely proud of Dicky’s shrewdness and courage, and Jack Bell was perfectly delighted, especially that Dicky had proved a match for old Blackberry.

“You’re doin’ a sight better sarvice for your country than if you was a powder boy ’board ship,” he remarked; “and it’s a deal more riskier to handle a horse than it is to handle gunpowder, and I’m a-thinkin’ sumpin’ will happen soon;” with which sententious remark Bell retired to the loft to sleep, while Dicky tumbled into his flock bed—a very tired but a very happy boy—and dreamed all night about dancing bears.