CHAPTER V

THE MAGIC OF A NAME

Flat upon his back on the hard roadway, with the knee of Bumbler pressing upon his chest, Hadley Morris was little able to defend the dispatches which he had received from the injured courier in the yard of the Three Oaks Inn. The man tore his coat apart, felt first in one inner pocket and then in the other, and finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, brought the sealed packet to light.

“Dispatches, Corporal, as sure as aigs is aigs!” he exclaimed, passing the packet up to the officer.

“Huh! we’d better go careful here, Bumbler--we’d better go careful,” said the portly man, doubtfully. “None of you know the boy?”

The men, who had crowded around, all shook their heads. “Like enough he’s no business with the papers,” Bumbler declared. “He’s no regular dispatch bearer, an’ mayhap those papers came from York.”

“They’re addressed to nobody,” grumbled the corporal.

“Open ’em and see what’s in ’em,” suggested Bumbler, his sharp eyes twinkling. He was still on his knees and holding Hadley on the ground.

There was just enough light now for the boy to see the faces of the men rather more distinctly than at first. The mist grew thinner as the dawn advanced, and there was a faint flush of pink in the east above the treetops.

While he lay there on the ground, wondering how he might escape, his ear caught the sudden rumble of carriage wheels coming swiftly along the pike.

In a few moments a heavy carriage drawn by four fine horses dashed into view. It was indeed a chariot, as the private traveling coaches of England were called at that day, and this vehicle was evidently of English manufacture. Besides the coachman there was a footman, or outrider, on a fifth horse and a darkey in livery sat up behind.

The corporal shouted hoarsely to the coachman, and the presentation of five muskets, Bumbler still holding on to Hadley, quickly brought the carriage to a halt. In answer to the challenge the door of the coach opened and a sharp voice demanded the cause of the disturbance.

“Travelers on this road must have the password, master,” the corporal said. “You are near the outposts of the army.”

The man in the coach at once leaped out and approached the scouting party. He was rather a tall man, dressed in semi-military manner, for he wore a sword at his side and a buff coat with satin facings of blue. His long, clean-shaven face was lean and ruddy, and his hair was rolled up all around the back in the fashion of the day. His nose was aquiline and his chin long and prominent--such a chin as physiognomists declare denotes determination and perseverance. When he removed his hat to let the cool morning air breathe upon his uncovered head, his brow was so high that it fairly startled the beholder. Hadley, from his station beside the road, was vastly interested in this odd-looking gentleman.

“So you wish the countersign, do you, my man?” demanded the stranger, looking the corporal over with hauteur. “What regiment are you?”

The corporal mentioned one of the regiments of State troops which at that time formed a part of Washington’s forces.

“Then you should know me, sirrah, although I have not the countersign,” the gentleman said. “I am John Cadwalader.”

“Colonel Cadwalader--of the Silk Stocking Regiment!” Hadley heard Bumbler mutter.

The corporal looked undecided, and stammered: “Faith, Mr. Cadwalader, ye may be whom ye say; but it’s our orders to let no one pass without an investigation--”

“Investigate, then!” snapped the gentleman. “If you do not know me, send one of your men on with my carriage to the nearest officer. I am on my way to headquarters and should not be delayed.”

“I can spare no men, for I’m foraging,” declared the corporal, still hesitating.

“What do you intend doing, then, dolt?” cried the officer, wrathfully. “Will you keep me here all the morning?” Then, seeing Hadley in the grasp of Bumbler, he added: “And you are keeping that boy prisoner, too, are you? You’ll have your hands full, Sir Corporal, before you get back from this foraging expedition of yours. Your commanding officer is to be congratulated on having such well-disciplined men in his rank and file.” Evidently noticing the disarrangement of Hadley’s garments, he added, looking at the boy again: “And why do you hold this farm lad prisoner, pray?”

At that the boy made bold to speak for himself, for he believed this gentleman must really be somebody of importance. “If it please you, sir, I was hastening to General Washington’s headquarters with dispatches--which, I believe, only yesterday came from New York--when these men stopped me and have taken away my papers--”

“Ha!” exclaimed the gentleman, scrutinizing the youth sharply, “you’re over young to be trusted with important news for the Commander-in-Chief. How came you by these papers?”

In a few words Hadley told of the injury to the dispatch bearer at the Three Oaks Inn, and how he had escaped with the papers and crossed the river.

“Well done!” cried Cadwalader, evidently enjoying the story. “Ye did well. And now these fellows have taken your packet, eh?” He turned a frowning visage upon the corporal. “How is this?” he demanded.

“We know nothing about the lad, your honor,” said the corporal.

“Return to him the papers and let him go with me in the carriage. His horse looks fagged and had best be left in the care of some loyal farmer nearby.”

“But how do we know you?” began the corporal, desperately.

At this Bumbler left Hadley’s side and plucked at the petty officer’s sleeve. “Don’t be a fool, Corporal!” he whispered, hoarsely. “It’s Colonel Cadwalader true enough. I’ve seen him in Philadelphia many a time.”

At this assurance the other grudgingly gave up the papers to their rightful possessor again, and Hadley turned a beaming face upon Colonel Cadwalader. “You get right into the carriage, boy, and let my man here lead your mare. We will find a safe place for her ere long, and you can pick her up on your way home--if you return by this road. But a well-set-up youngster like you should be in the army. We’ll need all such we can get shortly, I make no doubt.”

Hadley had no fitting reply to this, but, urged by the gentleman, entered the coach, and the horses started again, leaving the chagrined corporal and his men standing beside the road.

The boy had never heard of John Cadwalader, or the Silk Stocking Regiment, of which he was originally the commander; but the gentleman was prominent in Philadelphia before the war broke out, and was one of Washington’s closest and most staunch friends throughout the struggle for independence.

John Cadwalader, son of Thomas Cadwalader, a prominent physician of the Quaker City, was thirty-three years of age when the War for Independence began. At the time of the Lexington massacre he was in command of a volunteer company in Philadelphia organized among the young men of the élite, or silk-stocking class. But, despite the rather sneering cognomen applied to it, the authorities found the Silk Stocking Regiment well drilled and disciplined, and every member of it was a welcome addition to the State troops.

Hadley Morris might have sought far before finding a more able friend to introduce him into the presence of the Commander-in-Chief of the American forces. So close were the relations between Cadwalader and Washington that later, after the battle of Monmouth, the former took up the commander’s personal quarrel and fought and wounded the notorious Conway in a duel near Philadelphia.

As the heavy coach hurried on, they were stopped half a dozen times, but at no point was there any difficulty. There was always somebody who knew Colonel John Cadwalader. The magic of his name opened the way to the very presence of the Commander-in-Chief, into whose hands Hadley had been told to deliver the packet in his possession. The boy was finally aroused from his uneasy sleep when the traveling coach stopped before the door of a large residence beyond Germantown, which happened, for the nonce, to be the headquarters of General Washington.

“General Washington is exceedingly busy this morning, Colonel,” said one of the officers, doubtfully, as the two alighted from the coach. “Unless this be an important matter--”

John Cadwalader’s head came up and his keen eyes flashed. “Tell the General that Mr. Cadwalader awaits his pleasure,” he said, briefly, “and that he brings a lad with him whom it would be well for his honor to see.”

He turned his back upon the group and waited with marked impatience until a servant came with a request from the Commander-in-Chief for Colonel Cadwalader and his charge to come into the house at once.

“Follow me, lad,” the gentleman said. “You have risked much and traveled far to do the cause a service, and you shall have fair play!”