Angus with true delicacy went to his home, but later in the day called, and the two boys had a long talk.

"You haven't answered my questions, yet, Angus. I haven't felt like talking business with mother. I find poor old Thello sick and I don't know as Mam will ever get over her scare at sight of me."

"Thello's bein' sick was why I was exercisin' the colt. I say, Rodney, old Denham mighty nigh owned the critter, and the place to boot. He'd got his thumb right on 'em when along come a feller as told him to take it off."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Denham was—er—foreclosin', that's the word, when this man interfered."

"What man? Not Mr. Jefferson?"

"No. He would, though, if he'd been round home an' known about it; but he's away most the time. No, I don't know who the man was. Yer mother may know fer he left the deed with her. Ye see, 'twas this way. I met him ridin' like the wind. His nag was all of a lather. He pulled up an' says, 'Can you tell me where the Allison home is?' I says, 'I reckon I can, it's right over thar.' He kept on an' met ol' Denham leadin' Nat out'n the stable. I dunno what was said, but I saw 'em an' moused right along down whar they was talkin'. Yer mother had gone to the village. Well, when I got within earshot, I heard the man say, 'I've got the money right here.' Denham didn't act as though he had any use for money, which looked mighty funny. But the man, he was a masterful one, I tell ye,—"

"I'll bet Mr. Jefferson sent him. What'd he look like?"

"Oh, I dunno. He was one o' the quality, I c'd see that with half an eye. Anyhow he jes' tol' Denham to take that money an' Denham 'lowed he wouldn't. Then the man, he says, 'You'll take that money an' give me a deed o' that Allison place, free an' clear, or I'll fight ye through the courts an' I'll win.' Denham, he hemmed an' hawed, but the man wouldn't stand fer no foolin' an' Denham, he wilted. They went down to the Squire's to fix the matter up."

"I wish I knew who he was or how I'm going to pay him."

"Don't reckon ye got to pay him. Yer mother's got the deed fer I see him give it to her."

"It's a debt of honour, Angus. You must help me to think up some way to make a living, and something besides, off the old place."

"We'll figger it out certain sure, Rodney. You've got a home as no one can take away from ye if ye don't mortgage it."

On his return to the house Rodney asked his mother about the matter.

"It's all very strange to me. The gentleman, and it was very evident that he was one, called and handed me a paper, saying, 'Madam, there is the deed to your home. I understand that leaves you free of debt. I do not wish to seem impertinent but am I correct?'"

"I told him I knew of no other obligations. I said: 'You are very kind and I am deeply grateful if I do not seem so. It is hard for one unaccustomed to charity to accept it, you know. I must know to whom I am indebted, for I certainly hope the time may come when it may be repaid.'"

"What did he say?"

"His reply was, 'This is not given as charity. It is to repay a debt owed to one very dear to you and I am not at liberty to mention the debtor's name. I assure you, however, that it is not charity, but the payment of an obligation. The only request is, that this home, never, so long as in your possession, be mortgaged again.'"

"Father was always helping people and saying nothing about it," replied Rodney, and the tears came to his eyes.

They sat many minutes looking into the open fire. Then Mrs. Allison said: "Rodney, I wish you would go to the closet in my room and get the little trunk in which your father kept his papers."

The boy brought back a little leather-bound trunk, neatly ornamented and secured with brass headed tacks.

Mrs. Allison was a woman of strong character and, after the shock of hearing the report of her husband's death, took up her duties with composure, though the lines in her face seemed deeper, and Rodney saw that an errant lock of her hair, which he had always thought a part of the attractiveness of her fair face, was now quite gray, and, as she pushed it aside, a familiar way she had, he noticed how thin and white her hand was and saw that it trembled.

"As I put the deed in the trunk with the other papers, the day it was brought to me, I noticed a sealed paper there, which I think we perhaps should open," saying which she took it and held it out that her son might read the inscription, which was: "To be opened by my dear wife after my death, if she should survive, otherwise to be burned unread."

She broke the seal and read, the boy watching her face as she did so. Having read it, she allowed it to lie in her lap for a time, and then gave it to Rodney, and this is what he read, his wonder increasing with every line:

"MY BELOVED WIFE:—As you read this you may recall the last evening in the old home before we came to Charlottesville. I sat by the window and you said, 'It is a pretty picture, David, the water in the creek, in the sunset colours, looks like wine and the road is a brown ribbon on green velvet. But perhaps you are not thinking of that at all. Sometimes, David, I think there is a part of your life in which I do not live.'

"You did not see me start at those words, for they were true. After you had retired I sat for a long time and then it became clear to me that you should know in good time that other part of my life, for there really was another.

"I had not seen the colours on the creek nor the brown ribbon on the green velvet, as I sat by the window. Instead I saw the streets of old Edinburgh, the shadows heavy in the Greyfriars' churchyard, the familiar scenes along High Street of an evening, when the students were out laughing and joking, strolling along, each with hand on the other's shoulder, and I among them. For I was as care-free as any one of them all. The good mother had not let me see that she was making any sacrifice in giving me those years at the University, and I was confident of the future.

"I have told you of those days, but not that my mates knew me as David Cameron,—David Allison Cameron, to be exact, Allison being my mother's name. 'Why should you change it?' I can hear you ask, apprehension in your voice. That is the part of my life in which you are now to share. Nor do I clearly know why you have not been permitted to do so before. It was no guilt of mine that caused me to change my name, except, possibly, that I was influenced by pride. My father's brother was a merchant in Glasgow, who urged that I become his apprentice. Mother was all for having me educated. I think the dear soul hoped to hear me expound in the kirk, as possibly she might but for the cold that came upon her and, before I realized what it meant, the good doctor was telling me it would be her last illness.

"Ah! the mists hung heavy over the lowlands the morning I turned my face toward London, where I was determined to seek fame and fortune. I might have gone to my uncle in Glasgow, but no, mother had wished otherwise and I was as proud as I was inexperienced.

"I will not pain you with a recital of the struggles I endured until, as I thought, Fortune came to my relief and Lord Ralston engaged me as the tutor of his son, Dick. And, when I saw the lad, my happiness was complete. He was a handsome fellow, generous to a fault, and his pleasant smile and hearty greeting won me at the first. The stipend, to one impoverished as I was, seemed munificent, but I soon found that Handsome Dick, as he was called, made sure the spending of it should not trouble me. He could borrow a pound or two as if doing one a favour, and I knew it was with the firm intention that I should have it back. This, however, he found so inconvenient I rarely had enough to help him out of scrapes when his own funds were wasted. Admonitions to him were like the falling rain on the back of the duck. He early acquired a passion for gambling. His father knew it, but hoped that time would work his cure. He, himself, I learned, had been somewhat of a profligate.

"I loved the boy and life with him would have been a pleasure but for the anxious moments when it seemed he would go headlong to perdition despite my utmost efforts. Once, I thought, he seemed inclined to mend his ways, when, after the manner of youth, he met a young lady in whose eyes he thought his happiness to lie. For a time his passion for cards was forgotten, and neither White's nor the Coffee House saw him for months. But she went abroad and he became restless. Then came news of her marriage and he returned to his first love, the gaming table. Do what I might I could not restrain him. He was perfectly reckless. Soon he was in debt and his father, when it was too late, sought to check him and cut down his allowance. From associates at White's he descended to the lower resorts. There was one fellow that I specially feared, and with whom he had become a boon companion, a Captain Villecourt, a gambler and a rake, whose reputation was unsavoury. I pleaded, but in vain. I could not desert the boy. He loved me, and I him, and so I dogged his footsteps, helped him out of difficulty whenever I could, and lost no opportunity for pleading his cause with his father.

"One night, I shall never forget it, word came that his father was ill. The laddie was out and I thought he had gone to meet Villecourt, who lived in a low tavern and frequently did not dare venture abroad for fear of meeting his creditors and being lodged where he belonged, in a debtor's gaol.

"It was a villainous place. A dismal rain was falling, the street was poorly lighted, and, but for the mean attire I put on, I might easily have become the victim of footpads.

"I was not a welcome caller at the tavern, was told with an oath that neither Villecourt nor Ralston was in the house. There seemed nothing to do, and I turned down the ill-smelling passage leading to the side entrance, when, from a room on the right, I heard Dick's strong young voice cry out, 'You are a knave, sir!'

"I tried to open the door; it was bolted. I threw myself against it and the rotten casing yielded, the door burst open. The room was in semi-darkness, one candle, along with the cards, having been upset and knocked to the floor. Dick with uplifted cane stood over the cowering Villecourt. Hearing the noise of the bursting door, and doubtless thinking Villecourt's friends were coming to the rescue, he wheeled and struck me a savage blow.

"How long I remained unconscious I do not know. I awoke with an aching head on a pallet of filthy straw. The place I was in was in utter darkness. I listened for any sound which might explain my situation. The vile odours of a ship's hold, the sound of water, and a slight sense of motion convinced me I was on shipboard! I felt in my pockets, but they had been rifled!

