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In the Days of Poor Richard by Irving Bacheller

I >> Irving Bacheller >> In the Days of Poor Richard







CHAPTER XXVI

IN WHICH APPEARS THE HORSE OF DESTINY AND THE JUDAS OF WASHINGTON'S ARMY

In Boston harbor, Jack learned of the evacuation of Philadelphia by the
British and was transferred to a Yankee ship putting out to sea on its
way to that city. There he found the romantic Arnold, crippled by his
wounds, living in the fine mansion erected by William Penn. He had
married a young daughter of one of the rich Tory families, for his
second wife, and was in command of the city. Colonel Irons, having
delivered the letters to the Treasurer of the United States, reported
at Arnold's office. It was near midday and the General had not
arrived. The young man sat down to wait and soon the great soldier
drove up with his splendid coach and pair. His young wife sat beside
him. He had little time for talk. He was on his way to breakfast.
Jack presented his compliments and the good tidings which he had
brought from the Old Country. Arnold listened as if he were hearing
the price of codfish and hams.

The young man was shocked by the coolness of the Commandant. The
former felt as if a pail of icy water had been thrown upon him, when
Arnold answered:

"Now that they have money I hope that they will pay their debt to me."

This kind of talk Jack had not heard before. He resented it but
answered calmly: "A war and an army is a great extravagance for a young
nation that has not yet learned the imperial art of gathering taxes.
Many of us are going unpaid but if we get liberty it will be worth all
it costs."

"That sounds well but there are some of us who are also in need of
justice," Arnold answered as he turned away.

"General, you who have not been dismayed by force will never, I am
sure, surrender to discouragement," said Jack.

The fiery Arnold turned suddenly and lifting his cane in a threatening
manner said in a loud voice:

"Would you reprimand me--you damned upstart?"

"General, you may strike me, if you will, but I can not help saying
that we young men must look to you older ones for a good example."

Very calmly and politely the young man spoke these words. He towered
above the man Arnold in spirit and stature. The latter did not commit
the folly of striking him but with a look of scorn ordered him to leave
the office.

Jack obeyed the order and went at once to call upon his old friend,
Governor Reed. He told the Governor of his falling out with the
Major-General.

"Arnold is a sordid, selfish man and a source of great danger to our
cause," said the Governor. "He is vain and loves display and is living
far beyond his means. To maintain his extravagance he has resorted to
privateering and speculation, and none of it has been successful. He
is deeply involved in debt. It is charged that he has used his
military authority for private gain. He was tried by a court-martial
but escaped with only a reprimand from the Commander-in-Chief. He is
thick with the Tories. He is the type of man who would sell his master
for thirty pieces of silver."

"This is alarming," said Jack.

"My boy an ill wind is blowing on us," the Governor went on. "We have
all too many Arnolds in our midst. Our currency has depreciated until
forty shillings will not buy what one would have bought before the war.
The profit makers are rolling in luxury and the poor army starves. The
honest and patriotic are impoverished while those who practise fraud
and Toryism are getting rich."

Depressed by this report of conditions in America Jack set out for
Washington's headquarters on the Hudson. Never had the posture of
American affairs looked so hopeless. The Governor had sold him a young
mare with a white star in her forehead and a short, white stocking on
her left fore-leg, known in good time as the horse of destiny.

"She was a well turned, high spirited creature with good plumes, a
noble eye and a beautiful head and neck," Jack wrote long after the day
he parted with her. "I have never ridden a more distinguished animal.
She was in every way worthy of the task ahead of her."

When he had crossed the King's Ferry the mare went lame. A little
beyond the crossing he met a man on a big, roan gelding. Jack stopped
him to get information about the roads in the north.

"That's a good-looking mare," the man remarked.

"And she is better than she looks," Jack answered. "But she has thrown
a shoe and gone lame."

"I'll trade even and give you a sound horse," the man proposed.

"What is your name and where do you live?" Jack inquired.

"My name is Paulding and I live at Tarrytown in the neutral territory."

"I hope that you like horses."

"You can judge of that by the look of this one. You will observe that
he is well fed and groomed."

"And your own look is that of a good master," said Jack, as he examined
the teeth and legs of the gelding. "Pardon me for asking. I have
grown fond of the mare. She must have a good master."

"I accepted his offer not knowing that a third party was looking on and
laying a deeper plan than either of us were able to penetrate," Jack
used to say of that deal.

