CHAPTER IV

MAKING AN ENEMY SERVE THE PATRIOT CAUSE

At any other time Hadley would not have been so disturbed at meeting Lon Alwood, for, though they were not friends, he was scarcely afraid of the Tory youth. But now, when he was in such haste and so much depended upon his getting across the river in the quickest possible time, the unexpected appearance of young Alwood unnerved him.

“Whadjer goin’ ter do, Moster Had?” whispered the frightened darkey. “Sho’s yo’ bawn, Ah’ll be skinned alibe fur dis.”

“Who’s that with you, Sam?” demanded his young master. “You’re helping some rebel across the river--I know your tricks. I tell you, when father hears of this he’ll make you suffer for it!”

“It’s Had Morris,” said the young courier, before his companion had a chance to answer. “You needn’t come any nearer Lon, to find out. But, as long as you are aboard, you can pick up the other pole and help Sam.”

“Had Morris!” shouted the other boy in astonishment and wrath. “Do you think I’m going to do what you say?”

“Take up your pole, Sam!” commanded Hadley, hastily. “The boat’s swinging down stream. Quick now!”

He had heard a door shut somewhere near, and was quite sure that the elder Alwood had heard the noise at the riverside and was coming to see about it. Hadley stepped to where Lon stood in frozen amazement, and, holding a pistol at a threatening angle, patted each of his enemy’s side pockets and the breast of his shirt. Lon was without arms.

“Lon, you pick up that other pole and set to work, or I’ll shoot you!” commanded the young American, sternly. “If you were in my shoes you’d treat me just as I’m treating you. I’ve got to get across the river, and nothing you can do will stop me. No you don’t!” Lon had half turned, as though he contemplated leaping into the river. Hadley raised the pistol menacingly. “Pick up that pole!” he commanded.

At that moment the voice of the elder Alwood came to their ears.

“Lon! Lon! Is that you out there? What air you and Sam doin’ with the boat?”

“Keep on poling and save your wind!” commanded Hadley, threateningly, still with the pistol at Lon’s side.

But the old gentleman’s wrath rose, and, believing that it was not his son aboard the boat, he brought his old-fashioned squirrel rifle to his shoulder. “Stop where you be!” he called, threateningly. “I ain’t goin’ to let you scalawags run off with my property--not by a jugful! Come back here with that boat or I’ll see if a charge of shot’ll reach ye!”

“Don’t shoot, dad!” yelled Lon, in deadly fear of the old man’s gun. “You’ll like enough shoot me instead of him. I can’t help it. He’s got a pistol an’--”

“Who is it?” cried the elder Alwood. “Where’s Sam?”

“It’s Had Morris. He’s makin’ Sam and me take him across the river.”

“Is that his horse I see there?” demanded the wrathful farmer.

“Yes, dad. Shoot it!” shouted Lon.

“Don’t you do it, Mr. Alwood,” warned the dispatch bearer. “I’ve got my pistol right against your son’s ribs, and when you fire your gun I shall pull the trigger.”

“Don’t, dad!” yelled Lon. “Don’t shoot the horse.”

Hadley nearly choked over his captive’s sudden change of heart, and even black Sam chuckled as he bent his body against the pole at the other side of the boat. They were now well out from the shore and the water was deepening. Suddenly, above the loudly expressed indignation of Farmer Alwood, sounded the clash of accoutrements and the ring of hoofs. A cavalcade was coming along the edge of the river from the direction of the regular ferry.

“What is to do here, sirrah?” demanded a sharp voice, which Hadley knew very well. It was the troop of dragoons with Colonel Knowles at their head. They had not found him up the river, and, suspecting that he had struck out for some other place of crossing, were scouring the bank of the stream. Alwood’s boat was the nearest.

Farmer Alwood explained the difficulty he was in--his son and slave being obliged, at the point of a pistol, to pole the stable boy of the Three Oaks Inn across to the Pennsylvania side of the river.

“Ha! Hadley Morris, you say? The very boy we’re after!” cried the colonel. “Men, give them a volley!”

“No, no!” cried the old man. “That’s my son out there and my servant. You want to commit murder, do ye?”

“This Alwood is a loyal man, colonel,” the sergeant said.

Colonel Knowles snorted in disgust. For the moment he was evidently sorry that the Alwoods were not the worst rebels in the country, so that he could have a good excuse for firing on the rapidly disappearing boat. Their voices still floated across the water to Hadley, and he heard the sergeant say:--

“We’d best give it up, sir. There’s no way of crossing near here, and the whole country will be aroused if we don’t get back to our command. There are more rebels than Tories in this neighborhood, sir.”

“Keep at it, boys!” Hadley commanded. “I’ve got my eye on you. Lon--don’t shirk. Hurry up there, Sam, you black rascal!”

He could have hugged Sam in his delight at getting away from his enemies: but he did not wish to get the old man into trouble. So he treated him even more harshly than he did Lon all the way across the wide stream. But Lon was in a violent rage when the big flatboat grounded on the Pennsylvania shore.

“You may think you’re smart, Had Morris!” he exclaimed, throwing down the pole as Hadley took Molly’s bridle to lead her ashore. “But you an’ me haven’t squared accounts yet. If you’re running away to join Washington’s ragamuffins, you’d better not come back here on our side of the river. We’ll fix you if you do. Anyway, the British army will be here like enough in a few days, and they’ll eat up the last rag, tag, an’ bobtail of ye!”