"I fell asleep, or fainted, and was again awakened with an oath. I was on board a ship bound from London to Norfolk, Virginia, and soon learned that I not only was to work but would be sold on arrival there for a sum equivalent to the cost of passage. How I toiled until I secured my freedom!

"You know the rest, except my motive for not giving my full name. That I scarcely know myself, but suppose shame at the condition in which I found myself led me into the deception, and I adopted the first name that suggested itself. Afterward, an explanation would have been embarrassing and apparently of no value, yet I much regret the mistake.

"What became of Dick Ralston I have never learned. He may have been killed, and the crime laid at my door. The place he was in was one convenient for such a crime. Had he lived I am sure he would have prevented my being put aboard the ship, for he was as brave and loyal to a friend as he was reckless. As for the name Allison, it is as honourable as the other, and I intend now to retain it and hope you will appreciate the wisdom of so doing.

"My life at times seems a failure, but that is when I am thinking of the little of this world's gear I have accumulated for my family. In you, beloved, and in our dear children, I am blessed beyond my deserts. That you may forgive my unintentional deception, and never have cause to suffer by reason of it, is my daily prayer. Believe me, your affectionate husband,

"DAVID ALLISON."



CHAPTER XVIII

RODNEY RIDES WITH DISPATCHES

Rodney had been at home but a short time when he realized that important events had occurred in his absence.

"Mother," he said one day, "it looks as though the king will have to send over a new governor in place of Lord Dunmore, or there'll be trouble. You know, Colonel Lewis and his men were mad enough to fight both him and the Indians because, instead of punishing the Indians, he made peace with 'em. I hear he had trouble before he left Virginia on the expedition over the mountains, and is having it now."

"Yes, he dissolved the Assembly because, out of sympathy with Boston, it appointed a fast day. England, you know, closed the port of Boston. The year before Governor Dunmore dissolved the Assembly because it expressed sympathy with Massachusetts. I fear he is too arbitrary."

"Well, they do as they have a mind to after all. Last year, I understand, Mr. Jefferson and Colonel Washington and others met at the old Raleigh Tavern and arranged to have correspondence with all the colonies so they could all act together if necessary."

"Yes, they also met there five years ago and resolved not to import goods from England, and, before they went home last June, they met at the same place and planned for the Colonial Congress they held in Philadelphia last September. I believe these meetings were in what is called the Apollo room. I remember dancing there when I was a girl. It is a large room with a big fireplace at one end. I expect the king's ears would tingle if he could hear all the angry words that have been spoken against tyranny in that room. Oh, I don't know what it all will come to. There must be faults on both sides. I think Patrick Henry is too impetuous for a safe leader. I've been told that he believes the colonies should declare themselves independent of England. That would mean a terrible war. I do hope we may escape such a calamity."

The king had heard of the words spoken in the Apollo room of the old tavern. Governor Dunmore, an irritable, haughty Scotch nobleman, with little respect for the people, also had heard enough to fill his heart with rage. He sent the legislators, many of whom had ridden many miles to the capital at Williamsburg, back home with his disapproval. He would teach them submission!

On their part, the people had no thought of submission. Wherever they met there was a sound as of angry bees.

"I think our people must have much of right on their side, or such men as Colonel Washington, who is an aristocrat with much to lose and very conservative, 'tis said, would not favour what is being done in opposition to the British ministry," said Mrs. Allison. Rodney, while seeing the matter largely through his mother's eyes, nevertheless recalled the words he had heard fall from the lips of the rough frontiersmen. He knew that they were ready to fight, indeed many of them eager for a conflict, confident that they, who could clear the land, build homes in the wilderness and defend them against the Indians, could likewise defy the tyranny of King George. The boy became restless. He wanted to participate in the agitation which was noticeable on all sides, indeed the air seemed charged with it.

There was little work to be done on the farm during the winter. Hearing that Mr. Jefferson was then at his home, Rodney decided to visit Monticello. There he met with a warm greeting, though a shade of disappointment was in his face when he learned that the great man had been so busy he had not followed the fortunes of the Allison family, and did not even know that Mr. Allison had fallen at the battle of Point Pleasant. For the first time Rodney now doubted whether after all the man who had paid off the mortgage, and thwarted Denham, was really an agent of Mr. Jefferson. Finally, an opportunity came for assuring himself. His host was admiring Nat when Rodney said: "The colt is in fine condition, handsomer than ever. I nearly lost him. Denham wanted him and, when he started to foreclose, he took possession of Nat."

"Denham foreclosed? Have you then lost the home? I wish I had known of it, I might have prevented that."

"Some kind friend learned of it and paid the mortgage; neither mother nor I know who it was. I thought he might have been your agent."

"I am glad you think I would have assisted had I known, but this is the first I have heard of the matter. You see I have been very busy and away from home much, and not in a way to hear. I'm very glad you were rescued from the clutches of Denham."

"He seemed determined to have both the place and the horse. Both Thello and Mam offered to sell themselves, even suggested that to Denham, but he told them he didn't want any old, worn out niggers on his hands. I'm glad I wasn't there," and the lad's eyes blazed with indignation as he thought of the old miser's greed.

"Denham is said to be as ardent a Tory as he dares to be," remarked Mr. Jefferson, as though to himself. Then, turning to the boy, he looked into his face, and Rodney felt as though his inmost thoughts were being read.

That he stood the test well appeared in the next words of Jefferson.

"I believe your experience with the Indians has greatly matured you. How old are you?"

"I am well on to sixteen, sir."

"In other words," replied his host with a smile, "you are fifteen with ardent hope of soon being sixteen, and I'll warrant extremely desirous of active and honourable employment. The colt, too, looks as though he wanted to exercise his faculties as well."

"Sir, I am very anxious for employment. There is not much I can do at home this winter. Indeed, the little place will barely afford existence and I need to earn money."

"What I have in mind will demand discretion and judgment beyond your years, as well as fidelity to a trust. Of your fidelity I have no question, and am inclined to believe that, with your intelligence and the experience you have had, you will be able to meet the requirements."

"Won't you give me a chance, Mr. Jefferson?" There was pleading in the boy's eyes and in the tone of his voice.

"Rodney, I will, with your mother's permission. You explain to her, but tell no one else, that the work will consist in carrying messages to different parts of the colony. Supervision of the work being done by the various committees of safety, and quick and reliable communication between the men taking the lead in this business, require such service as you will be expected to perform. Nat looks as though he might be depended on for the quickness, and to you must be left the discretion. You must have eyes as well as ears and use both more than the tongue. The employment will not be without slight danger, for, after a time, our opponents will inevitably discover what you are doing. Then, in the present unsettled state of things, the long rides, some of the time at night, will demand courage and prudence."

"I'm sure mother will consent. There certainly won't be the danger there was living among the Indians."

The man smiled. "I doubt if your mother would consent to expose you to those conditions again. I will write to her and you may be the bearer of the message and plead your cause."

With the letter finally in his pocket, and Nat making use of a free rein to gallop like the wind, Rodney Allison felt as though he were entering upon a new world with much more of sunshine and hope than for a long time he had known. The following week he began his duties by setting out for Mount Vernon with a message for Colonel Washington, and another for Richard Henry Lee, who, also, had been a delegate to the first Colonial Congress.

Angus saw that something was afoot and was displeased at Rodney for not taking him into his confidence. "Where now, Rodney?" he said, as he sauntered into the Allison yard, where his friend was bidding his mother good-bye.

"I've got to take quite a long ride on one of Mr. Jefferson's business matters; I don't quite know how far it will take me."

"You go prepared for trouble," replied Angus with a nod at the butts of two horse-pistols which could be seen under the flaps of the holsters.

"Those are some father had with the saddle," replied Rodney.

Angus winked and said no more, though it was evident he would like to have done so.

"Well, good-bye, Angus, and good-bye, mother. Don't expect me back till I get here," said Rodney, vaulting into the saddle and riding away at a furious gallop, his head up and shoulders thrown back and as full of a sense of his own importance as is permitted to a modest lad, such as Rodney Allison really was.

Before him lay long stretches of miserable roads, clogged with snow or mud, a bleak landscape, not to mention many inconveniences which the travellers through that region were then obliged to endure. But all things come to an end and so, one crisp morning, the lad reined Ned into the road leading to Mount Vernon.

Now, those of us who visit the place feel that we approach the shrine of our country. To Rodney it was a visit to one of the finest plantations in all the Old Dominion, and its owner was one of the most influential citizens as well as one of the wealthiest. The general appearance of the place that morning was much as one now finds it, save for the evidences then seen of the little army of negroes who worked on the plantation. The smoke curled lazily up into the frosty air; the majestic Potomac flowed past between bleak banks on which the first green of spring had not shown itself. A kinky haired coloured boy was promptly on hand to hold the horse, and another met him at the door.

"Talk as little as possible and see everything," was his mother's parting advice, and he thought of it as he looked about him. On all sides were evidences of thrift and he felt the atmosphere of home.