He approached the little house in which the Commander-in-Chief was
quartered with a feeling of dread, fearing the effect of late
developments on his spirit.

The young man wrote to Margaret in care of Franklin this account of the
day which followed his return to camp:

"Thank God! I saw on the face of our Commander the same old look of
unshaken confidence. I knew that he could see his way and what a sense
of comfort came of that knowledge! More than we can tell we are
indebted to the calm and masterful face of Washington. It holds up the
heart of the army in all discouragements. His faith is established.
He is not afraid of evil tidings. This great, god-like personality of
his has put me on my feet again. I was in need of it, for a different
kind of man, of the name of Arnold, had nearly floored me."

"'Sit down here and tell me all about Franklin,' he said with a smile.

"I told him what was going on in Paris and especially of the work of
our great minister to the court of Louis XVI.

"He heard me with deep interest and when I had finished arose and gave
me his hand saying:

"'Colonel, again you have won my gratitude. We must keep our courage.'

"I told him of my unhappy meeting with Arnold.

"'The man has his faults--he is very human, but he has been a good
soldier,' Washington answered.

"The thought came to me that the love of liberty had lifted many of us
above the human plane of sordid striving.

"Solomon came into camp that evening. He was so glad to see me that he
could only wring my hand and utter exclamations.

"'How is the gal?' he asked presently.

"I told him of our meeting in Passy and of my fear that we should not
meet again.

"'It seems as if the Lord were not yet willing to let us marry,' I said.

"'Course not,' he answered. 'When yer boat is in the rapids it's no
time fer to go ashore an' pick apples. I cocalate the Lord is usin' ye
fer to show the Ol' World what's inside o' us Americans.'

"Margaret, I wonder if the Lord really wished to show you and others
the passion which is in the heart of Washington and his army. On the
way to my ship I was like one making bloody footprints in the snow.
How many of them I have seen! And now is the time to tell you that
Doctor Franklin has written a letter informing me how deeply our part
in the little pageant had impressed Mr. Hartley and the court people of
France and that he had secured another loan.

"Solomon is a man of faith. He never falters.

"He said to me: 'Don't worry. That gal has got a backbone. She ain't
no rye straw. She's a-goin' to think it over.'

"Neither spoke for a time. We sat by an open fire in front of his tent
as the night fell. Solomon was filling his pipe. He swallowed and his
right eye began to take aim. I knew that some highly important theme
would presently open the door of his intellect and come out.

"'Jack, I been over to Albany,' he said. 'Had a long visit with
Mirandy. They ain't no likelier womern in Ameriky. I'll bet a pint o'
powder an' a fish hook on that. Ye kin look fer 'em till yer eyes run
but ye'll be obleeged to give up.'

"He lighted his pipe and smoked a few whiffs and added: 'Knit seventy
pair o' socks fer my regiment this fall.'

"'Have you asked her to marry you?' I inquired.

"'No. 'Tain't likely she'd have me,' he answered. 'She's had troubles
enough. I wouldn't ask no womern to marry me till the war is fit out.
I'm liable to git all shot up any day. I did think I'd ask her but I
didn't. Got kind o' skeered an' skittish when we sot down together,
an' come to think it all over, 'twouldn't 'a' been right.'

"'You're wrong, Solomon,' I answered. 'You ought to have a home of
your own and a wife to make you fond of it. How is the Little Cricket?'

"'Cunnin'est little shaver that ever lived,' said he. 'I got him a
teeny waggin an' drawed him down to the big medder an' back. He had a
string hitched on to my waist an' he pulled an' hauled an' hollered
whoa an' git ap till he were erbout as hoarse as a bull frog. When we
got back he wanted to go all over me with a curry comb an' braid my
mane.'

"The old scout roared with laughter as he thought of the child's play
in which he had had a part. He told me of my own people and next to
their good health it pleased me to learn that my father had given all
his horses--save two--to Washington. That is what all our good men are
doing. So you will see how it is that we are able to go on with this
war against the great British empire.

"That night the idea came to me that I would seek an opportunity to
return to France in the hope of finding you in Paris. I applied for a
short furlough to give me a chance to go home and see the family.
There I found a singular and disheartening situation. My father's
modest fortune is now a part of the ruin of war. Soon after the
beginning of hostilities he had loaned his money to men who had gone
into the business of furnishing supplies to the army. He had loaned
them dollars worth a hundred cents. They are paying their debts to him
in dollars worth less than five cents. Many, and Washington among
them, have suffered in a like manner. My father has little left but
his land, two horses, a yoke of oxen and a pair of slaves. So I am too
poor to give you a home in any degree worthy of you.