Hadley laughed, but kept a grip on the pistol until he got Molly ashore. He knew that, had he dared, young Alwood would have done something besides threaten; he was not a physical coward by any means.

“Don’ yo’ run away wid ol’ Sam’s pistol, Moster Had,” whispered the negro. “Dat pistol goin’ ter sabe ol’ Sam’s life sometime, like ’nough.”

“You’ll get into trouble with the farmers if they catch you with such an ugly thing in your clothes,” Hadley returned, doubtfully, for, like the other whites of the neighborhood, he did not believe in too much liberty for the blacks, although the masters were struggling for their freedom.

“Moster Holdness gib me dat weapon,” responded Sam, “an’ he mighty pleased wid me, Moster Had.”

Hadley handed back the pistol when he heard the scout’s name, for he knew that Holdness must have some good reason for wishing Black Sam to be armed. Lon had not seen this little byplay; but he shouted for Sam now to help pole the boat back across the river.

“Be as slow as possible, Sam!” Hadley whispered, leaping astride his mare. “Those chaps over there might take it into their heads to cross, after all--though they’d be running their necks into a noose. Our people must be all about here.”

Sam pushed the heavy landing plank aboard again and picked up his pole, while Hadley rode up the steep bank and reached the highway.

Black Molly had recovered her wind now, and as soon as she struck the hard road started at a good pace without being urged. Hadley knew the general direction which he was to follow--for the first few miles at least; but he had never been over the road before.

The possibility of falling in with royalist sympathizers on the dark woodroad along which the little mare bore him caused the boy to fairly shake with dread.

Every little noise startled him. If Molly stepped upon a crackling branch, he threw a startled look from left to right, fearing that some enemy lurked in the thickets which bordered the road. It would be an awful thing to be shot down from ambush, and it would scarcely matter whether he was shot by bushwhackers or scouts of the American army. By and by, however, the narrow woodroad opened into a broader highway. He was on the Germantown pike, and there were houses scattered along the roadside--but all dark and silent, save for the baying of watchdogs as Molly bore him on and on, her tireless feet clattering over the hard-packed road. The mist rising from the low lands stretched itself in ribbons across the road, as though to stop his progress. He drew up the collar of his coat and bent low over Molly’s neck, shivering as the dampness penetrated his garments. It was early cockcrow.

Suddenly, from just before him where the mist hid the way, came the clatter of arms. A cry rang out on the morning air, Molly rose on her haunches and backed without her rider’s drawing rein. Hadley was nearly flung to the ground.

“Halt!” cried a voice, and in front of the startled youth appeared half a dozen figures all armed with muskets, and dressed in garments so nondescript that their affiliation, whether with the British or American armies, it would have been hard to guess. “Who are you, Master?” demanded the voice which had cried “Halt!” “Why do you ride so fast on this road at night?”

“See if he has the word, Bumbler,” advised a second man, and the party advanced on the mare and her rider.

“It’s a good horse--but she’s been ridden far,” declared a third. “She’ll sell for something handsome in Germantown.”

At this Hadley was quite assured that he had fallen into the enemy’s hands with a vengeance. He dared not say that he had dispatches for General Washington, for he believed the men who had stopped him to be either royalist sympathizers, or a party of stragglers seeking what unattached property they might obtain, being sure of going unscathed for their crimes because of the unsettled state of the country. Uniforms among the American troops were scarce at best. At this time some of the regiments were distinguished merely by a cockade, or a strap on their coats, while their uniforms were naught but the home-spun garments they had worn on joining the army.

“He’s only a boy, Corporal,” said the first speaker, and a lean, unshaven face was thrust close to Hadley’s. “Get off the horse, lad. It’s too good for you to ride--unless you’re riding for the right side?”

This was said questioningly, and Hadley realized that he was being given an opportunity to answer with the countersign but whether British or American he did not know. And little good would it have done him had he been sure of the affiliation of these men. He knew the countersign of neither army.

“I’m only riding in a hurry to Germantown, sirs,” he said. “I do not know the password. I hope you will not stop me--”

“What are you doing on this road?” demanded the corporal. “And without the word? Didn’t you expect to fall in with the outposts?”

“With what outposts?” cried Hadley.

“Ours, of course--the American outposts? Are you one of this Tory tribe with which the country is overrun?”

At this Hadley, scarce convinced, flung much of his caution to the winds and replied: “I am as anxious to reach the American outposts as I can be. I have got to go to headquarters--”

“Whose headquarters?”

“The Commander-in-Chief’s.”

“I believe the lad’s got dispatches, Corporal!” declared Bumbler. “Let’s pull him off that horse and see.” So saying, he grasped Hadley by the collar and dragged him bodily from the saddle.

“Easy with the boy, man!” returned the other. “See if he’s got any papers about him. This is a queer set-up altogether, for a lad to be riding like mad toward headquarters--and over this road.”

Breathless and disposed to believe the worst of his captors, Hadley fought with all his strength to retain the packet; but Bumbler tore open his coat, and his big hand sought the boy’s inner pocket, where the precious papers lay.