How Washington loomed before the lad's eyes on entering the room! Not that he was unduly long of limb, for, though a giant in stature, he was perfectly proportioned; but he seemed to fill the room with his presence. Rodney had wondered how he would compare with the man he so ardently admired, but he could find no point of resemblance between the man who greeted him and the host of Monticello, save in the courteous, kindly manner of both. The boy's first thought was of the masterful manner of the man before him, yet those calm, blue-gray eyes, looking out from under the heavy brows, did not embarrass him.

This is the man who Ahneota believed was guarded by the Great Spirit, was the thought which flashed through his mind as Washington extended his hand in greeting, the man who had dared take Governor Dinwiddie's message into the enemy's country, who had saved the remnants of Braddock's panic-stricken troops amid a hail of bullets. How could such a massive figure have escaped, with men falling all around him?

Rodney delivered his message and received a reply, was introduced to Mrs. Washington and given refreshments and departed rejoicing that his new work was affording him such pleasant experiences. What satisfaction it must be, he thought, to be so rich, have such a fine home and be respected by all one's neighbours. If he had such a plantation as this he would hunt and fish to his heart's content, and Lisbeth Danesford would be proud to introduce him to her cousins from London, and he would not condescend to notice them either, unless they were different from Mogridge, the insolent fellow! What had become of him? Anyhow, though the "Chevalier" finally had gotten the money, there was the satisfaction of winning it from Mogridge. Ah! Rodney, you were not experienced in the tricks of gambling or you would have known that, but for the "Chevalier" watching them, Mogridge and his "pal" would have stripped you of every farthing.

Rodney had read the letter Lisbeth had written from London. He was glad she was finding the nobility, the lords and dukes, not to mention duchesses, such uninteresting people, and that she longed for Virginia. Had she come home? It would be but little out of his way to ride around past "The Hall." No, he would not call, for he would not wish to meet the squire after the shabby manner in which he had treated them. Possibly he might meet Lisbeth on the road. She was a mighty fine girl, and, if she did get him into that scrape with Roscome's bull, she had gotten him out. From the girl his thoughts reverted to the man he had just left.

The boy recalled that firm mouth, the grave dignity, and the something about his personality which had said to the lad as to others: "You can trust me." Rodney Allison was never afterward to doubt George Washington. The next year, when it was said Washington had declared that if necessary he would raise a thousand men at his own expense and march them to Boston, Rodney exclaimed, "He'll do it, too!" When Boston was evacuated he said, "I knew it." When Washington, in the face of all sorts of difficulties, led his scattering forces in masterly retreat before the victorious British, Rodney was to say, "He's doing all that man can do." But this is getting ahead of the story, for young Allison is now on his way to the home of Richard Henry Lee, who later was to propose independence in the Continental Congress, when to do so might mean loss of not only his property but his life as well, for King George would have liked to make an example of at least a few prominent "traitors," could he have got them in his clutches.

The meeting with Mr. Lee was for Rodney another pleasant experience; a fine man, and what an agreeable voice he had! Then the lad turned Nat's head toward home, well pleased with the success that so far had attended his journey.

Two days of travelling brought him to the neighbourhood of his old home. He was aware of a dull ache in his throat as he rode by the school house. It seemed as if he saw his father bowed over the rude bench within. In the distance he caught a glimpse of "The Hall." There was a feeling of homesickness with it all, and he would have given all that his scant purse contained to see Lisbeth and have her know that he had become a person of some importance. Wouldn't the squire rave if he knew the errands he had in charge. Ah, but those stiff-necked Tories would have to yield!

As he rode past "The Hall" he looked long at the house. The squire galloped up behind and passed him with a stare and a salute, not recognizing him.

"I wonder he didn't remember Nat," thought Rodney, and it was surprising because the squire was a great admirer of a good horse and knew the "points" of all the best in the county.

A little farther along lived the Roscomes. There he was sure of finding a place to spend the night. It was then about four in the afternoon. He would have time to get his supper and then ride up on the hill for one more look at the familiar view.

The Roscomes, father and son, owned but a small plantation, but their hospitality was princely and it was with difficulty he got away for the hill.

Hitching Nat in a grove at the foot, he climbed to the top just in season to see the sunset and the extended view, which had been so familiar to him, so that he felt well repaid. On his way back, and as he was unhitching the horse, he heard voices in the road which ran near the grove.

"I say, me 'earty, I've about enough o' this dirty country. I'd like to put me two legs across the back of a fine 'orse, an' I'd ask no questions of the owner."

"Right ye are, Bill. At the speed we're walkin' we'll git to Occoquan about midsummer, I'm thinkin'."

"They've 'orses in plenty 'ereabout to go with their muddy roads. They'd not miss a couple, though they think more of a 'orse than they do of a nigger, I'm told."

"We'd have two an' ask no questions, but they've both dogs and niggers, an' one or both always sleeps in the stable."

"I tell ye wot, d'ye mind the lad and girl go riding by when we was eatin' a bite beside the road, along back?"

"I did an' thought ridin' would do me a sight more good than them."

"They wouldn't 'ave no guns an' would be easy to scare. Suppose if we meet 'em we give 'em the 'int an' not wait for an answer?"

"We'd have the whole country at our heels."

"An' there wouldn't be a 'orse in the lot could overtake us or me eye knows not a good one."

Rodney looked to the priming of his pistols, then mounted Nat and followed slowly after the men.



CHAPTER XIX

RODNEY TO THE RESCUE

It would not be true to say that Rodney Allison was not nervous as he gripped the handle of the big pistol he drew from its holster, and cocked it.

Whether the men were armed he did not know. If they failed to meet the two riders they sought they might conclude one horse would be better than none and attack him. Indeed, this seemed very probable; besides, if they should attack the other parties, the boy resolved he would take a hand in the affair.

A little farther on, the road on which he was riding crossed the highway leading to Roscome's. The men probably were waiting at the corner. He decided to ride slowly and await developments.

In event of attack he would spur Nat directly against them and use the pistol!

The frogs were croaking in the nearby meadow. The sound jarred on his tense nerves.

"I say, sir, be this the road to Occoquan?"

They had met some one! Rodney stopped his horse and listened. A horse whinnied, and Nat lifted his head to reply when a touch from the spur changed his mind.

A clear voice rang out, "Back, you knaves! Take your hands off that bridle!"

A girl's scream and sounds of a struggle came to the lad's ears, and he spurred ahead.

Near the corners of the roads, though now dusk had fallen, he discerned two riders on horses that were rearing and plunging. One of the riders, a man, was plying his whip over the head of the fellow who clung to his bridle; on the other horse was a girl struggling with a rascal who was trying to pull her from the animal's back. Rodney turned his attention to this one.

Not daring to fire, through fear of hitting the girl, he rode straight at the miscreant and, clubbing his pistol, struck him over the head what proved to be but a slight blow, for the man dodged, but his hold was broken and he staggered back, and Nat trampled over him. His accomplice, seeing this, fled. The girl hung by the side of her horse, one foot in the stirrup and both hands clutching his mane. Thoroughly frightened, he plunged ahead and ran wildly down the road.

"She will be dashed to death!" was the thought which flashed through Rodney's mind and, wheeling his horse, he spurred after the fleeing thoroughbred, the girl's companion galloping behind.

The spirit of a racing ancestry, and the cruel rowels, drove Nat close on the flanks of the runaway. Could he overtake and pass him?

The girl was unable to regain her seat, and at every leap of her horse was tossed, now almost touching the ground, and again almost as high as the horse's back. Could she retain her grip until Rodney might reach the bridle rein?

Every moment the boy expected to see her dashed to the ground and trampled to death under the hoofs of the running horses. He shut his eyes for an instant, and then urged faithful Nat to the utmost, and could feel his muscles respond to the strain.

Inch by inch, Nat gained on the runaway. The boy leaned far out to seize the loose bridle rein. He could not quite reach it; another foot and he would have it within his grasp. Ah! Now he gripped it and pulled both horses to a stop, crying, "Are you hurt?"

"I—I'm not—sure. Not seriously, I think; somewhat like Doctor Atterbury's prescriptions, 'well shaken before taken.'"

It was Lisbeth's voice!

"Steady, Nat. Here, let me help. Isn't your ankle wrenched? If I'd known who it was I'd been scared worse than I was."

"Why, Rodney Allison! Where in the world did you come from? I was wishing some knight errant would happen along to stop Firefly; but I never imagined you in that role. I—I think you'll have to help me up, my ankle is beginning to complain at the rough treatment."

Rodney lifted Lisbeth into her saddle just as her escort and Black Tom rode up.

"Mr. Enderwood, this is my old playmate, Rodney Allison. He and I always were getting into scrapes. I'm going to ask him to sell Nat to father so my escorts can have as good a horse as Firefly. The one you have, Mr. Enderwood, has seen his best days and was no match for mine. But for you, Nat, I should have had a longer ride than—would have been agreeable." There was a little catch in her voice.