"Dear old Solomon has proposed to make me his heir, but now that he has
met the likely womern I must not depend upon him. So I have tried to
make you know the truth about me as well as I do. If your heart is
equal to the discouragement I have heaped upon it I offer you this poor
comfort. When the war is over I can borrow a thousand pounds to keep a
roof over our heads and a fowl in the pot and pudding in the twifflers
while I am clearing the way to success. The prospect is not inviting,
I fear, but if, happily, it should appeal to you, I suggest that you
join your father in New York at the first opportunity so that we may
begin our life together as soon as the war ends. And now, whatever
comes, I would wish you to keep these thoughts of me: I have loved you,
but there are things which I have valued above my own happiness. If I
can not have you I shall have always the memory of the hours we have
spent together and of the great hope that was mine.

"While I was at home the people of our neighborhood set out at daylight
one morning for a pigeon party. We had our breakfast on an island.
Then the ladies sat down to knit and sew, while the men went fishing.
In the afternoon we gathered berries and returned at dusk with filled
pails and many fish. So our people go to the great storehouse of
Nature and help themselves."




CHAPTER XXVII

WHICH CONTAINS THE ADVENTURES OF SOLOMON IN THE TIMBER SACK AND ON THE
"HAND-MADE RIVER"

In the spring of 1779, there were scarcely sixteen thousand men in the
American army, of which three thousand were under Gates at Providence;
five thousand in the Highlands under McDougall, who was building new
defenses at West Point, and on the east shore of the Hudson under
Putnam; seven thousand were with Washington at Middlebrook where he had
spent a quiet winter; a few were in the south. The British,
discouraged in their efforts to conquer the northern and middle
colonies, sent a force of seven thousand men to take Georgia and South
Carolina. They hoped that Washington, who could not be induced to risk
his army in decisive action against superior numbers, would thus be
compelled to scatter and weaken it. But the Commander-in-Chief,
knowing how seriously Nature, his great ally, was gnawing at the vitals
of the British, bided his time and kept his tried regiments around him.
Now and then, a staggering blow filled his enemies with a wholesome
fear of him. His sallies were as swift and unexpected as the rush of a
panther with the way of retreat always open. Meanwhile a cry of
affliction and alarm had arisen in England. Its manufacturers were on
the verge of bankruptcy, its people out of patience.

As soon as the ice was out of the lakes and rivers, Jack and Solomon
joined an expedition under Sullivan against the Six Nations, who had
been wreaking bloody vengeance on the frontiers of Pennsylvania and New
York. The Senecas had been the worst offenders, having spilled the
blood of every white family in their reach. Sullivan's expedition
ascended the Chemung branch of the Susquehanna and routed a great force
of Indians under Brant and Johnson at Newtown and crossed to the Valley
of the Genessee, destroying orchards, crops and villages. The red men
were slain and scattered. The fertile valley was turned into a
flaming, smoking hell. Simultaneously a force went up the Alleghany
and swept its shores with the besom of destruction.

Remembrance of the bold and growing iniquities of the savage was like a
fire in the heart of the white man. His blood boiled with anger. He
was without mercy. Like every reaping of the whirlwind this one had
been far more plentiful than the seed from which it sprang. Those
April days the power of the Indian was forever broken and his cup
filled with bitterness. Solomon had spoken the truth when he left the
Council Fire in the land of Kiodote:

"Hereafter the Injun will be a brother to the snake."

Jack and Solomon put their lives in danger by entering the last village
ahead of the army and warning its people to flee. The killing had made
them heart-sick, although they had ample reason for hating the red men.

In the absence of these able helpers Washington had moved to the
Highlands. This led the British General, Sir Henry Clinton, to decide
to block his return. So he sent a large force up the river and
captured the fort at Stony Point and King's Ferry connecting the great
road from the east with the middle states. The fort and ferry had to
be retaken, and, early in July, Jack and Solomon were sent to look the
ground over.