"So Nat gets all the glory and Enderwood is excused for being behind," thought Rodney, not altogether pleased, and he scarcely heard the old darky saying by way of apology: "I suttinly hab no 'scuse on 'count o' hoss. Don' put no nose front o' yo', Moleskin," he said, patting the sleek neck of the fiery hunter he rode. "I'se 'lowin' Tom's room's better'n his comp'ny, an' was sojerin' along. But I'se boun' ter say, Marse Rodney, I couldn' done better myse'f."

"That's Rodney's way of doing things, you know, Tom," said Lisbeth, and the boy's feelings were somewhat soothed by the balm in her words. "Having rescued the maid," she said, turning to him, "it's now your duty to return with her to the castle, and explain to her papa that it was none of her fault, and afford us all opportunity to thank you properly, while Aunt Betty gets out her bandages."

"I thank you, but, you see, I've made arrangements to stay over the night at Roscomes' and they are expecting me. I supped there and then thought I wanted to see the view from the hill, once more. Now I must return."

"So you were going through Pryndale without calling on your old friends."

"I shall be most happy to call on the morrow if I may be permitted," was Rodney's response, and he was really surprised at his ready reply.

"We ought to ride as far as Roscomes' with him," said Lisbeth, and, because of the dusk, they could not see how pale and drawn was her face.

"Those villains will have no stomach for further trouble, I reckon, and I'm sure you need Aunt Betty and the bandages more than I do the escort. I hope to see you in the morning, none the worse for to-night's experience. Good night," saying which, he rode on to Roscome's. His mind was in a whirl and, now the danger and excitement were past, he felt very weak, and trembled when he thought of Lisbeth's peril; yet he was conscious that he had borne himself well. Then he fell to wondering who young Enderwood might be. Rodney had only seen in the dim light that he was young, not much older than himself, and apparently a gentleman. Enderwood? Why, he must be Squire Enderwood's son, from Norfolk. If so, he had both family and fortune, and somehow the idea didn't please Rodney, though why should he begrudge young Enderwood such an inheritance?

The following morning Rodney set out for "The Hall." He felt he could ill spare the time but nevertheless was glad of the opportunity, though he dreaded the meeting with the squire. His father might be alive at that moment but for the injustice of Lisbeth's father.

The sun shone brightly but the air was clear and cold. From a light rain of the previous night icicles had formed on the trees and gleamed like so many jewels. It seemed to the boy as though he had dreamed a long dream of wild forests, peopled with Indians, and was now awake and at home.

When Rodney arrived at "The Hall" he was met by the squire, who came to him with outstretched hands, saying, "My boy, you are a brave lad, and have placed me under greater obligations than I can ever hope to repay. I will write your father and tell him how grateful I am, and how proud he should be of you."

"My father is dead, sir; he was killed in the battle at Point Pleasant."

"You—you—er—I'm astounded! I hadn't heard a word. Why, only the other day I was thinking of him."

The unmistakable signs of grief in the squire's face somewhat softened Rodney's feelings. "You know Charlottesville did not afford father the opportunity to provide for his family as he wished and so he went over the mountains to take up land. When I was on my way to him I was captured by the Indians and held for a year. Meanwhile father, thinking I was dead, joined the army under General Lewis."

"I never should have let him go away. I've wished him back every day since he went away," and then the squire turned and walked to the window, where Mogridge had watched the effect of his plot and seen David Allison turn his back and walk away never to return.

At this moment Enderwood came into the room. He was a fine looking fellow of nearly twenty, straight and rather tall, with dark hair and eyes, and had an air of breeding. Greeting Rodney cordially, as he looked at him keenly, he said, "Aunt Betty requested me to tell you that Lisbeth cannot leave her room. I fear her ankle is badly sprained and she was much shaken. She will regret not seeing you this morning."

"Yes," said the squire, turning from the window, "my little girl suffered more than was thought at the time, but I hope she will be up in a few days. Meanwhile you are to make 'The Hall' your home. I'm sure that you and Lawrence will find plenty with which to amuse yourselves."

"Thank you, Squire Danesford; but I must go on. I came out of my way for the sake of riding through Pryndale and have already lost a day. I feared your daughter was hurt more than she would admit. She had an awful experience. I thought she would be dashed to pieces before her horse could be stopped."

"Don't speak of it, please. I haven't slept for the night. But, surely, your business isn't so urgent that you must away at once. I want to hear about your mother. You know she and I lived on adjoining plantations when we were children and were playmates. Now, my boy, I want you to bring your mother back to Pryndale. You should never have left it."

"It was leave or starve," were the words on Rodney's tongue; but he did not speak them, and ever after was glad that he hadn't. Instead he said, "I will tell her of your kind invitation. She was very fond of her home here. You are very kind. Please give my regards to Lisbeth and say that I regret not seeing her and hope for her speedy recovery."

And so, despite the squire's urging that he remain, Rodney set out on his journey home, less satisfied with himself and the promises for his future than he had been the night before.

The lad was, however, to have little time in the succeeding months for reflections, pleasant or otherwise. No sooner had he delivered the dispatches he was carrying to Mr. Jefferson than he was off again on similar missions.

In that early spring of 1775 Virginia was in a ferment. Most of the leading men believed that war was coming, and bent their energies to planning and so shaping affairs that the colony might be ready for it. Of this Rodney learned enough in his travels to appreciate the gravity of the situation, and the importance of vigilance and faithfulness on his part. He received many compliments from his employer and deserved them.

The position of those who favoured the king became daily more unpleasant. Not only had they lost influence, but were made to feel that they were marked men, looked on by even their old neighbours with suspicion. Soon they were to be called traitors to their faces and to know that their lives were in peril, for always those may be found in times of excitement to seek excuse for wreaking vengeance on enemies, doing it in the name of the cause that is popular.

When the choleric royal governor, Lord Dunmore, dissolved the House of Burgesses he accomplished nothing save to increase the bitterness already existing. The Virginia representatives met and chose delegates to the General Congress to meet in Philadelphia, and now Virginia was to have a convention of its own, and hold it at Richmond, then a village of not more than nine hundred white inhabitants, and there, in the fire of his eloquence, Patrick Henry was to fuse the differing views into one grand purpose and arouse the people to the fact that war was indeed approaching.

Rodney Allison, whose duties, much to his delight, had taken him to the convention, was one of the spectators of that memorable scene when Patrick Henry spoke. Ten years before, in the House of Burgesses, Henry had told the awestruck delegates what he thought of the infamous Stamp Act, and that, if what he said were treason, they could make the most of it. Now, he favoured raising volunteer soldiers in each county, such as the Minute Men who had done such valiant work in Massachusetts.

The opposition to these resolutions aroused him, and he rose to reply, and his words seared his views upon the minds of the delegates, who sat motionless like men in a trance. It seemed to Rodney, when the last word was spoken, as though he had not breathed from the moment the orator began. The speaker's face seemed to become luminous and his eyes blazed and the boy shivered as though with a chill. Certain of the immortal sentences he never forgot and as they were spoken he saw them in his excited imagination as though written in letters of fire: "Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss," referring to the king's promises. "In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of reconciliation." "There is no longer any room for hope." "The war is inevitable! and let it come!" "The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms!" At the close came those words as from a prophet with a face of flame: "Give me liberty or give me death!" and when he sat down his listeners were ready to rise and declare war on the instant.

Not all, for among those who heard were some who, while they sat as though under a spell, nevertheless were resolved past conversion to stand by their king. Among them Rodney saw Squire Danesford elbowing his way through the door, his face purple with rage, and, once outside, he mounted his horse and rode away at a mad gallop, followed by Black Tom.

The convention over, the delegates went to their homes to make ready for the impending conflict. The war spirit was abroad throughout the Old Dominion, and young Allison found Nat unequal to the riding he was required to do and was furnished with another horse. Volunteers, with such arms as they could procure, drilled daily and some among them were eager for the fray to begin; but, when once it was begun, not a few lost much of their ardour.

As Patrick Henry had predicted, the next gale sweeping from the North was to bring to the waiting ears of the Virginians the clash of resounding arms, of the shots fired by the farmers in homespun from behind stone walls and fences, all the way from Lexington to Boston, into the ranks of panic-stricken British soldiers. The day after that event, April 20th, though before the news of Lexington reached Virginia, the minute men of the Old Dominion were to shoulder their guns in defiance of British authority.



CHAPTER XX

RALLYING VIRGINIA'S MINUTE MEN

The evening after Rodney returned to Charlottesville, Angus rode over on a raw-boned steed that evidently had outlived his day for leaping fences and following the hounds.

"What d'ye think of him, Rod?"

"Why, he's some horse, looks like a blooded one," replied Rodney, speaking as favourably as he could, for he liked Angus and knew the boy had been a little envious of late. "Where did you get him?"

"He's one Squire Herndon got down on the Pamunkey. Reckon I made a good trade, fer I found he was blind in one eye an' the squire took him fer a bad debt an' already had more hosses than he could feed."

"You ought to trade him off and make a good thing."

"Don't reckon I want to trade right away. I 'low after plantin' I'm goin' to ride round a bit. Thar's a heap o' things a feller can learn by travellin' around. You know that."