In the second day of their reconnoitering above Stony Point they came
suddenly upon a British outpost. They were discovered and pursued but
succeeded in eluding the enemy. Soon a large party began beating the
bush with hounds. Jack escaped by hiding behind a waterfall. Solomon
had a most remarkable adventure in making his way northward. Hearing
the dogs behind him he ran to the shore of a bay, where a big drive of
logs had been boomed in, and ran over them a good distance and dropped
out of sight. He lay between two big sections of a great pine with his
nose above water for an hour or so. A band of British came down to the
shore and tried to run the logs but, being unaccustomed to that kind of
work, were soon rolled under and floundering to their necks.

"I hadn't na skeer o' their findin' me," Solomon said to Jack. "'Cause
they was a hundred acres o' floatin' timber in that 'ere bay. I heard
'em slippin' an' sloshin' eround nigh shore a few minutes an' then they
give up an' went back in the bush. They were a strip o' open water
'twixt the logs an' the shore an' I clumb on to the timber twenty rod
er more from whar I waded in so's to fool the dogs."

"What did you do with your rifle an' powder?" Jack inquired.

"Wal, ye see, they wuz some leetle logs beyond me that made a kind o' a
holler an' I jest put ol' Marier 'crost 'em an' wound the string o' my
powder-horn on her bar'l. I lay thar a while an' purty soon I heard a
feller comin' on the timber. He were clus up to me when he hit a log
wrong an' it rolled him under. I dim' up an' grabbed my rifle an' thar
were 'nother cuss out on the logs not more'n ten rod erway. He took a
shot at me, but the bullet didn't come nigh 'nough so's I could hear it
whisper he were bobbin' eround so. I lifted my gun an' says I:

"'Boy, you come here to me.'

"But he thought he'd ruther go somewhar else an' he did--poor, ignorant
devil! I went to t' other feller that was rasslin' with a log tryin'
to git it under him. He'd flop the log an' then it would flop him.
He'd throwed his rifle 'crost the timber. I goes over an' picks it up
an' says I:

"'Take it easy, my son. I'll help ye in a minute.'

"His answer wa'n't none too p'lite. He were a leetle runt of a
sergeant. I jest laughed at him an' went to t' other feller an' took
the papers out o' his pockets. I see then a number o' British boys was
makin' fer me on the wobbly top o' the river. They'd see me goin' as
easy as a hoss on a turnpike an' they was tryin' fer to git the knack
o' it. In a minute they begun poppin' at me. But shootin' on logs is
like tryin' to walk a line on a wet deck in a hurricane. Ye got to
know how to offset the wobble. They didn't skeer me. I went an'
hauled that runt out o' the water an' with him under my right arm an'
the two rifles under the left un I started treadin' logs headin' fer
the north shore. They quit shootin' but come on a'ter me pell-mell.
They got to comin' too fast an' I heard 'em goin' down through the roof
o' the bay behind me an' rasslin' with the logs. That put meat on my
bones! I could 'a' gone back an' made a mess o' the hull party with
the toe o' my boot but I ain't overly fond o' killin'. Never have
been. I took my time an' slopped erlong toward shore with the runt
under my arm cussin' like a wildcat. We got ashore an' I made the
leetle sergeant empty his pockets an' give me all the papers he had. I
took the strip o' rawhide from round my belt an' put a noose above his
knees an' 'nother on my wrist an' sot down to wait fer dark which the
sun were then below the tree-tops. I looked with my spy-glass 'crost
the bay an' could see the heads bobbin' up an' down an' a dozen men
comin' out with poles to help the log rasslers. Fer some time they had
'nough to do an' I wouldn't be supprised. If we had the hull British
army on floatin' timber the logs would lick 'em in a few minutes."

Solomon came in with his prisoner and accurate information as to the
force of British in the Highlands.

On the night of the fifteenth of July, a detachment of Washington's
troops under Wayne, preceded by the two scouts, descended upon Stony
Point and King's Ferry and routed the enemy, capturing five hundred and
fifty men and killing sixty. Within a few days the British came up the
river in great force and Washington, unwilling to risk a battle,
quietly withdrew and let them have the fort and ferry and their labor
for their pains. It was a bitter disappointment to Sir Henry Clinton.
The whole British empire clamored for decisive action and their great
Commander was unable to bring it about and meanwhile the French were
preparing to send a heavy force against them.