"I suppose so. Tell you what, Angus; I've got to go to Williamsburg next week. Let's go together. I've never been there. It's the capital of the Old Dominion and, when the Burgesses are in session, one can see more of the aristocracy in Williamsburg than in any other place. Besides, the famous William and Mary College is there. You know many of our greatest men went there, the Byrds, the Lees and Randolphs, and Thomas Jefferson, he was a student there. I've heard that he would like to have a college right here in Charlottesville run according to a plan of his own. I'll wager if he wants it he'll get it if he lives. Yes, we'll ride down there and have a fine time."

"That we will fer sure, if we go. Reckon I can fix it. Think we can see Patrick Henry? I want to see him. They do say he can talk the birds right out o' the trees."

"You never heard anything like it. He isn't much to look at, but when he speaks he can make the hair in the back of your neck stand out straight like the ruff of a cockerel in a fight."

"I hear the fellers talkin'. They'd march right to Joppa if he'd lead 'em."

"Don't believe he's much of a soldier, but he surely is an orator."

Angus rode home whistling.

That evening Mrs. Allison received the following letter in which the reader may be interested, as was Rodney:

"PRYNDALE, Va., March 28th, 1775.

"DEAR AUNT HARRIET:—I threw away my crutches this morning, and tried to celebrate by dancing a jig. I'm sure I should have succeeded to my later sorrow but for Aunt Betty's horrified look, whereupon I sat down to write you instead.

"Lawrence Enderwood thought Pryndale prosy and I had begun to believe him when lo, two highwaymen set upon us; a knight errant mounted on a splendid steed rides to the rescue; Firefly takes fright and runs away with a helpless maiden hanging by one foot to the stirrup, and both hands in the mane, expecting every moment to be dashed in pieces and actually thinking of every wicked thing she ever did; my, but it was an awful panorama! A snorting steed is heard in pursuit, the knight errant spurs him on and seizes the bridle of the running horse, rescues the hapless maiden, who has discovered that she is so wicked she wants to live, and then, mirabile dictu! the knight errant is discovered to be no less a personage than one Rodney Allison. Excuse me, Auntie, if I express the opinion that you've not brought him up right; he's too shy and actually had to be urged to call on his old playmate. Seriously, I would have seen him before he fled, had I known he was there. Aunt Betty didn't tell me. You don't know what a shock it was to papa and me, the news Rodney brought of the death of Uncle David. I turned my face to the wall and cried, which as you may know I'm not in the habit of doing. Not till after he had left Pryndale did I realize what I owed to him. He was much superior to any teacher I had in London and he was so patient and kindly with us, imps that we were.

"Since you left Pryndale things seem much changed and for the worse. Papa is all out of sorts with what he terms the disloyalty of the people. He insists we are being driven into a wicked war by a few hot-headed men together with those who are so ambitious they would sacrifice their country. I wish I knew the right of it. People who used to be friendly now look the other way. Only the other day Gobber's urchins were playing by the road when I rode past their cabin and the dirty imps made faces and cried out, 'Tory, I hate Tories.'

"Next month papa and I are going to Philadelphia and he may later sail for London. Somehow, it seems to me as if I weren't coming back. I suppose being shut up in the house with my sprained ankle makes me spleeny. Write me in the Quaker city, won't you, and address care of my uncle, Jacob Derwent. Now don't forget.

"But I know I have tired you already, so here's good-bye and my regards to Rodney, not forgetting Nat, splendid fellow.

"Your affectionate niece, "ELIZABETH DANESFORD."

Rodney and Angus arrived at Williamsburg April 19th, the very day the Massachusetts minute men were hanging on the flanks of the running British like so many angry hornets. The following day, the minute men of that part of Virginia were to be aroused by a similar cause, the attempt of the representatives of England to get possession of the colony's powder.

It will be remembered that it was in the night that the British troops sneaked out of Boston to go after the powder stored at Concord. It was also in the night that the royal governor, Lord Dunmore, secretly removed the powder from the old arsenal in Williamsburg and put it aboard the British vessel Magdalen in the York River. The British in Boston didn't get the powder, but Dunmore's men did, only there were but fifteen half-barrels of it.

The population of Williamsburg at the time was only about two thousand, and it must be remembered that the country round about was not so thickly settled as Massachusetts, consequently the minute men couldn't assemble so quickly; but there was buzzing enough in the morning when it was discovered what Lord Dunmore had done. The minute men of the town were for marching to Dunmore's house and seizing him, but cooler heads prevailed.

The two boys had spent the previous day looking over the capital and visiting the college at the other end of the one long street, three quarters of a mile distant. They lodged at the famous Raleigh Tavern, which had sheltered the most prominent men of the day, and so were right in the midst of the hubbub when the excitement began. Out in the street they watched the people assemble and listened to the talk. When some one proposed marching on the "palace," a tipsy fellow cried out, "You jes' th' feller t' go."

Then when another bystander interfered and tried to take him away, he began to struggle, and was being roughly handled when a fat, pompous man bristled up, saying, "Treat him kindly."

At that moment the drunken man, swinging his arms about wildly, struck the pompous man on the head, knocking his old three-cornered hat into the dust.

The change in the fat philanthropist was marvellous, for he jumped up and down crying, "Kill him, kill him."

The crowd laughed. A man came running toward them saying, "They've sent for Patrick Henry."

"I'll see him, after all," exclaimed Angus.

"I've got a message for him, so we had better ride to his home in New Castle. We may meet him," Rodney replied.

"I want to see him and I want to see the fun."

"Want to keep your cake and eat it too," replied Rodney.

Just then a report spread through the crowd that Dunmore had seized the powder for the purpose of sending it to another county where he feared there would be an uprising of the blacks.

"We're likely to have one of our own," exclaimed a bystander.

An old woman, somewhat deaf, cried, "The blacks are risin'! I knowed it. I didn't dream of snakes fer nothin'."

"If I had your imagination, Granny Snodgrass, I'd make molasses taffy out o' moonshine," remarked a pert miss.

"Looks to me, Angus, as though these people were going to do their fighting with their tongues," said Rodney. "So let's get away to New Castle."

When they reached New Castle, late the next day, they found Mr. Henry busy assembling the volunteers for a march on Williamsburg to demand return of the powder, also to see to it that Dunmore did not take the money in the colonial treasury. These men were called "gentlemen independents of Hanover," and they were manly looking, resolute men, and well armed. By the time they had reached Doncaster's, within sixteen miles of Williamsburg, their number was increased to one hundred and fifty.

"Dunmore will wish he hadn't when he's seen 'em," remarked Angus.

Dunmore was frightened before he saw them and sent Corbin, the receiver general, to meet them and make terms with them, which he did, paying three hundred and thirty pounds for the powder, surely all it was worth.

"I've concluded, Angus," said Rodney, "from what I can see and hear, that Mr. Henry hasn't cared so much about the powder as he does for an excuse to rouse the country, get the men together and encourage them by backing Lord Dunmore down," all of which indicated that the lad had become a shrewd observer.

After the powder was paid for, Patrick Henry, who was a delegate to the Colonial Congress, set out for Philadelphia. Lord Dunmore, however, had been badly frightened, and he issued a proclamation against him, and declared that if the people didn't behave he would offer freedom to the negroes and burn the town; he also had cannon placed around his house, proceedings which, it is easy to understand, made the citizens very angry.

The boys returned to Charlottesville and Angus immediately joined a company of volunteers, declaring if there was to be a war he was going.

By this time they had heard the news of the battle of Lexington, brought all the way from Boston by mounted messengers riding by relays.

"That means war," Rodney remarked to his mother. How he wanted to go, to do as Angus had done and join the volunteers! But he hadn't the heart to propose it after seeing the look which came into his mother's face. It sometimes happens, however, that war comes to those who do not go to war, and so it happened to Rodney Allison.



CHAPTER XXI

VIRGINIANS LEARNING TO SHOOT BRITISH TROOPS

Rodney's duties took him to Philadelphia during the Continental Congress. There he saw Washington, a delegate from Virginia and clad in his uniform, for he knew war must come, and that warlike dress proclaimed his belief more loudly than his voice. There also were the Adamses, from Massachusetts, Samuel and John, the latter a wise, shrewd organizer determined to have all the colonies, especially the southern, committed to the revolution he saw approaching. In this effort he used his influence, not for John Hancock of Massachusetts, who coveted the place of commander-in-chief, but for George Washington, who the day after the battle of Bunker Hill was chosen and modestly accepted with the proviso that he should receive no pay for his services. There, also, came Benjamin Franklin, just returned from England and convinced nothing remained but war; and there, too, was Jefferson, likewise certain the time had come for the colonies to declare their independence of England.

Rodney's boyish prejudices were in favour of everything Jefferson did, and he was impatient with those, and they were the greater number, who wished to delay decisive action in the hope of conciliation. This prejudice extended to the Quakers in their broad-brimmed hats, nearly all of whom were opposed to war.

Boys are usually impatient, unable to work and wait and keep working, as the wise men of that Congress were doing.

The boy had but part of two days in the city, which was the first he had seen and consequently full of interest; so he did not call on Lisbeth, indeed, had there been plenty of time he would have hesitated in his rough dress of homespun to have presented himself before her aristocratic friends.

The day he turned Nat's nose in the direction of Virginia a young man rode alongside and said, "Why, this is an unexpected pleasure, if as I suspect, you are on your way home."

He was Lawrence Enderwood. Rodney's reply was almost surly, as several reasons for Enderwood's presence in Philadelphia flashed through his mind.

"I'm not going directly home but by way of Williamsburg. I live in Albemarle County."

"I, too, am riding by way of Williamsburg, and if you have no objections to my company should be delighted to join you. It is a long ride."

Rodney could offer no objections, indeed, as they went on, he found his companion a very agreeable one, notwithstanding that in course of the conversation it appeared that Lawrence had seen Lisbeth.

"She is very gay, seems to be absorbed in the gaieties and social life so that she has little time for anything else." Somehow this remark of Enderwood, spoken rather impatiently, afforded Rodney a little comfort, though he hardly could have explained it.

On arriving at Williamsburg, they found the little town well filled, for Governor Dunmore had convened the House of Burgesses to listen to Lord North's plans for conciliation.

"'Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss,'" quoted Rodney, and Lawrence laughingly replied, "Patrick Henry has a way of saying things so the people remember them."

"I'll wager they remember that and turn Lord North down with a slam."

"It's evident to me you are for war, Rodney."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, er—I suppose I am, but it isn't pleasant to think of losing one's estate if not his neck, all of which is possible. The business men of Philadelphia are pretty long-headed, and most of them believe England will win in the end and that the war will be most destructive of property."

"Surely Washington and Jefferson have estates to lose."

"Oh, I reckon we're in for it, and my father says when there's something to do, do it."

As was expected, the House of Burgesses would have nothing to do with the kind of conciliation proposed. The people were restless and Dunmore, fearing them, left his "palace" and went aboard a British vessel and ordered that the bills be sent to him for signature. He was politely informed that if he signed them he would have to return, which he did not do. Then the Burgesses adjourned to October, appointing a permanent committee to have charge of colonial affairs, and that committee appointed Patrick Henry to command of the colonial troops.

Rodney's visits to Charlottesville were brief and it seemed that his absence worried his mother. The latter part of October he was sent to Norfolk, where Dunmore proposed to establish his headquarters. As it happened, he fell in with the troops which Colonel Woodford had been ordered to lead to the relief of the village of Hampton, and was present at the attack on the place and took part in the defence.

In this encounter the marksmanship of the Virginians decided the matter, for, when the ships approached the town and commenced to bombard it, the riflemen picked off the gunners and drove them from their cannon and then, when they tried to work their sails so as to escape, the Virginians shot them out of the rigging. Although the town was damaged by the bombardment, the defenders escaped serious injury, though the sensations of being under fire afforded many of the defenders their first taste of war.

On leaving Lawrence Enderwood, the previous summer, Rodney had promised to pay him a visit at the first opportunity. Indeed, mutual liking had resulted from their journey from Philadelphia. Here was the opportunity, and young Allison accepted it.

He found Lawrence at home, managing the plantation in the absence of his father in England. It was a delightful old place, having been in the Enderwood family for four generations. The house reminded him of "The Hall" and, being a privileged guest, he enjoyed all the luxuries which the old Virginia plantation could afford. He rode after the hounds, Nat acquitting himself so well that Lawrence offered a round sum for him.

"I'd sell my shirt from my back before I would that horse," Rodney replied.

There was good shooting, and Allison excelled his host. His training with the Indians stood him in good stead. He made a bow and arrows for Lawrence's younger brother, such as Ahneota, himself, would have approved, and when it came time for him to depart he was sorry to leave.

"There'll be ructions over Norfolk way and I'm going to ride over with you," said Lawrence, the morning Rodney was making preparations for leaving.

"That's good news and makes it less hard for me to go away."

They set out about eight in the morning. The sunshine was brilliant and the air cool and invigorating. Here and there in the landscape were faint bits of green untouched by the frost. As they rode along they learned that the people were almost in a panic, fearing Dunmore's marauders, who had been pillaging and burning in the county below.

"That man is only arousing the people and accomplishing no good," said Lawrence. "He declares he will rule the colony and at the same time induces the negroes to revolt. That very act drives every Virginian, not under British protection, into the ranks of the so-called rebels. They realize that, while the negroes won't do any effective fighting, they may, in a fury of resentment, cause great damage and imperil the lives of hundreds of families."

"I think the poor governors England has sent over here have had much to do with the colonies' rebelling. Hark! I hear horses at the gallop."

As he spoke, nearly a dozen mounted men, several of them in British uniforms, came around the corner about sixty rods behind them.

"Dunmore's marauders!" exclaimed Lawrence. "Let's get out of here."

Their horses had both speed and "bottom" and besides were fresh, so that the chances were in favour of the young Virginians. The troopers behind spurred after them, however, and evidently were determined on their capture.

As Lawrence and Rodney approached a plantation near the road, they saw flames leap up from the hay ricks, and the next instant two mounted men rode out on the main highway.

"Those are Britishers, sent ahead," exclaimed Lawrence.

"There's nothing for us but to go ahead," said Rodney, passing one of his two pistols over to Lawrence.

"I'm with you to the finish," replied the latter, his face very grim and determined.

"Halt!" cried one of the marauders, who waved a sword as if to enforce his authority.

"Get out of the way. We are on our own business!" cried Rodney.

The second marauder lifted his pistol, but Rodney anticipated him with a quick shot which brought the man's arm down, while the pistol clattered to the road.

"That's a lucky shot," thought the boy.

His companion was not so lucky; he had fired and missed his opponent, who rode forward with drawn sword evidently resolved on cutting him down.

Rodney seized his pistol by the barrel and hurled it straight for the trooper's head and hit the mark squarely, the man pitching out of his saddle like a log! Not in vain had been those hours the boy had spent with Conrad learning to throw the tomahawk.

"I'll buy you the finest pistols in Norfolk if we ever get there," said Lawrence, thus expressing the gratitude he felt.

Having distanced their pursuers, the remainder of their journey was without incident; but from report of conditions in Norfolk, where Dunmore had seized Mr. Holt's printing press and was enforcing martial law so far as he could, they decided it was not a safe place for them to visit and turned aside to join the volunteers they heard were approaching under command of Colonel Woodford, who had done such good service at Hampton.

Dunmore also had heard of the approach of the Culpeper men, and resolved to keep them at a distance from Norfolk.

Knowing that they would have to cross what was known as Great Bridge, about nine miles from Norfolk, he forwarded troops under Captains Fordyce and Leslie to check the Virginians at the bridge.

The British had thrown up earthworks at the Norfolk end of the bridge when the Americans arrived. The latter built an entrenchment at their end of the bridge. Lieutenant Travis with nearly one hundred men occupied this, while Woodford, with the remainder of the Virginian forces, was stationed at a church about four hundred yards distant, when the British came across the bridge to make an attack. The British fired as they approached, while their two field pieces in the rear kept up a cannonade.

Travis ordered his men to withhold their fire until the enemy should almost reach the entrenchments. Captain Fordyce took this to mean that the Americans had deserted the breastworks and waved his hat in anticipation of victory. Then the Americans, who had been lying down, rose and poured a deadly fire into the ranks of the enemy, and Fordyce was among the first to fall.

Captain Leslie now came to the support of Fordyce's men, and Colonel Woodford led his men forward to support Travis, while Colonel Stevens led a body of men, with whom were Enderwood and Allison, to attack the British on the flank.

For a few minutes the skirmish was hot. The British fought doggedly, as many believed what Dunmore had told them, that if captured the Virginians would scalp them. Rodney received a light flesh wound, but most of the Americans escaped uninjured, while several of the enemy were killed.

All this seems very tame in the telling, but to those who took part in the engagement it was most exciting and the Americans were jubilant, for they had met the British troops and driven them!

For several days reinforcements poured in from the different parts of Virginia, and five days later Colonel Woodford marched his men to Norfolk.

Lord Dunmore decided he could not oppose him, so withdrew aboard his ships.

"Here are the pistols," said Lawrence the next day, presenting Rodney with a handsome pair with silver mounted handles.

"Thank you; they are beauties. I hope you bought a brace of them for yourself as well. You are likely to need them."

The following day both left for their homes, parting the best of friends and planning to meet again.

As for Dunmore, his career in America was drawing to a close, though he was able to do more mischief.

Provisions getting scarce, and the riflemen in the city annoying the British, he sent word that unless this firing was stopped and provisions furnished he would burn the town. His threat was defied and, on another ship joining Dunmore, he sent a force ashore to start a conflagration. In this way much of the thriving town of nearly six thousand inhabitants was burned; what buildings escaped were burned later by the Americans to prevent their occupation by the British.