2

Solomon, being the ablest bush scout in the American army, was needed
for every great enterprise in the wilderness. So when a small force
was sent up the Penobscot River to dislodge a regiment of British from
Nova Scotia, in the late summer of 1779, he went with it. The fleet
which conveyed the Americans was in command of a rugged old sea captain
from Connecticut of the name of Saltonstall who had little knowledge of
the arts of war. He neglected the precautions which a careful
commander would have taken.

A force larger than his own should have guarded the mouth of the river.
Of this Solomon gave him warning, but Captain Saltonstall did not share
the apprehension of the great scout. In consequence they were pursued
and overhauled far up the river by a British fleet. Saltonstall in a
panic ran his boats ashore and blew them up with powder. Again a force
of Americans was compelled to suffer the bitter penalty of ignorance.
The soldiers and crews ran wild in the bush a hundred miles from any
settlement. It was not possible to organize them. They fled in all
directions. Solomon had taken with him a bark canoe. This he carried,
heading eastward and followed by a large company, poorly provisioned.
A number of the ships' boats which had been lowered--and moved, before
the destruction began, were carried on the advice of Solomon.
Fortunately this party was not pursued. Nearly every man in it had his
gun and ammunition. The scout had picked up a goodly outfit of axes
and shovels and put them in the boats. He organized his retreat with
sentries, rear guard, signals and a plan of defense. The carriers were
shifted every hour. After two days of hard travel through the deep
woods they came to a lake more than two miles long and about half as
wide. Their provisions were gone save a few biscuit and a sack of
salt. There were sixty-four men in the party.

Solomon organized a drive. A great loop of weary men was flung around
the end of the lake more than a mile from its shore. Then they began
approaching the camp, barking like dogs as they advanced. In this
manner three deer and a moose were driven to the water and slain.
These relieved the pangs of hunger and insured the party, for some
little time, against starvation. They were, however, a long way from
help in an unknown wilderness with a prospect of deadly hardships.
Solomon knew that the streams in this territory ran toward the sea and
for that reason he had burdened the party with boats and tools.

The able scout explored a long stretch of the lake's outlet which
flowed toward the south. It had a considerable channel but not enough
water for boats or canoes even. That night he began cutting timber for
a dam at the end of the lake above its outlet. Near sundown, next day,
the dam was finished and the water began rising. A rain hurried the
process. Two days later the big water plane had begun to spill into
its outlet and flood the near meadow flats. The party got the boats in
place some twenty rods below and ready to be launched. Solomon drove
the plug out of his dam and the pent-up water began to pour through.
The stream was soon flooded and the boats floating. Thus with a
spirited water horse to carry them they began their journey to the sea.
Men stood in the bow and stern of each boat with poles to push it along
and keep it off the banks. Some ten miles below they swung into a
large river and went on, more swiftly, with the aid of oars and paddles.

Thus Solomon became the hero of this ill-fated expedition. After that
he was often referred to in the army as the River Maker, although the
ingenious man was better known as the Lightning Hurler, that phrase
having been coined in Jack's account of his adventures with Solomon in
the great north bush. In the ranks he had been regarded with a kind of
awe as a most redoubtable man of mysterious and uncanny gifts since he
and Jack had arrived in the Highlands fresh from their adventure of
"shifting the skeer"--as Solomon was wont to put it--whereupon, with no
great delay, the rash Colonel Burley had his Binkussing. The scout was
often urged to make a display of his terrible weapon but he held his
tongue about it, nor would he play with the lightning or be induced to
hurl it upon white men.

"That's only fer to save a man from bein' burnt alive an' et up," he
used to say.

At the White Pine Mills near the sea they were taken aboard a lumber
ship bound for Boston. Solomon returned with a great and growing
influence among the common soldiers. He had spent a week in Newport
and many of his comrades had reached the camp of Washington in advance
of the scout's arrival.

When Solomon--a worn and ragged veteran--gained the foot of the
Highlands, late in October, he learned to his joy that Stony Point and
King's Ferry had been abandoned by the British. He found Jack at Stony
Point and told him the story of his wasted months. Then Jack gave his
friend the news of the war.

D'Estaing with a French fleet had arrived early in the month. This had
led to the evacuation of Newport and Stony Point to strengthen the
British position in New York. But South Carolina had been conquered by
the British. It took seven hundred dollars to buy a pair of shoes with
the money of that state, so that great difficulties had fallen in the
way of arming and equipping a capable fighting force.

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