Later, Dunmore left and established barracks on Gwyn's Island in Chesapeake Bay, whence he was driven the following July by that grim old fighter, General Andrew Lewis, who had wanted to fight him out on the Pickaway Plains, during the Indian war.

When Rodney reached Charlottesville he found his mother sick with fever. Without hesitation he gave up his employment and remained to care for her. For many months she was almost helpless.

The change from the excitement of his previous occupation to the monotony of home—Angus had joined the army—sorely tried Rodney's patience.

The previous summer Morgan had marched his riflemen to Boston and soon it was reported that, under Benedict Arnold, he had gone by way of the Kennebec River, to attack Quebec. Since then nothing had been learned of him and his gallant men.

General Washington was trying to make an army out of the mob of patriots he found awaiting him outside Boston, but as yet it did not appear that any headway was being made toward dislodging the British from the town.

Spring came and with it report of the evacuation of Boston; then news of the defeat of the Americans in Canada. Morgan had been captured and was a prisoner within the walls of Quebec. Later, tidings came of Washington's march on New York.

May 6, 1776, one hundred and thirty of the representative men of the Old Dominion, in convention assembled, declared that the king and Parliament had disregarded the constitution of the colony, which accordingly was free to exercise such independence as it might be able to maintain. Nine days later they instructed the colony's delegates in the Continental Congress to vote for independence, and the flag of England fluttered down from the capitol building. By doing these things every one of them exposed his neck to the British halter; but they were virile men, who had arrived at the parting of the ways.

A few weeks later the Declaration of Independence, written by Thomas Jefferson, was proclaimed throughout the land amid great rejoicing. Then the country settled down to its grim task. What a task it was! Many times it seemed that the poor, thinly populated land might endure no longer. England was a very powerful foe, feared throughout the world. Not all Americans were patriots. Some were Tories on principle, others for gain. Very many were selfish and not a few corrupt; but enough so loved their country and independence as to endure and struggle unto the glorious end.



CHAPTER XXII

RODNEY'S SACRIFICE AND HIS MOTHER'S

One midsummer day Rodney Allison walked along the dusty road. He did not carry his head erect as usual but seemed to be pondering over some problem.

He was a "strapping," fine looking lad, almost a man grown, and in experience already a man. He stopped before a little gate opening into a pasture and gave three shrill whistles. Over the top of a ridge two pointed ears appeared, poised for an instant, and then their owner galloped into view.

"What a beauty you are, Nat," said the boy, as if talking to himself, stretching out his hand to stroke the silky nose that was thrust over the fence.

The two standing together formed a picture to afford delight so long as the eye shall admire grace, breeding and power. The boy's figure was erect, his wavy hair hanging gracefully to his broad shoulders. His face, while not handsome, was clear cut, resolute and showed lines of character not usually graven in the face of one as young. His dark gray eyes always looked at one steadily. Now they were darker than usual and had in them the shadow of trouble.

"Nat, how would you like to change masters?"

The colt nuzzled the boy's face and then his pockets, in one of which he found the nubbin of corn he sought.

"You rascal, all you care about having is a good commissary. You won't miss me, will you? Oh, no! I'd thought we'd go to the war together. We would have something worth fighting for, a free country, where a man wouldn't need to have dukes for uncles in order to be of some consequence in the world. We would show 'em, you and I, that horses and boys raised in this country are as good as the best; but that can't be. You are too good a horse to drag the plow on this poor little farm. You shall have one of the greatest men in this great land for a master, while I will stay away from the war and both of us may save our precious skins and perhaps be British subjects in the end."

Nat's purplish eyes seemed full of comprehension, as he mumbled the lad's hand with his lips.

"Horses seem to know more of some things than they really do, and know more of some other things than they seem to; how's that for horse sense, Nathaniel Bacon Allison?"

Nat blinked, but shed no tears. Rodney blinked and his eyes were wet. The boy opened the gate and the colt followed him to the stable, where he was saddled and ridden to Monticello.

As Rodney left the manager of Mr. Jefferson's estate he said: "I only ask that you say to Mr. Jefferson, I sell the colt with the understanding that I may buy him back if I ever get the money."

"I'll do it, an' you won't need it in writin' so long as Mr. Jefferson lives."

What a long, dusty, gloomy road was that over which the boy walked back to his home!

"What has become of Nat?" his mother asked, a few days later. "I haven't seen him lately."

"He was too valuable a horse for me to own and I sold him to Mr. Jefferson. I can have the privilege of buying him back," and Rodney turned away, afraid to trust himself to say more.

The crops that fall were successful and the neighbours told the boy he would surely make a good farmer. He worked early and late and grew strong; whereas his mother, watching him with sad eyes, became weaker.

When Mrs. Allison was absorbed in thought the old coloured woman would stand looking with anxious face at her mistress. One day she said, "Missus, yo' jes' done git well. Dat's no mo'n doin' what's right by Marse Rodney, ah reckon."

Mrs. Allison looked up into the kindly old face of the coloured woman, and a wan smile was on her lips as she replied, "Mam, you are a woman of good sense, and, God willing, I will get well." From that day she began to improve.

Angus being away, Rodney had little diversion.

His chief pastime now was target practice with the rifle. The old Indian had chosen wisely when he purchased the rifle, and the boy became very proficient in marksmanship. One day when he had made a fine shot he turned and found his mother and the two servants watching him.

"I hadn't an idea you were such a fine shot, Rodney," said his mother.

"Scolding Squaw hasn't an equal in the whole county of Albemarle, mother."

"Lan' sakes, an' what heathen mought she be?" asked Mam.

"She was once the rifle of a noted chief of the Wyandottes, and when she speaks a deadly silence follows," replied the boy, laughing.

"Marse Rodney will be wantin' ter jine de riflemen, I specs," remarked Thello.

Mam, noting her mistress' face, hastened to say, "Reckon de riflemen done froze up in Canada las' winter. Dey won't be rantin' down in ol' Virginny fer one right smart spell."

That year, 1776, there were no steel rails laid nor copper wires strung to carry the news, yet it was surprising how quickly tidings of victory and defeat spread over the country.

Charlottesville was a very small town out near the shadows of the Blue Ridge mountains, yet its people, not many weeks after the events occurred, had heard how Donald McDonald had led the Scotch Tories of North Carolina against the rifles of the Whigs and how the rifles proved more powerful than the Scottish broadswords; then had come the joyful news that Commodore Parker and his forty ships had sailed away from Charleston, South Carolina, which they had come to capture as though the doing of it were the pastime of a summer's holiday. Between them and the town they had found a little island and on it a small fort built of soft palmetto logs bedded in sand and defended by a few daring men under the gallant Moultrie. These brave fellows could shoot cannon as straight as could the North Carolina Whigs their rifles. Later, even among the hamlets along the frontier, the cheers rang out when it was learned that Congress had finally approved the Declaration of Independence, and aid was now expected from France!

Not all the news was encouraging. Washington had known that, unless granted men and supplies, he could not hold New York against the British. Congress had insisted that he make the attempt, but gave him no assistance. He had failed, and barely kept the greater part of the American army out of British clutches. The king had succeeded in hiring Hessians, some twenty thousand of them, to fight England's battles in America, with the promise of all the loot they could secure. France was very slow in granting aid, uncertain as yet how much resistance America might be able to make. The attempt to capture Quebec had failed, and the Americans were chased out of Canada. Washington had been unable to keep an effective army together as Congress would provide only for short terms of enlistment, and little money or supplies for the troops. Men who had shouted for freedom were now despondent, and some of them were going over to the enemy, which occupied New York and most of New Jersey and had concluded the war was about ended.

In September Morgan came back from Quebec, but under parole. He had been offered great inducements to fight with England, but scorned them as an insult to his manhood. If he could be released from parole he would do loyal service for his country. Arnold had fought desperately around Lake Champlain with the remnants of the troops driven from Canada, but the odds against him were too great. Washington, alone, was the nucleus around which the hopes of America centred, but he could accomplish little except to hold positions between the British and Philadelphia.

Winter came on and the situation grew worse. Congress became frightened and made ludicrous haste to vote all sorts of assistance to Washington, after it was too late for him to use it for striking an effective blow.

It was evident that Rodney brooded over the long series of failures, but he still stoutly insisted, "It's not Washington's fault, I know."

When, just after New Year's, 1777, report came that Washington, with his ragged troops, had crossed the Delaware amid the floating ice, and marched almost barefooted to Trenton in a howling snowstorm, and there had defeated the Hessians, Rodney fairly shouted in his joy, "I knew he'd do it, I knew he'd do it!"

About a month later, Angus came home. He was a sorry looking Angus, what with a severe wound, and his ragged regimentals, and his feet bound up in rags. But he was a very important Angus, withal, for had he not crossed the Delaware with Washington; had he not left bloody footprints on the snowy road to Trenton; had he not charged down King Street, swept by the northeast gale and British lead, and driven the brutal Hessians as chaff is swept before the wind? He was, to the village folk, the returned conqueror, and much they made of him, the Allisons with the others. He no longer envied Rodney mounted on Nat riding over the country with all the importance of a special messenger, and it is to be hoped that Rodney did not envy him, now that conditions seemed reversed. To young Allison's credit be it said that, if in his heart lay a smouldering spark of envy, it did not show itself.

When Angus was able to go about, he frequently visited the Allison home, and revelled in narrations of his experiences. He, like the common people generally, regarded Washington as an idol. He delighted in descriptions of the appearance of his beloved general at the crossing of the Delaware; again at the battle of Princeton, when Washington had ridden out directly between the lines of the British and the wavering Americans he sought to encourage, sitting like a statue on his big horse, while the bullets of friends and foes flew about him, and then riding away unscathed, as though by a miracle. The lad's enthusiasm made it all seem very real, even when he told how, one winter morning, the general walked about among his men while wearing a strip of red flannel tied about his throat because of a cold, and picked up with one hand a piece of heavy baggage, that would have burdened both arms of an ordinary man, and lightly tossed it on top of a baggage wagon.

"He had but twenty-four hundred men to capture Trenton, an' all the other generals who were to help him failed. I was right close to him when the messenger rode up to tell him Cadwalader couldn't git across the river, an' I heard him say 'I am determined to cross the river and attack Trenton in the morning.' I tell ye thar was no fellers who heard him but would hev follered him on their knees, bein' they couldn't hev used their feet."

"The British thought the war ended before they lost Trenton, I hear," said Mrs. Allison, her eyes shining, for one of her ancestors had ridden with Nathaniel Bacon, the Virginian rebel, when there was British tyranny in the Old Dominion.

"No doubt of it; why, all of us in the army reckoned how the war couldn't last much longer. We hadn't rations nor clothes; the men were goin' home when their time was up an' wouldn't enlist again. We heard that Cornwallis was goin' home to tell the king how he'd licked us, an' old Howe was gamblin' an' guzzlin' in New York, spendin' his prize money like water. Oh, they thought they had us licked for sure! Long's Washington lives they can't lick us nohow, though they've got over thirty thousand men an' plenty o' money, an' we with neither. But the soldiers are 'lowin' as how France will help us. Benjamin Franklin is over there an' they say he has a way o' gittin' what he goes after."

"I believe it was Doctor Franklin's 'Poor Richard' who said, 'God helps those who help themselves.' We've got to rely on ourselves," Mrs. Allison said, as if speaking to herself, but all the while looking at Rodney.

He did not notice this, for he sat gazing into the fire, saying little, though no word of Angus escaped him. Finally, looking up and addressing his mother, he said, "Wasn't it Mr. Mason who said he did not wish to survive the liberties of his country?"

"I think so," she replied, adding, "but we say things in time of excitement which are pretty hard to live up to," and turned away.

Rodney had secured quite profitable employment that winter. His mother's health had improved, and the lad could hear the clatter of her loom through the open window one warm morning in early March when a passing horseman brought the news that "Dan Morgan was having hard work to raise a body of riflemen." He had been appointed a colonel the previous fall, and, as soon as he was released from his parole, began to enlist men to go to the assistance of Washington at Morristown.

The man talked loudly, and the noise of the loom ceased while Mrs. Allison listened. After supper that evening she said, "I hear that Colonel Morgan, of whom you have told me so much, is enlisting men."

"Yes, mother, and there is no finer man for a leader than he, unless it is Washington."

"I've thought, since Angus came home, that you were wishing you might enter the service."

Rodney looked up quickly. "Why, if I could get away I'd like to go, but I—my duty is at home."

"I am well, now," she said, "and affairs are in such condition I think we can care for them."

"But—er—no, I ought not to."

"My boy, you have my permission, indeed I'm not sure but it is your duty to give your service, your young life perhaps, to the cause of liberty."

Rodney sprang up, his face aflame with eagerness. "Do you mean it, mother?"

"Some one must fight our battles if we are to win. Your father is not here to go to the front, as he would have done had he lived, and—and I feel sure he would like to have the house of Allison represented in a cause he had so much at heart, and I'm afraid I should make a poor soldier, Rodney."

"Mother, you are braver than any soldier who ever went to war!"

And so it happened that the following Monday, dressed in the homespun of his mother's loom and carrying the rifle he had taken from the lodge of the Wyandotte chieftain, Rodney Allison left for Winchester to join Morgan's command.



CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE THICK OF IT

"Can ye shoot straight an' often, travel light, starve an' yet fight on an empty stomach?"

"I've had some experience at that sort of thing, Colonel Morgan, and think I can be of service in your command."

"Where have I seen you? Yer face looks familiar. I have it, your name is Allison an' you were the little feller as showed me the way to the rear of the redskins the day they ambushed Wood out in the Ohio country. Want ye, I reckon I do! I want five hundred like ye."

And thus it was that Rodney found welcome when he presented himself to Morgan at Winchester, and the welcome was so hearty that it helped put the boy on friendly footing with his fellows at the start.

The march to Morristown was not very pleasant owing to the bad condition of the roads. On the way recruits joined them so that on the first of April, when they reached Washington's headquarters, they numbered about one hundred and eighty men, considerably less than the five hundred wanted.

One of the recruits who joined them on the march was a young man whose reception by Morgan attracted general attention, it was so cordial. He was a straight, sinewy fellow with shrewd, kindly gray eyes and "sandy" hair. He was clad like a frontiersman and the moment the colonel saw him he exclaimed, "By all that's good an' glorious, Zeb, I've seen ye in my dreams followin' me up the ladder at the barrier, but I never expected to see ye in the flesh again. Where's yer Fidus—what's his name, that Lovell boy?"[1]

"I left him in Boston after the evacuation, an' haven't heard from him since. How are you?"

"Never so well in my life. Prison fare up in old Quebec agreed with me, I reckon. Boys," he said, turning to a knot of his men who had gathered about, "this man Zeb, an' a Boston boy, brought up the rear on that march to Quebec. It was the hardest thing I ever did when I detailed 'em for the duty. How they got through alive I never could understand. And young Allison, here, is a chap as was with me fightin' Indians out in the Ohio country. I wish all the boys who've marched with me could fall into the ranks to-day; we'd keep right on to New York an' capture Howe, bag an' baggage."

"When we take New York," laughed Zeb, "we'll need more men than Congress ever has got together, I'm thinkin'. I was there when Washington tried to hold it, because Congress an' the country expected him to do the impossible. But, Colonel, I will say as how if you led the way, thar'd not be one of 'em, as ever marched with Morgan, who wouldn't be at yer back."

"Good! I like that kind of talk. Meanwhile we'll get the kinks out of our legs marching to Morristown."

"So you are an Injun fighter," remarked Zeb to Rodney, as they fell into line side by side.

"Scarcely that," replied Rodney, flushing with pleasure as he thought of the introduction by his colonel. "I've been made prisoner by them, lived with them for a time and ran away from 'em, doing a little fighting by the way."

"Anyhow, the colonel appears to like ye, an' that's a recommendation not to be sneezed at."

"I hope I can keep his good will. I never saw a man whose men were more loyal."

"He's a lion in a fight, asks no man to go whar he won't go himself. And he knows what the boys are thinkin' about, an' just how to manage 'em."

"I was told that on the march to the Scioto one of his men disobeyed orders, in fact had been disgruntled for some time, and that Morgan walked up to him and said, 'Come with me a minute.' They went into the woods together and, when they came back, the man had a black eye and looked as though he'd stolen a sheep; but ever after he didn't have to be told twice to do a thing."

Zeb laughed, saying, "That sort of treatment was what that kind of man could understand. But Morgan never allowed one of his men to be flogged."

"He was terribly flogged once himself."

"Yes, but he was too much of a man for that to break him, though the ordinary man who's been whipped seems to lose his self respect and his courage, an' Morgan won't allow it in his command."

By the time Morgan's men arrived at Morristown, Zeb and Rodney were the best of friends, and the latter had heard the story of the expedition to Quebec,[2] of Donald Lovell and what a fine lad he was, until he hoped that Zeb's wish, that they meet him, might be granted.

It was a very small army which Morgan found at Morristown. Of the sixteen regiments Congress had requested the colonies to furnish (Congress could do little but request), not over six hundred men had arrived. The next two months were passed in recruiting the army and getting it into condition, a very trying time to the many impatient spirits in Morgan's command, and doubtless very trying also to their commander, who always chafed under any sort of inaction. What with target practice and drilling, all were kept out of mischief, however, and Rodney found that as a marksman he could "hold his own" with the best.

Zeb, who had become his daily companion, received in May a letter from his old friend, Donald Lovell, who wrote that he had fully recovered from a wound he had received in the battle on Long Island the year before, and hoped soon to get back into the service.

A corps, called Morgan's Rangers, was made up of men picked from the various regiments, five hundred in all. There were, among them, Virginians, Pennsylvania "Dutchmen," men from the Carolinas, men from the frontier and Yankees. Skill in the use of the rifle was a necessary qualification for membership. They were a fine lot of men for the perilous duties to which they were to be assigned.